Emily’s POV

The heavy oak door of penthouse 54A clicked shut behind me as I stepped into the private, carpeted hallway of the floor the next morning.

I was swathed in nothing but one of Daniel’s crisp, white, oversized button-down shirts that hung halfway down my thighs, the sleeves rolled up twice to keep my hands free. The delivery bag from the high-end bistro downstairs I had came out to pick up was warm in my hands, smelling rich with garlic, ginger, and spiced beef broth—the ultimate hangover cure.

Before I could turn the handle to go back inside, the door directly across the hall—penthouse 54B—swung open.

Ethan stepped out,...