T-shirt Thief

Lucas's POV

The sound of the door clicking shut dragged me out of bed.

Finally. That took her long enough.

I’d been awake for at least twenty minutes, staring at the window and wondering why the hell the rent girl was still here. Usually, they were gone before I even opened my eyes — quiet, discreet, professional. This one? Not so much.

I thought about shaking her awake, telling her to get dressed and get out, but… I didn’t.

Something about her face stopped me.

Weird. I never lingered or cared.

With a groan, I sat up and rolled my shoulders, the stiffness cracking through my neck. I turned, scanning the bedstand for the envelope I’d set aside last night — crisp cash, no strings, the usual. It was still there untouched.

"She didn’t take the money?" I muttered, rubbing a hand over my jaw. "What kind of rent girl forgets her damn paycheck?"

I sighed again, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. "Great. Maybe she wants a reason to come back. Not happening."

Grabbing my phone, I hit the call button.

"Boss," came the sharp voice on the other end.

"Check with the agency," I said, my voice rough with morning and irritation. "Tell them their girl left without her pay. Find out if she’s planning to pull a stunt."

There was a pause. "Which girl, sir?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "The one from last night, obviously. The—"

My mind blanked. Shit. What was her name again?

Did I get a name from her? I wouldn't remember anyways.

I let out a sharp breath. "Just check the booking under my name. Don’t make me repeat myself."

"Uh— boss," His voice came through the speaker, this time half nervous, half sleepy. "Uh, the girl who was supposed to come last night—she, uh, fell sick. Fever. Agency said she never left her apartment. I tried calling you, but—"

I froze. "What?"

He hesitated. "She didn’t show. I was gonna tell you—"

"Who the fuck did I sleep with, then?" I snapped, my voice dropping low, rough, unfamiliar even to me.

"I’ll… I’ll check with them sir," he stammered. "Give me five minutes—"

I cut the call before he could finish.

For a second, I just stood there, phone still in my hand, pulse pounding in my throat. My head was a mess — last night had already been half a blur, and now it felt like a goddamn black hole.

"How the hell did she get in?" I muttered.

I wasn’t an idiot — the suite was private, key card only. She couldn’t have just wandered in. Someone had to open that door.

Oh shit — I left the door opened. For the original girl I requested to come in easily.

I raked a hand through my hair and let out a sharp laugh, dry and humorless. "Great, Lucas. You’ve either been robbed, set up, or blessed with the world’s boldest drunk."

Flashes of her appearance flickered in my head.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, small hands. A lost, dizzy look — like she was trying to forget something. It fit the description I gave my guy exactly, down to the way she even played drunk.

So what the hell went wrong?

Was this some kind of setup? A prank? Or worse?

I shook the thought off and stood up, reaching for my shirt — only to find empty space.

"What the—" I checked the bed, the chair, the damn floor. No black T-shirt. Gone.

I stared at the room, disbelief twisting into a groan. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

She didn’t take the money, but she took my T-shirt?

My foot hit something soft. I looked down — a shredded piece of fabric. Her black dress, now torn in half.

"Fuck." I dragged a palm down my face. "Yeah, let’s not relive that part."

I sank onto the edge of the bed, breathing out through my teeth. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to drop it, to let it go, to move on like I always did.

But something didn’t sit right. She wasn’t supposed to be there.

And I was going to find out who she was.

*

I waved my hand at the hotel staff, letting him finish his spiel before I even had to open my mouth.

"She left… sharply, minutes ago," he said, eyebrows raised. "Didn’t leave a name, sir. No identity whatsoever."

I exhaled slowly, letting the edge of irritation fade into the kind of indifferent calm I wore like armor.

"Is there a problem, sir?" the staff asked cautiously. "I can pull the security footage if you want to see when she left."

I raised a hand, cutting him off. "No. Don’t bother."

I quickly told myself not to care. Maybe she’d made a mistake, stumbled into the wrong suite. As long as she didn’t take anything else apart from my black T-shirt—my favorite—then fine. Let it go. Part of the usual routine: fuck, forget, move on.

"Thanks. That’ll be all," I said, voice clipped.

The staff nodded and left.

I stood there for a second, letting the silence stretch, then shrugged and muttered to no one, "Whatever. Forget her. Routine."

And I walked away, already trying to push the entire incident into the compartment I reserved for women I’d never see again.

____

The Arizona sun cut through the glass walls of my office, but I barely noticed. My leg was crossed over the other, chair tilted back, as "girl"—my assistant whose name I never bothered to remember—briefed me on the Vegas business deal.

Two days had passed since I fucked with that T-shirt thief, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t erase her from my thoughts.

A memory hit me uninvited. Her voice, soft and shaky.

~Butterfly guy…~

I chuckled lightly, shaking my head. None of the women I’d been with had ever called me that. That was funny, and weirdly… cute.

"Sir?" My assistant’s voice cut through, a little sharper than I liked. "Did I say something funny?"

I waved her off, letting her know it wasn’t worth explaining. "Continue."

She nodded, swallowing, and went on. "You have a meeting with the government official regarding the building construction deal. They’re ready to seal it."

"I see," I barely raised an eyebrow. "If that’s all, you can go."

She bowed, retreating gracefully.

Not long after, the intercom buzzed. "Mr. Sky, Alex Perigon is here, waiting in the lobby."

Alex. My guy. The one who handled the rent girl bookings. He definitely had news about the T-shirt thief.

I straightened in my chair, adjusting my cufflinks, masking the spike of anticipation in my chest. "Send him in."

*

Alex perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, flipping open his laptop. "Boss, I pulled some info on the woman from Vegas. Full background — company, family, everything public record could give us."

I leaned forward slightly, my eyes narrowing at the screen. The first image popped up: a perfectly staged photo of a woman with long blonde hair, sitting between a man and a girl in a formal setting. Smiles painted on, a picture of a "perfect" family.

I rubbed my chin, my voice low and rough. "Eleanor Harper…"

Alex cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. CEO of Royal Retails Group in Los Angeles. Inherited it from her late parents. Company’s solid, but rumors has it, that it's currently struggling.

Uhm– she's married for twenty years. Daughter — sixteen, supposed heir to the business."

I scrolled slowly through the tabs, drinking it in.

Eleanor Harper... Her name sounds familiar.