"That was torture!" Liz exhales as we walk into the room, the door clicking shut behind us. She slips the card into the electricity slot with an unnecessary flourish.

"Really? I thought it went quite well, actually," I reply, unbuttoning my shirt, eager to get into something comfy.

"It was torture, Ashley..." she insists.

I glance over, puzzled. She didn't seem uncomfortable back in the conference room. A little nervous at first, sure, but she found her footing quickly—or so I thought.

"Torture, I tell you... I honestly don't know how I managed to hold it together," she declares, dramatically patting herself on the back.

"I don't know how I didn't throw myself at Louis right then and there on that conference table..." she adds, closing her eyes in what I can only assume is a vivid mental replay.

"'Ashley, will you help me with my speech?'" she swoons in a cartoonish version of Liam's voice.

"'I will gladly do you, baby... over and over again,'" she moans.

"Liiiiiiz!" I laugh, fake-scolding her while trying not to drop onto the floor laughing.

"And Harry... damn, that shirt—what, maybe two buttons fastened? That chest..." she trails off, visibly drooling in her head.

"I want to oil that chest and go south. Oil him up and eat him like a pan of baklava."

She says it so earnestly, like it's the most poetic thought in the world. Must be the quarter-Greek in her. That part of her has no filter—and zero shame.

In between my wheezing laughs, I notice something.

"You haven't said anything about the blond one..."

"Don't ask about Blondie," she says, already strutting across the room naked on her way to the shower. "I'll be under him—or he'll be under me—whichever happens first by the end of the week."

She pauses in the doorway. "I might be a while."

Then, grinning wickedly: "Whatever sound comes out of here, please ignore."

She slams the door behind her.

I stare after her, speechless. What is there to say after something like that?

After a short nap, I check my phone and find a message from Leo. Rain check. He's running late and wonders if we can push our meeting to next week.

I won't lie—I'm disappointed. Leo's so easy to be around. He's grounded, smart, charming without trying. I was genuinely looking forward to seeing him again. Still... next week isn't that far away.

"So what now?" Liz groans when she hears.

"What do you mean?" I ask, already sensing the shift in tone.

"Does this mean... we're not meeting the boys tonight?" Desperation floods her face.

"No. I'm still meeting Liam. I promised to help him with his speech. But we'll need to let him know Leo's not joining, so the others can make their own plans. They shouldn't just sit around waiting because we can't make it, should they?"

I'm already rummaging through my purse.

"How are you going to tell them? You don't have their numbers," she says, wide-eyed with possibility.

"Liam gave me his," I say, holding up the card triumphantly.

Her jaw drops. "Of the four, you got the number for the only one who's unavailable. Brilliant, Ashley. Just... fucking smart!"

"Don't be so dramatic, Liz," I say with a smile as she throws on a pair of jeans.

"We're here for a reason, Elizabeth." I use her full name on purpose. "We're not kids. These guys are just... guys. Polite. Cool. Kind enough to help us. That doesn't mean we forget why we're here. You flipped harder over One Direction than you did about Leonardo DiCaprio cancelling, for God's sake."

She crosses her arms but doesn't argue.

I text Liam, who replies almost instantly. He suggests we meet in his suite—more space, fewer distractions. Makes sense.

I hesitate at my suitcase. What do I wear?

Liz, still a bit sulky but never useless when it comes to wardrobe decisions, offers guidance. "Jeans. T-shirt. Keep it casual. You're working, not flirting."

I nod, though I'm still unsure why I'm nervous.

Less than twenty minutes later, I'm heading to Liam's suite, telling myself it's just a meeting.

I'm at Liam's suite in under twenty minutes. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can either hit the bed or drag Liz to the lounge bar for a drink.

I knock, and the door swings open to reveal a stunning girl with long black hair and bright, friendly eyes.

"Hi! I'm Sophia—Liam's girlfriend," she says, smiling wide.

She's breathtaking, but not in an intimidating way. Her energy is kind. Inviting. And even though I barely know Liam, something about them already makes sense. His soft, open expression—the kind that instantly makes you trust him—complements hers perfectly.

"Hi, I'm Ashley Cameron. Liam and I are—" I begin, but she's already stepping aside to let me in.

"I know. He's been expecting you," she says, ushering me into the suite.

The room is vast and elegant. White walls adorned with art pieces—some reminding me of Sherry's collection back home. Thick, soft carpeting. Oversized sofas with luxurious cushions. A sleek secretaire in the corner. At the far end, a door to what's clearly the bedroom.

"Ashley!" Liam greets me like an old friend, pulling me into a quick hug that somehow feels completely natural.

"Soph, this is Ashley—she's doing such an amazing job with the bullying project," he tells her.

Sophia smiles proudly, setting a laptop down on the coffee table. "This project really means a lot to Liam," she says, locking eyes with me.

There's something behind those words. I glance back at Liam.

"Well... I was bullied as a kid," he says quietly, his eyes dropping to his hands. He fidgets, clearly uncomfortable, but pushes through. "Let's just say—I want to help however I can."

"That's incredibly kind of you," I say gently, not pushing further.

We get to work. I review his speech, pointing out phrasing that might need softening—some things can hit too hard if not handled carefully. He nods, thoughtful and receptive. We're deep into edits when a voice startles me.

