Lexi

The flickering fluorescent light above my desk was trying to kill me. I was sure of it.  

I squinted at my computer screen, zooming in on yet another grainy photo, this time of some D-list actor getting handsy with his assistant in a nightclub bathroom. The pixels were so bad it looked like Bigfoot footage.  

This is what I went to journalism school for?  

Holy crap!

I held my head in frustration. This shitty life is getting on my nerves. 

Across the cramped office, Mia Torres, my only ally at The Daily Buzz, caught my eye and mimed hanging herself with a phone cord. I snorted, nearly choking on my third cup of shitty office coffee.  

“At least you get to go out and work.” She said, rolling her eyes. “I only get to sit here all day, staring into space. My life is worse than yours, Lexi.”

My heart sank. “We don't even get to date.” I hissed. 

Mia chuckled. “Can you marry you,” she pointed at my already worn out jacket. “...in this state.”

I laughed, tilting my head back. “Never.”

Mia pouted. “So don't blame innocent guys.”

“Carter!” Frank Moore's voice cut through the office like a rusty knife. My boss loomed over my desk, his cheap suit reeking of cigarettes and… failure. He slapped a folder down hard enough to make my empty coffee cup rattle. “Drop the Z-list crap. I've got your next assignment.”  

I flipped open the folder. A glossy 8x10 headshot of a man stared back at me, all sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and a smirk that probably made stockbrokers wet their pants.  

“Let me guess,” I deadpanned. “Another billionaire with a God complex? What's his crime, killing puppies? Or does he enjoy watching peasants like me suffer.”

“It's not funny.” Frank rolled his eyes. “He is Lucian Cross. The CEO of Cross Media Entertainment who just bought out three rival networks. Rumor has it he's got skeletons in his closet big enough to sell papers for months.” He leaned in, his coffee breath making my eyes water. “Get me something explosive, or start cleaning out your desk.”

The unspoken threat hung in the air. My last paycheck had barely covered rent, let alone the mountain of my father's gambling debts. And my mother's columbarium had just sent another notice, apparently even dead people weren't immune to California's rent hikes.  

Two hours later, I stood in front of my cracked full-length mirror, twisting to see how much of my cheap black dress actually covered my ass. The answer, not enough.

Mia whistled from my bed where she was painting her nails. “Damn, girl. You clean up nice for someone about to commit felony trespassing.”

“I'm not trespassing,” I muttered, struggling with the zipper. “I have a press pass.”  

Her eyes bulged. “A fake press pass.”

“Semantics.” The zipper finally gave way, taking a chunk of my dignity with it. 

“You're unbelievable, Lexi.” Mia rolled her eyes, focusing on her nails.

“Besides, it's a charity gala.” They let anyone in if they think you'll donate.” I pointed out.  

Mia arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You look like you donate to the 'needs ramen money' foundation.”  

I flipped her off and grabbed my thrift-store clutch. Inside is my fake credentials, a mini recorder, and the last shreds of my self-respect.  

“I'll be here praying you don't get caught.” She said, like she meant it. I know she’ll be eating all day.

“Hmm,” I nodded. “So nice of you, girlfriend.” 

I stepped out of my apartment and based on where I was going to…I needed to have more money.

I stepped back in and just as I had suspected, she was already eating my food. 

“You know that’s all I have left, Mia.” I said, my heart aching as she took the next bite of my burger. 

She didn't even reply. 

“You got some money?” I asked. 

“What for?” She asked, her mouth full.

“You know I can't show up there looking like a charity case. I need to order an Uber.”

Mia chuckled. “Well…girl, you're a charity case. You’re broke.”

“Just give me the money, you sick ass.” I snatched the few dollars from her hand and hurried out of the room.

I arrived at the Grand Atherton Hotel right on time. 

The hotel looked like someone had vomited money all over it. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors so shiny I could see my reflection in them, and the clear panic in my eyes.  

A security guard eyed my thrift-store dress skeptically as I clutched my fake press pass like a lifeline.

“Daily... Metropolitan?” he asked,  squinting at my forged credentials.  

“New digital division,” I lied smoothly. “We cover… philanthropy in the tech sector.”  

Miraculously, he waved me through.  

The ballroom was a sea of designer gowns and inflated egos. I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter, downing it in one gulp. Liquid courage.  

A cluster of socialites nearby eyed me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into their showroom.  

“Who invited the help?” One whispered behind her champagne flute.  

“Probably some blogger,” her friend sneered. “She’s here for the free food.”

I resisted the urge to flip them off and turned towards the crowd. Well girls, I'm actually here to ruin someone's life, and my target was Lucian Cross. 

