The Hush Affair

Janice’s Perspective

“I’ve handled some strange situations in my career,” I said, staring at the disaster zone that used to be my desk, “but I think this one officially wins.”

Across from me, Piper owner of Manhattan’s soon-to-be most talked-about hotel lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You think?” she asked calmly.

I gestured at the collection spread out between us.

My desk, which normally held contracts, spreadsheets, and color-coded opening schedules, was now covered in adult toys.

There were so many. Some pink. Some purple. Some shaped like animals, why animals? and others that looked… well. Exactly like what you’d expect. Then there were the ones with cords, the ones that needed batteries, and a few that looked powerful enough to jump-start a truck.

I rubbed my temples. “Okay. We go safe. Middle of the road. Nothing that’s going to traumatize a guest on check-in.”

Piper nodded thoughtfully, holding up something shaped like a teddy bear. “So… no woodland creatures?”

“Absolutely not.” I reached over and swept every blinking, smiling, fuzzy, or disturbingly realistic item into a large box on the floor. “If it has eyes, it’s out.”

“I think two per suite is enough,” I said, trying to sound professional while holding something that absolutely did not belong in a board meeting. “Replacing them daily is going to cost a fortune.”

“The bulk order will help,” Piper replied, examining another option. She tilted her head. “I swear I dated someone shaped like this.”

I snorted before I could stop myself.

When she’d first dumped the giant shipment on my desk earlier, we’d laughed like teenagers for a solid half hour. At one point I had to sit on the floor because I couldn’t breathe.

But this wasn’t a joke. Not really.

In two months, we were opening the most daring luxury hotel in New York.

A place designed for couples. For privacy. For pleasure. For adults who didn’t pretend they were booking a room just to “get some sleep.”

Each suite would have its own private cabinet stocked with carefully chosen accessories. Silks. Oils. Discreet items that enhanced the experience without crossing into tacky. The sheets were custom. The bathtubs oversized. The lighting soft and erotic.

Nothing cheap. Nothing sleazy.

And it was already causing a stir, and we weren’t even open yet.

Which meant this order had to be right.

“This one runs on double A batteries,” Piper said. “We should probably include extras.”

“Definitely,” I said. “Nothing ruins the mood like a dead battery.”

Two hours later, we finally made our final selections. By then, my brain felt like it had melted.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:27 p.m., and I’d skipped dinner again. My stomach had given up complaining.

Thank God I was staying in one of the penthouse suites during pre-opening. If I had to commute on top of this schedule, I might actually cry in a cab.

Being general manager sounded glamorous until you realized it meant responsibility for absolutely everything.

Piper of course, still looked annoyingly flawless. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a morning photoshoot. Hair smooth. Makeup perfect. Not a wrinkle in sight.

Of course she did. Being Piper Devon meant cameras, headlines, and people waiting for you to slip. Heiress to a fortune. Used to pressure. Used to attention. And somehow still genuinely kind.

“You didn’t eat,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me.

I waved a hand. “I’ve got crackers upstairs. Maybe almonds. I’ll survive.”

“If you pass out from exhaustion, I’m putting it in your performance review.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll eat something green tomorrow.”

She leaned back against the edge of my desk, crossing her arms. “Or,” she said slowly, “you could go upstairs and personally confirm that we selected the right… products.”

I didn’t even blush.

Honestly, the idea didn’t sound terrible.

I’d been in here for four months, and my life consisted of staff meetings, vendor contracts, and linen samples. I hadn’t made real friends. I definitely hadn’t dated. My evenings were spreadsheets and room inspections.

“Let’s be honest,” I said. “A battery-powered boyfriend might be the most dependable relationship option I have right now.”

Piper’s smile turned sharp. “That’s interesting. Because I’ve seen you.”

My stomach tightened. “Seen me what?”

“Oh, please.” She waved her hand dramatically. “The carpenter. The tall one. Blue eyes. Looks like he was carved out of a romance novel cover.”

I tried very hard to look offended. Failed. “Nick is a baby.”

“Mm-hmm. A very attractive baby.”

“He can’t be older than twenty-five.”

“And?”

I stared at her. “I’m almost forty.”

She blinked slowly, as if I’d said something completely irrelevant. “And?”

“And I’m the general manager of this hotel,” I continued. “He installs cabinets.”

“And?”

“And he is ridiculously younger than me.”

Piper’s perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted again. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You run this entire place. Janice, that man looks at you like you’re dessert.”

Heat crept up my neck. I hated that she wasn’t wrong.

Nick and I had been flirting for weeks. Small talks. Lingering glances in the hallway. The kind of charged eye contact that made my stomach flip like I was nineteen again.

It was harmless.

I opened my mouth to argue again, then shut it. There was no winning this.

Yes, I’d noticed the way he looked at me. Yes, I’d imagined what it might feel like to stop pretending I hadn’t.

But imagining was safe. Actually doing something? That was different.

I grabbed my purse from the drawer and slung it over my shoulder. “I’m going upstairs before you convince me to make bad decisions.”

“Janice,” Piper called, softer now. “What do you really have to lose?”

I turned toward her. “Professional boundaries? My dignity? My carefully constructed image as a serious adult?”

She laughed under her breath. “You’re in a hotel built on pleasure. You think seriousness is what we’re selling?”

I shook my head, though a smile tugged at my lips.

“I’m the general manager,” I said. “He’s a carpenter. And he’s young enough to make this complicated.”

“Honey,” Piper said, giving me that dazzling, dangerous smile of hers, “you work at Hush. The regular rules don’t apply.”