I held Cheon's hand as we walked into the elevator. Her palm felt cool against mine, but I could sense her pulse hammering through her wrist. She was nervous. Good. Nervous meant real. Nervous meant she cared about what happened next.
"Penthouse," I said, swiping my keycard and watching her eyes widen as the elevator shot upward without stopping at any other floors.
She didn't say anything during the ride up. Just stood there looking like someone had replaced the uptight class rep with an actual human woman. Her hair was down. Black dress hugging curves I'd suspected existed under that buttoned-up uniform. Makeup subtle enough that most guys wouldn't notice, but I did.
The dress was new. Tags probably cut off in the store bathroom. The perfume was expensive. Not hers. Borrowed or purchased specifically for tonight. Everything about her screamed effort.
I'd made Hae-Won Cheon, perfect student and professional pain in my ass, care enough to try.
