There’s not a fucking chance that I’m telling the woman who’s killing my career that my sister loves her.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi I’ve taken pulls up in front of the hotel where I live so that I can retrieve a brief I left here last night. And look, I’m not a total prick, but I make damn good money as a partner at the entertainment law firm that my father founded. And with the kind of hours that I work—often over a hundred a week—living in the penthouse of one of the mostprestigious hotels in New York City just makes sense for my lifestyle.
I’ve got a doorman, 24/7 security, a restaurant downstairs for meals, and someone to take care of my laundry without me having to lift a finger.
It’s the perfect setup for a busy thirty-five-year-old man like me who doesn’t have the time or energy to deal with anything outside of the scope of my career.
I jab thePHbutton as the elevator doors slide open and step inside. By the time it dings at the top floor, my eyes are glued to my phone, my brain still tangled up in work.
Another email from my dad rolls in, the tenth in the last hour. This one’s about the case I just lost asking how the hell I could have fucked it up. It isn’t a minor one like Madison and Matt’s. This one was important and one I would normally never lose.
I look up just in time to nearly eat it over the cleaning cart that’s parked right in the middle of my foyer.
“Shit.”
I don’t usually come home during the daytime, so running into the cleaning staff who tidy up weekly is a never occurrence for me. I’m only here for a brief break and to pick up some paperwork that I left in my home office before a meeting with more clients this evening.
I look around the corner, searching for the maid who’s on shift today and then freeze when my eyes find her in my living room. She’s got her earbuds in, oblivious to my presence while she works, vacuuming out couch cushions that I know can’t be dirty considering I never use them.
I’ve passed the staff on occasion when coming and going—skin-tight, black skirts, white shirts buttoned all the way to the top—it’s nothing to get worked up over. But this maid? Her curves fill out that skirt in a way that doesn’t belong in a uniform. The kind of curves that demand attention, the kind that have my mind immediately shifting gears because I think I recognize them.
There’s no fucking way.
I step forward tentatively, trying not to scare her and be creepy, but wanting to be sure she knows that I’m here. She fluffs one of the pillows on the living room couch, humming what sounds like is a Katy Perry song.
I’m not sure what compels me other than the magnetic pull that I always feel around her. My hand reaches out to touch her shoulder, but she whips around first, her fist cocked backwards in a protective stance like she’s going to hit me.
“What the fuck!” she yells, clutching her chest as I freeze in place, completely in shock to see it’s really her.
“Rhiannon?” I whisper.
She yanks out an ear bud, head moving from side to side like she’s trying to figure out where she is.
“What are you… what are you doing in here? You can’t be in here,” she demands like she can tell me that I’m not allowed to be in my own damn house. Is this a joke?
“Ah, pretty sure I should be the one telling you that you can’t be in here.”
Her brows furrow. “What, do you live here or something?”
“Obviously. You can’t get to this floor without the goddamn key. Why areyouin here?”
She scoffs. “Of course you live here. What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? Stalking you?” she laughs, loudly. “I’m at work, Cain.”
“Work?”
She nods. “I know you know all about that. Some people go to fancy law offices and defend ridiculous lawsuits that sue innocent women who can’t afford the legal fees, and other people, like me, go to their jobs at hotels and clean up after the rich who live there.”
My brows crash together. She works as a maid for the hotel where I live. What are the fucking chances she’d work atmyhotel?
Zero. The answer is zero.
Unless the universe was trying to force two completely oblivious and opposite people together. Which is how this whole thing’s starting to feel.
But now that she’s here, the woman that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, I can’t help wanting her to stay. I can’t help myself from wanting to banter with her. To drag out my stay and talk to her about absolutely nothing.
And again, this is why this whole thing makes zero sense. Because instead of grabbing the paperwork from my home office and heading back across town, I’m distracted. Unfocused. Just like my dad said in his email.
And she’s the reason.
