Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fire

Morning came, and Daniel woke quietly in the light.

He was wrapped in the white bedding of the hotel sheets, and he was alone.

His body ached in all the right places. He was sore, spent, and tender where he probably shouldn’t have been. Bite marks trailed along his hip like fading signatures. He stretched, then winced, every movement a reminder of the night before.

He probably shouldn’t have expected them to stay, that wasn’t who they were. Still he might have liked a goodbye.

He sat up slowly, wincing as his body protested. On the nightstand, a note waited. Folded neatly. Topped with a splash of color that didn’t belong in a luxury suite.

Had to run, last night was fun

No regrets. Enjoy the souvenir.

Don’t forget the fire.

-V+E

He chuckled under his breath.

Beneath the note lay what could only be described as the souvenir Elena’s red lace thong, and Vivian’s black garter belt, folded with far too much care to be accidental.

Daniel lay back against the pillows, draping an arm over his eyes, shaking his head with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress.

They were impossible.

And unforgettable.

He sat up slowly, letting the sheets fall to his lap. The suite was quiet now, but not empty, not really. Traces of them were everywhere: a half-empty glass on the windowsill, the throw pillows of the sofa on the floor, the stains on the bed.

It felt like the aftermath of a storm, luxurious and disorienting all at once.

He stood, stretched, and walked toward the window.

He held Elena’s note in hand,

Don’t forget the fire.

Elena had known him before the money, before the suits, before the corner office, and before the junior partner titles. She knew him when he had been young and full of dreams. When he’d stormed into a court room to defend a family from ICE, when he’d cursed out a detective for speaking to his client without him present, when he believed he could change the world.

Back then, he carried the fire.

He looked down at the note again.

Maybe it was time to find it again.

———

Vivian climbed into the backseat of the car, her silver-blonde hair a tousled mess beneath oversized sunglasses. Her dress from the night before clung to her like a guilty secret.

“Shit,” she muttered, slumping into the leather seat.

“What?” Elena asked, closing the door behind her and raising the privacy partition with one practiced push.

“I think I left my earring behind.”

Elena snorted, stretching as she leaned into the seat. “That’s not all we left behind.”

Vivian cracked a smirk. “He better appreciate it. That thing cost more than his watch.”

Elena laughed a low, rough sound, the edge of exhaustion in her voice. “God, Viv. I think we’re getting too old for this. My back is going to hurt for a week.”

“It’s those tits of yours,” Vivian replied without missing a beat.

“You’ve never complained before.”

“And I’m not now,” she said, adjusting her seat. “Next time I get a turn with those, got it?”

“Next time we’re in Turks and Caicos,” Elena said, closing her eyes.

Vivian grinned, leaning her head back against the seat. “Now that’s a fantasy worth chasing.”

A beat of silence passed, heavy but easy. The city rolled past outside, muted by the tinted glass.

“I hope he takes the note to heart,” Elena said softly.

Vivian lifted her head, just slightly. “You think he will?”

Elena shrugged. “Hard to say. But he’s always been the kind of man who needed reminding.”

Vivian smiled faintly. “Well, if that didn’t remind him, nothing will.”

They lapsed into quiet again. The kind that came only after long nights and longer histories. A shared stillness. Mutual satisfaction. A touch of melancholy.

Vivian reached into her clutch, pulled out her phone, and typed something without looking.

“What are you doing?” Elena asked.

“Just texting my assistant. Tell her to cancel the breakfast with that lobbyist.”

“Why?”

Vivian smirked. “Because I need pancakes. And Advil. And possibly a chiropractor.”

Elena chuckled. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the fun one,” Vivian said, slipping her sunglasses down to flash a look over the rim.

Elena shook her head and let it fall to rest on Vivian’s shoulder. “God help the next poor bastard who crosses our path.”

Vivian stretched, unapologetically smug. “God help the one who doesn’t.”