I stand over him for a few minutes, watching his chest rise and fall in a languid way. Hopefully I didn't overdo the dosage or he won't be waking up in a few hours like I hope—to be a cooperative little lamb—and I'll be in deep shit.

Neil would frown at me for this. Frown those pretty little brows at me and say, "You're taking an awful risk," before helping me move the man. God, I miss the bastard. I wish I had taken up his offer to come with me so he could to tell me what to do here next. Or maybe help me clean up this mess. But I haven't time to waste pussyfooting around the Carter and untangling his words anymore than I do regretting my decision to roofie him essentially. I need straight, unaltered answers. The more he tries to tell me a semblance of his truth, the more he coats them in lies. So, time to do what I came here to do. Squeeze the truth out, the bare, naked truth, until the asshole sings like a soprano.

"You better sing after this." I grab his feet, to drag him back to the sofa—but. I eye the soft edge of the furniture, its slippery leather. Nothing solid to tie him up against. I have not ropes. The only thing I can use are the fancy ties in his possession. I drop his heavy legs and rush to his room to see if the bed is something I can tie him against. No point moving the man if that's a futile pursuit too.

Luckily for him—or maybe not so luckily—his bed is one of those fancy modern four post bed, just like the one in my room, both without those canopy shit.

It would do rather nicely.

I rush back to the lounge room, unsure how much time has passed since I slipped him the drug in his last drink. I grab his legs again, groan when his shoes slip off in my grip, and toss them aside. Then I brace my hands against his ankles to make it easier to drag him.

It takes me two wholes minutes to achieve the feat. He's heavier than I anticipated. Then there is the matter of hoisting him up onto the mattress, truss him up against the headboard, and then hunt down all of his ties for makeshift ropes.

By the time I've managed it all, several more minutes have passed, sweat beads against my hairline and under my armpits, and I'm thirsty as hell. I tug against the tie-rope binding his wrists against the bed to check they are sound, and prop a second pillow for his head. I want the truth from the guy but I have no intention of hurting him. Yet. I do want to return home safe and sound myself. No need to tempt an arrest on foreign soil. Though how I'm going to go unscathed from this mess, I have no clue.

Fuck, I really should have listened to Neil and seduced the guy than go this route. But he truly left me no choice after the gallery.

I fish out a of bottle of chilled water from the fridge and eye my watch. It's only 2 PM in the afternoon and I'm starving. I probably should have waited for us to eat lunch before digging the guy.

I eye the watch again and then his door. Maybe I can duck out and get some food before he even stirs awake.

I hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and scurry down the hallway towards the lifts because the last thing I need is for housekeeping to walk in to make the room and find him that way. It will surely be a "Can I make a phone call?" for me and I'll have to toss up between calling Mum to hysteric panic, or Neil for a sound but calm "I told you so," before he files in and saves my butt. Somehow.

"I may or may not be digging my own grave." I text Neil. "Stay tuned for updates." Feeling an odd sense of relief. I've crossed a point-of-no-return. But at least someone knows the truth should anything untoward happen, untoward like arrest for drugging and kidnapping a person, even if he's in his own hotel room. Or worse, I somehow manage to get the truth out of him and I let him go, but he knows who I am and what I did, and probably will call the cops on me anyway—as he should. Either way, I'm thoroughly fucked. Aren't I?

But it was too little too late to change my mind. So I did the next best thing I could. Hopped into the lift to get me something to eat, and maybe something for him too, once he wakes. He'll probably be hungry too. He'd had as much as I had today, which is to say, not much.

I groan at myself as I punch ground floor button. Why am I suddenly caring if the guy will be hungry? I just fucking tied the man to the bed like it's my sick fantasy to make a man yield to me. Though the thought of him squirming under my gaze as I straddle him threateningly does have an odd appeal.

Neil would say the man's managed to get under my skin. I'd say I'm losing my grip reality because of all the nonsense he kept spouting at me about how to seduce a man I have no desire to kiss let alone seduce with my womanly wiles. I have no womanly wiles!