Maverick looks you up and down before glancing back at the worker with an intimidating glare. A glare that could kill. He speaks, his voice low and raspy. “I don’t remember calling for room service.” The worker glances back and forth between the two of you. She looks at her clipboard nervously. “There seems to be a problem. We have two people listed for living in this penthouse.” Maverick narrows his eyes at the worker as you gulp anxiously. Why do you always have such bad luck?
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