Chapter 3

Pierce. 

I leaned back, sipping my drink as Zane waltzed in. He looked around, his eyes scanning the penthouse with that damn grin of his.

“Looks spotless,” he said, taking it all in. “You finally hired someone who knows how to clean?”

I gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, thanks to your stupid harem, my place looked like a damn p**n set.”

Zane threw his head back, laughing. “It wasn’t a harem, Pierce. Just a few guests.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Next time, use your house.”

He plopped down into one of my leather chairs, looking entirely too comfortable. “Can’t. It’s under renovation. The place is a mess right now.”

“Figures,” I muttered. “You know, I’m starting to think you only bring people over to my place when you want to ruin my life.”

Zane just grinned. “Nah. Where’s the fun in that?”

Before I could shoot back with some snarky remark, a loud, obnoxious tune blared through the penthouse, immediately getting under my skin. I frowned, pausing mid-sip, as the sound nearly assaulted my ears.

“What the hell is that noise? Zane is that your phone.” I growled.

Zane didn’t even flinch. “No, it's not me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Seriously?”

Zane just shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be yours. Or maybe it’s someone trying to prank you.”

I stood up, swearing under my breath. The song was like nails on a chalkboard. It was coming from the couch, and the sooner I found the source, the better. I marched over to the couch, already irritated. 

And then I saw it.

Half-buried under two throw pillows, a phone with a pink Hello Kitty case. I stared at it for a moment, blinking as if I was seeing things. 

Of course, it would be her phone. Why wouldn’t it be?

I picked it up, already annoyed. A missed call from some unknown number. And then—of course—there was a text message.

“Bitch better have my money!!!!!”

I stared at the message, my jaw tightening. No way was this her phone. 

“The hell?” I muttered to myself. I looked at Zane, who was still lounging on the chair, clearly amused. 

“This... this is hers,” I said, holding up the phone.

"Whose phone?" Zane asked, raising a brow.

"Some annoying little creature who had the nerve to insult me in my own damn house," I replied.

Zane burst out laughing.

"I told you, random hookups aren’t your thing. She even left her phone like she’s marking territory."

I scoffed. "She’s not a hookup. She’s the cleaning girl."

That only made him laugh harder.

"Where’d you find her?"

"Hell if I know. I don’t even know who vetted her. Can you believe she actually accused me of stalking her? In my own home. Said I followed her to her workplace. She even called my security on me."

Zane’s grin widened. “She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that.”

"Yeah, it was so embarrassing. She's more annoying than a squirrel." I replied. 

Zane was doubled over now, wiping tears from his face.

And yeah… looking back, it was a little funny. The girl really thought I was stalking her—in my own house.

Zane leaned forward, curious. He looked at the screen, then at me, and chuckled. “Well, looks like she’s got a colorful side to her.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “What do you think? Should I just leave it here until she comes back? Maybe she’ll swing by for her phone like it’s some kind of lost-and-found.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you could email her. Send a nice little ‘thanks for cleaning my place and leaving your ridiculous phone here’ text. Something like, ‘Sorry for almost running you off the road yesterday,’” he added with a tease.

“I’m not emailing her. I literally have her phone.”I retorted.

Zane just smirked. “Why not? Don't you want to be the hero that saves her day?" 

I gave him a scornful glare. 

" Stop watching anime, Zane. " I say walking past him. 

I set the phone back on the coffee table, trying to ignore the part of me that was definitely curious to see what that phone contained. 

Zane wipes the last of his tears, still grinning.  

"Well, why don't you give it to me, I take it to her? You got her address, right?"

I shoot him a look. "You? Absolutely not. You're a menace. Too perverted. I don't trust you within a hundred feet of her."

He raises both hands in mock surrender. "Wow. Me? Perverted?"

"Aren't you currently dating an I*******m model while simultaneously screwing her celebrity best friend?" I raise a brow.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. "It’s not cheating if it’s just an arrangement. She knows the game."

Zane reaches for the phone on the coffee table, but I beat him to it, snatching it and casually taking it and placing it on the kitchen counter.

"Relax," I say, walking away. "She’ll come back for it. They always do."

~~~~

Alexis.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it might send me a divine email confirming my fate.Definitely fired. There was no way Pierce Carter, King of Pettiness and Passive Aggression, was going to let today slide. I'd probably made history as the fastest-fired cleaner in New York.

Still… It was weird.

No email. No text. Not even a passive-aggressive call.

I sighed and finally reached for my purse. Maybe I'd missed the notification, or I’d silenced my phone out of subconscious self-preservation.

Except… my phone wasn’t there.

I frowned, digging deeper, pulling out receipts, half-melted lip balm, and a broken hair tie. No sign of my phone.

“Don’t tell me…” I whispered to myself, my heart sinking.

I left my phone. In that man’s penthouse!

I could practically hear Pierce’s deep voice now, holding my phone like it was a hostage. Or worse—snooping through it. God, what if he went through my camera roll? My chats?

"Nope, not happening," I muttered, snatching my car keys from the nightstand.

If he hadn’t fired me already, he would the second he read those unfiltered texts I sent Sierra.

I was out the door in record time.

The elevator doors slid open and I stepped into the penthouse like I belonged there—well, sort of. My eyes immediately landed on a man lounging in the living room, gulping down whiskey like it was water. He looked up, eyebrows lifting, eyes dragging down my body with bold curiosity. Great! another arrogant male specimen with too much money and not enough manners.

He was attractive, I’d give him that. Light brown hair styled in a wolf cut, jawline sharp enough to slice egos, and the same kind of effortless confidence Pierce wore like an expensive suit. They had to be friends. Or maybe members of some secret rich-boy society that thrived on fear.

“Looking for something?” Pierce’s voice came from behind the bar. I turned to him, expression neutral.

“My phone. Did you see it?”

He didn’t even blink. “Nope.”

Liar.

Before I could say more, the whiskey-guzzler leaned forward. “What’s your number? I could call it. See if it rings anywhere?”

His voice was flirtatious. I hesitated.

“Uh, sure, it’s 7—”

“I found it,” Pierce cut in, appearing with my phone in his hand like he hadn’t just lied to my face thirty seconds ago.

I walked toward him, stopping right in front of him and glaring up. “Give it to me.”

He raised it above his head like we were in some twisted adult version of monkey-in-the-middle.

“You’re such a child,” I snapped, standing on my toes to reach it. My chest brushed against him—God, he was solid—and I instinctively grabbed his shirt to steady myself.

And he didn’t move.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

“You like this,” I accused, breath short. “You just want to see me shake my goods.”

Pierce didn’t say anything at first, but I swore I saw it—a twitch at the corner of his lips.

His friend choked back a laugh.

Busted.

Pierce finally handed over the phone with a slow smirk. I snatched it, shooting him a glare, and turned on my

heel.

As the elevator doors closed behind me, I reached out to press the down button. But just before I could, I heard his friend’s voice from inside.

“Damn, I see why you haven’t fired her yet.”