"Hey! Working on it already?"

I turn—and there he is.

Harry.

Shirtless. Sweaty. Basketball shorts. Neon pink trainers. Hair tied back in a loose bun. Towel slung around his neck. A water bottle in hand. And every inch of him looking like he walked out of a Calvin Klein ad.

I blink, hard. Keep it professional, Ashley.

"We are..." I manage, forcing my gaze back to the screen.

Liam leans over the laptop. "So, should I rephrase this part too?" he asks, pointing at a highlighted paragraph.

"I think so... maybe something like, 'seek the support of a friend, confide in someone you trust...'"

"Um, Ashley?" Harry interrupts from behind the couch.

"Yeah?" I glance up, careful not to linger.

"Would you... maybe help me, too? With my speech, I mean. If you want to... I mean..."

"Sure! Right on it!" I say with a bright smile. He beams back, dimples flashing, impossibly charming.

I reach for my phone and dial Liz.

"Hey... yeah, I'm at Liam's. Could you help Harry with his speech, love?" I ask, as casually as possible.

I watch as Harry's smile slowly fades, his dimples vanishing. 

"When would be good for you, Harry?" I offer, trying to recover. "Liz won't mind."

He's now looking at Liam, mouthing something I can't make out. Did I ruin some kind of plan?

"Uh... give me twenty minutes? I'll shower and come back," he says, awkward but polite.

"Of course. Are you sure?"

"Positive," he replies.

As I text Liz the update, I catch Harry flipping Liam off in mock frustration.

"Talk later, guys," he says as he heads to the door.

"Harry?" I call after him.

He pauses. "Yeah?"

"You'll need Liz's number."

"I'll give you my number," he says, almost smug now. "You can pass it on."

"No, no. Here's her card." I quickly grab it from my bag and hand it to him.

Liam is quietly laughing. Sophia's smiling discreetly. There's clearly some inside joke I'm not in on, but I let it go.

"Thanks, Ashley. It was great seeing you again," Harry says, his eyes flicking over to Liam in mock annoyance.

"Shame we didn't get to hang out tonight... maybe another time?"

He says it casually, but there's something tentative behind it.

"Sure. I'm sure Leo would be delighted to see you again," I tease, deadpan.

Liam loses it, bursting into laughter.

"What? What did I miss?" I look between them, totally confused. Sophia shrugs, stifling her own laugh.

"No, no, no..." Liam waves it off, still chuckling. "Just... making fun of his pink shoes."

"Stop the bullying, Liam!" I fire back, and he pouts, hands clasped under his chin like a puppy.

I laugh and shake my head as Harry disappears through the door.

With him gone, Liam and I return to the speech, working late into the evening.

"So... did you have a good time?" I ask, eyebrow raised as Liz walks into the room and finds me on the laptop, still working.

"God, that man is fooking hot!" she sighs dramatically, collapsing onto the bed like a Victorian heroine.

"You mean boy," I correct her, laughing.

I've never seen Liz like this. Maybe once—when she had a thing for Jason Momoa. Oh, and there was that one time she nearly passed out when we ran into Charlie Hunnam at a film gala. That was a scene.

"I mean man," she insists, muffled by a pillow. "No boy has abs, muscles, lips, armpits like that. I'm dead."

I blink. "Armpits?"

She lifts the pillow just enough to look at me. "Yes. Armpits. Got a problem with that?"

I crack up. "Just... never heard that one on a list before."

She grins. "You're welcome."

"Alright, armpits aside—did you two actually get any work done?"

"We went through his whole speech," she replies. "We talked a bit, too."

"Flirted, hmm? You did, didn't you?" I tease.

"No!" she insists, but then softens. "He mostly asked about what we do. Where our offices are, what kind of work we handle, where we live..."

She pauses.

"He asked about you, too."

My fingers still on the keyboard. "Me?"

"Yeah. He wanted to know what your job is, what you like, where your office is. Stuff like that."

"That's... odd," I mutter, brushing past the thought. "So? Did you hit it off?"

She shakes her head. "No, no. Niall walked in."

"Bummer," I say, half-teasing.

"Seriously, Ashley. What are you, ten?"

"I know, I know," I grin. "Go on."

"Yeah, so Niall came in when we were wrapping up. And oh my God—he is such a dork. Adorable. But like, next-level dork."

"Where'd Harry go?"

"He excused himself. Said he had something to take care of."

"Oh."

A knock at the door cuts the moment in half.

I get up and open it to find a young man in hotel uniform holding an envelope... and a bouquet of fresh flowers.

"Um, delivery for Mrs. Cameron?"

"That's me," I say, taking the envelope and flowers. "Thank you."

Liz rushes to the door behind me, tipping him with unnecessary flair before slamming it shut.

"What is it?! Who's it from?!" she demands, snatching the flowers from my arm like a woman possessed.

I open the envelope, my pulse oddly quick.

Inside are two diving vouchers. And a handwritten note.

"What does it say?"

I read it aloud, voice quiet:

I believe I owe you these. Thank you for helping us. See you tomorrow. All the love, H.

Liz gasps like she's in a soap opera. "Son of a bitch."