The Uber ride through fog wrap streets was tense. Neither of us addressed the obvious issue. One room. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur through the mist, my mind racing through the implications. This would fuel every rumor back at Sterling. One room, stepmother and stepson. The gossip would be merciless. The harbor in was a modest chain hotel, its exterior lit by muted neon in the foggy darkness. The lobby was small and tired looking with worn carpets and a yawning night clerk who barely looked up as he processed Victoria’s credit card.
Room 318. Elevators to your right. Sorry about the accommodation shortage. This conference has the whole city packed. We rode the elevator in suffocating silence. Victoria’s jaw was set, her eyes fixed on the floor, numbers ticking upward. I kept my gaze on my shoes, my heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and something else I couldn’t quite name. The room was smaller than I’d hoped. Beige walls with faded coastal prints, a queen bed dominating the space. A small love seat shoved in the corner that looked about 4 ft long and a cramped bathroom with harsh fluorescent lighting.
The fog pressed against the window, obscuring any view. Victoria set down her bag with a controlled exhale. She turned to face me, her expression unreadable, but her posture rigid. The hotel has only one room. My face flushed hot. The absurdity and awkwardness of the situation crashed over me. I’ll sleep outside the room, the hallway, the lobby. I don’t care. This is This is inappropriate. Don’t be ridiculous, she said, her tone flat and businesslike, though I detected a hint of strain underneath.
There’s a couch. We’re adults with a $2.3 billion deal tomorrow. We need to be professional and well-rested. Get over it. She immediately began unpacking her things with efficient movements, hanging up her suit for tomorrow, organizing her materials on the small desk. I stood frozen for a moment, then grabbed the spare blankets from the closet and claimed the love seat, which was laughably small for my 6-ft frame. “Bathrooms yours first?” Victoria said without looking at me. her fingers already flying across her laptop keyboard.
I nodded, grabbing my toiletry bag and escaping into the bathroom. Under the hot shower, I let the water stream over me, trying to process the situation. This was a nightmare. Not just the sleeping arrangement, but everything. It represented years of careful distance, of professional boundaries, of unspoken family complications, all compressed into this tiny hotel room. When I emerged in sweats and a t-shirt, Victoria barely glanced up from her work. I arranged myself on the love seat, which was even more uncomfortable than it looked.
My legs dangled off the end. The armrest dug into my back, and the cushions were lumpy and worn, but I was determined to make it work. I pulled out my tablet, pretending to review notes, though my focus was completely shot. Victoria disappeared into the bathroom, and I heard the shower running for a long time. When she emerged, she was in yoga pants and an oversized Stamford sweatshirt, her usually immaculate hair damp and loose around her shoulders. It was jarring.
I’d never seen her look so human. Less the intimidating partner, more like an actual person. She glanced at my awkward position on the love seat, her expression softening slightly. That can’t possibly be comfortable. I’m fine. I lied, shifting to avoid the armrest jabbing into my ribs. She climbed into the bed on the far side, propping up pillows to work on her tablet. The room fell into tense silence, broken only by the hum of the heating unit and the occasional tap of her screen.
I tried to sleep. I really did. But the love seat was torture. My mind wouldn’t stop racing. And the awareness of Victoria just 10 ft away made everything feel surreal. An hour passed, maybe more. I shifted positions constantly, trying to find something tolerable. Around 3:00 a.m., her voice cut through the darkness, soft but clear. Ethan, you’re not sleeping. I can hear you shifting every 2 minutes. I froze. I am fine. Just adjusting. A long pause hung in the air, heavy with unspoken things.
Then quietly, “Do you know why I chose you for this trip?” I sat up in the darkness, my heart suddenly pounding for different reasons. I could barely make out her silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. “Honestly,” I thought maybe you felt obligated because of dad. Because of family guilt or responsibility or something? Your father has nothing to do with this. Her voice was sharp, almost cutting, then it softened. That’s what everyone will think. I know.
But in meetings, you’re the only one who challenges my models without ego. You see patterns others miss. Your cryptocurrency hedge strategy was genuinely innovative. Marcus would have just recycled conventional wisdom. Silence settled between us again, but it felt different now, less awkward, more expectant. Then she continued, her voice dropping lower, more vulnerable than I had ever heard it. I grew up in Taipei until I was 12. My parents were both academics, demanding perfectionist. When we immigrated here, I had to be perfect at everything just to keep up.
