Don turned his head first, not toward the door, but toward Winter.
"Let's pick this up tomorrow," he said, already moving to the door.
Winter inclined her head a fraction. No comment. Just acknowledgment.
The door slid open.
Sylvia stood on the other side with a grin. She'd changed—purple silk nightie clinging close, thin straps resting on her shoulders, fabric catching the hallway light in soft ripples as she shifted her weight.
The material hugged her hips before falling loose again, smooth, like she'd planned exactly how it would move.
She wasn't alone.
Summer stood beside her, arms folded, posture stiff. Booty shorts in soft gray rode high on her thighs, paired with white socks pulled just below the knee. A cropped vest—dark green, snug across her chest—left her midriff bare.
Don's gaze passed over both of them once. Then he yawned, slow and unbothered, rubbing the corner of one eye.
"What do you guys want?"