I hate them. I hate them all. Billionaire’s guts just make my stomach churn.

I scanned the crowd frantically, almost tripping on a waiter. I can't be here for long.

Then bam, I saw him. Lucían Cross. 

He moved through the room like a panther. Every head turned in his direction. Every conversation stuttered. The man radiated power in a way that made my skin prickle.  

Target acquired.  

I adjusted my camera and began weaving through the crowd, keeping him in my sights. The plan was simple, get close enough for some incriminating photos, maybe catch him saying something awful to a waiter, standard rich asshole behavior.  

Then disaster struck.  

My stupid thrift-store heel caught on the marble. I pitched forward, right into a wall of expensive suit.  

Strong hands caught my waist, steadying me. The scent of bergamot and something woodsy filled my nose.  

Oh. My. God.

I looked up into the most unfairly handsome face I'd ever seen. Lucian Cross's blue eyes burned into mine, his lips quirking in amusement.  

“You're not very subtle, Miss Carter.” He said, plucking the camera from my hand like I was holding a forbidden toy.

My heart hammered against my ribs. 

How does he know my name?!

I tried my best to bring myself back. 

“And you're not very honest,” I forced a smirk, ignoring the way my skin burned where his fingers had brushed mine. “What are you hiding, Mr. Cross?” 

His smirk deepened. “Tell you what. You want a real story? I’ll give you one,” he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “But you’ll write what I say.” 

I scoffed. “Dream on. I only write the truth. I am not someone you can buy over with your money.” 

He arched a brow. “I’ll give you exclusive access to my world?”

The room erupted into gasps. They have been watching from the beginning when I collided with him. 

I swallowed hard. This is a trap.

I should have suspected something was off when he didn't call the cops on me from the start.

But my rent was due. My father's debt collectors were breathing down on my neck, and Frank would fire me if I came back empty-handed. 

I raised my chin as though I was about to reject the offer. “Fine. But I don't take orders well.”

Lucian grinned. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression hardening. He slipped a business card into my clutch. “The contract will be ready by eleven.”

Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.  

I stood there, stunned, until Mia's text buzzed in my pocket.    

“So... did you get arrested or laid?”

I looked down at the embossed card in my hand, Lucian Cross, CEO written in sleek black lettering, and the champagne flute I didn't remember picking up.  

“Neither,” I texted back. “Worse. I think he just offered me a job.”

“What?!  “ Mia exclaimed. 

The unspoken threat hung in the air. My last paycheck had barely covered rent, let alone the mountain of my father's gambling debts. And my mother's columbarium had just sent another notice, apparently even dead people weren't immune to California's rent hikes.  

Two hours later, I stood in front of my cracked full-length mirror, twisting to see how much of my cheap black dress actually covered my ass. The answer, not enough.

Mia whistled from my bed where she was painting her nails. “Damn, girl. You clean up nice for someone about to commit felony trespassing.”

“I'm not trespassing,” I muttered, struggling with the zipper. “I have a press pass.”  

Her eyes bulged. “A fake press pass.”

“Semantics.” The zipper finally gave way, taking a chunk of my dignity with it. 

“You're unbelievable, Lexi.” Mia rolled her eyes, focusing on her nails.

“Besides, it's a charity gala.” They let anyone in if they think you'll donate.” I pointed out.  

Mia arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You look like you donate to the 'needs ramen money' foundation.”  

I flipped her off and grabbed my thrift-store clutch. Inside is my fake credentials, a mini recorder, and the last shreds of my self-respect.  

“I'll be here praying you don't get caught.” She said, like she meant it. I know she’ll be eating all day.

“Hmm,” I nodded. “So nice of you, girlfriend.” 

I stepped out of my apartment and based on where I was going to…I needed to have more money.

I stepped back in and just as I had suspected, she was already eating my food. 

“You know that’s all I have left, Mia.” I said, my heart aching as she took the next bite of my burger. 

She didn't even reply. 

“You got some money?” I asked. 

“What for?” She asked, her mouth full.

“You know I can't show up there looking like a charity case. I need to order an Uber.”

Mia chuckled. “Well…girl, you're a charity case. You’re broke.”

“Just give me the money, you sick ass.” I snatched the few dollars from her hand and hurried out of the room.

I arrived at the Grand Atherton Hotel right on time. 

The hotel looked like someone had vomited money all over it. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors so shiny I could see my reflection in them, and the clear panic in my eyes.  

A security guard eyed my thrift-store dress skeptically as I clutched my fake press pass like a lifeline.

“Daily... Metropolitan?” he asked,  squinting at my forged credentials.  

“New digital division,” I lied smoothly. “We cover… philanthropy in the tech sector.”  

Miraculously, he waved me through.  

