This time, I waited until I heard the sound of the shower running before I made my move.
I turned on all the lights and examined the keypad from every angle, but there were no signs of wear to give away which numbers he used for the code.
I tried his birthday, his bank PIN, his mother's birthday, his brother's birthday—all of them were wrong.
Giving up, I used the hotel phone to call the front desk and ask for the code. They told me it was set by the guest. If forgotten, it would have to be reset, but only the registered guest could contact the manager to do so; the front desk had no authority over the presidential suite.
"…"
I didn't know the phone numbers of anyone else traveling with our group, and I couldn't really call the police. My relationship with Steven was too complicated. Even if the cops showed up, he'd have a million excuses to brush it off. Unless I was willing to press sexual harassment charges, which would completely derail my chances in the competition.
That son of a bitch. How was he so rich? A forty percent stake must have cost him tens of millions. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd invested so heavily just to have this kind of leverage over me now!
I sat on the sofa, my thoughts a jumbled mess, and ran my hands through my hair in frustration.
I hated Steven. He was so infuriating. How had he become so damn annoying!
…
I don't know how much time passed before Steven came out of the bathroom. He was wearing a bathrobe, drying his short hair with a white towel. His bangs fell across his forehead, softening his sharp features and giving him a more gentle, refined look.
He was handsome, with a youthful charm that reminded me of a clean-cut college heartthrob.
I glanced at him, then crossed my arms and resumed my cold expression.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Steven went to get the food.
I followed him immediately, but I couldn't see the code he entered before the door swung open. A very pretty woman in a hotel uniform smiled as she wheeled in a cart with our two meals.

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