The ballroom was a sea of designer gowns and inflated egos. I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter, downing it in one gulp. Liquid courage.  

A cluster of socialites nearby eyed me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into their showroom.  

“Who invited the help?” One whispered behind her champagne flute.  

“Probably some blogger,” her friend sneered. “She’s here for the free food.”

I resisted the urge to flip them off and turned towards the crowd. Well girls, I'm actually here to ruin someone's life, and my target was Lucian Cross. 

I hate them. I hate them all. Billionaire’s guts just make my stomach churn.

I scanned the crowd frantically, almost tripping on a waiter. I can't be here for long.

Then bam, I saw him. Lucían Cross. 

He moved through the room like a panther. Every head turned in his direction. Every conversation stuttered. The man radiated power in a way that made my skin prickle.  

Target acquired.  

I adjusted my camera and began weaving through the crowd, keeping him in my sights. The plan was simple, get close enough for some incriminating photos, maybe catch him saying something awful to a waiter, standard rich asshole behavior.  

Then disaster struck.  

My stupid thrift-store heel caught on the marble. I pitched forward, right into a wall of expensive suit.  

Strong hands caught my waist, steadying me. The scent of bergamot and something woodsy filled my nose.  

Oh. My. God.

I looked up into the most unfairly handsome face I'd ever seen. Lucian Cross's blue eyes burned into mine, his lips quirking in amusement.  

“You're not very subtle, Miss Carter.” He said, plucking the camera from my hand like I was holding a forbidden toy.

My heart hammered against my ribs. 

How does he know my name?!

I tried my best to bring myself back. 

“And you're not very honest,” I forced a smirk, ignoring the way my skin burned where his fingers had brushed mine. “What are you hiding, Mr. Cross?” 

His smirk deepened. “Tell you what. You want a real story? I’ll give you one,” he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “But you’ll write what I say.” 

I scoffed. “Dream on. I only write the truth. I am not someone you can buy over with your money.” 

He arched a brow. “I’ll give you exclusive access to my world?”

The room erupted into gasps. They have been watching from the beginning when I collided with him. 

I swallowed hard. This is a trap.

I should have suspected something was off when he didn't call the cops on me from the start.

But my rent was due. My father's debt collectors were breathing down on my neck, and Frank would fire me if I came back empty-handed. 

I raised my chin as though I was about to reject the offer. “Fine. But I don't take orders well.”

Lucian grinned. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression hardening. He slipped a business card into my clutch. “The contract will be ready by eleven.”

Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.  

I stood there, stunned, until Mia's text buzzed in my pocket.    

“So... did you get arrested or laid?”

I looked down at the embossed card in my hand, Lucian Cross, CEO written in sleek black lettering, and the champagne flute I didn't remember picking up.  

“Neither,” I texted back. “Worse. I think he just offered me a job.”

“What?!  “ Mia exclaimed. 

Lucian   

The moment Lexi Carter stumbled into me at the gala, two things came to mind. Firstly, she was the worst spy I'd ever seen, and secondly, I had to have her.  

Not like that. Though the way her ridiculous dress clung to her hips certainly didn't hurt. But what fascinated me was the fire in her eyes when she accused me of dishonesty. Most people either feared me or wanted something from me. Lexi looked at me like I was a stain on her favorite shoes.  

Finally, someone interesting.  I smirked.

At the gala, the champagne flute in my hand was just for show. I hadn't taken a sip all evening. I was too busy watching the little journalist from The Daily Buzz make her terrible attempt at espionage. Lexi Carter moved through the charity gala like a bull in a crystal shop, her cheap black dress and scuffed heels standing out among the designer gowns like a warning sign.

Gregory appeared at my elbow. “She hacked our press list to get in, sir. Should I have security remove her?”

I watched as Lexi nearly tripped over a waiter, catching herself at the last second. The flush that crept up her neck was almost... charming. “No,” I said, finishing my untouched drink. “I'll handle this one personally.”

The moment she collided with me was more satisfying than it should have been. The way her body stiffened when she realized who she'd run into. Her camera was practically begging to be taken, clutched in white-knuckled fingers.

“You're not very subtle, Miss Carter,” I said, plucking the device from her hands with ease. Up close, she smelled like citrus and something earthy, shampoo from a drugstore bottle, probably. The realization shouldn't have been as intriguing as it was.

Her recovery was admirable. Chin jutting out, eyes flashing. “And you're not very honest. What are you hiding, Mr. Cross?” She replied. Which got me wondering if I was still the same person.

Most people stuttered when I got this close. Most people backed down. But this girl just leaned in, her breath warm against my jaw as she practically dared me to throw her out.

That's when I knew I had to play with this one. Just a little.

I'm sure she might be wondering how I got her name. She’d be shocked when she finds out I know a lot about her.

I had my assistant dig up all he could on her the moment I saw her standing outside the hotel looking like she didn't belong here. 

From my penthouse balcony, I watched the city lights twinkle like fallen stars. 

Gregory walked in. “Miss Carter is downstairs, sir.”

A slow smile spread across my face. Perfect.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Lexi pacing my lobby like a caged animal. She'd changed out of that tragic dress into jeans and a sweater that did absolutely nothing to hide the curves beneath. Though she still looked out of place. Her head snapped up when she heard me approach.

“You're late,” she accused, arms crossing over her chest.

I smirked, loosening my tie. “I own the building. I'm never late, everyone else is simply early.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the billionaire platitudes. Why am I here? I could have just signed the papers at the hall.”

I led her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “Because despite your terrible spy skills, you're the first reporter in years who's looked at me like I'm the villain instead of an ATM.”

Lexi snorted. “Don't flatter yourself. I look at all billionaires that way.”

“Which is exactly why you're perfect.” I smiled. “Let's skip the foreplay,” I said, leading her to the elevator. “You think I'm hiding something. And I think you're desperate enough to take stupid risks.” The doors slid shut. “Prove me wrong.”  

Lexi's eyes narrowed. “I don't…”  

The elevator jolted. The lights flickered. Then everything went dark.

Lexi's gasp was swallowed by the hum of dead machinery. Her fingers brushed my arm in the darkness.  

“Relax,” I murmured. “This happens all the time.”  

“Bullshit,” she hissed. “This thing probably costs more than my apartment.”

I could practically hear her mind racing. Good.

There was silence for a while, then she spoke. “Did you... engineer this?” Her voice dripped with disbelief.  

I didn't answer. The emergency lights flickered on, casting her furious face in ghostly blue.  

“You're insane,” she breathed.  

I stepped closer, caging her against the wall. “And you're still here.” 

Her pulse fluttered at her throat. She wasn't afraid.

The elevator jolted back to life, and the doors opened.

Lexi stormed into my living room like a hurricane. “What the hell was that?”

“A test.” I poured two whiskeys, sliding one across the bar. “And you passed.”

She ignored the glass. “I don't play games, Mr. Cross.”

“Everyone plays games.” I took a slow sip. “Yours is pretending you're not curious about why a man worth more than 100 billion dollars would care about a broke tabloid reporter.”  

Her jaw tightened. I got her.  

I circled her like a shark. “Your boss pays you in pennies. Your father's debts are choking you. And despite that sharp tongue, you're good at this.” I stopped inches away. “So here's the deal, real access to my world. My real story. But you play by my rules.”  

Lexi's laugh was brittle. “Rules like randomly trapped elevators?”

“Rules like trust.” I tapped the contract on the table. “Sign it, and I'll show you what no other journalist has seen.”

She hesitated. I saw the war in her eyes, pride versus need.

Finally, she grabbed the pen. “If this is some rich boy mindfuck…”  

I caught her wrist. “Oh, it is.” My thumb brushed her racing pulse. “But you'll love every second of it.” 

Her breath hitched. The pen hovered over the paper. 

Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed the paper back across my desk, those fiery brown eyes burning with equal parts defiance and desperation. The overhead lights caught the gold flecks in her irises, making them glow like embers.  

“Happy?” She snapped, crossing her arms over that ridiculous sweater.  

“Ecstatic.” I slid the signed contract into my desk drawer. “Gregory will show you to your new office tomorrow. Nine AM sharp.”

Lexi scoffed. “What, no celebratory drink? No 'welcome to the team' speech?”  

I leaned back in my chair, studying her. The way her pulse jumped at the base of her throat betrayed her braveness. “You don't want speeches. You want answers. You can't wait to find out the secret I'm hiding.”

She rolled her eyes. “Damn right I do.”

“This feels like a trap,” she muttered, glaring at me. The afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her brown eyes, making them glow like whiskey held up to firelights.  

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “Of course it’s a trap. The question is…” I gestured to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, “...are you smart enough to spring it?”  

Her nostrils flared. God, she was beautiful when she was angry.  

“You're out of your mind, Mr. Cross.” She hissed. “I'm leaving.” She stood up to leave. She is angry.

I stood up, walking towards her, my gaze never leaving hers. “You're right. I am hiding something. But it's not what you think.”

“I don't care.” Sue shot back. 

Before I could reply, someone walked in.

Lexi’s face dropped.

“Giselle,” I called, disgust evident in my voice.

She eyed Lexi like she was trash, and that did not sit well with me. 

“Who is this slut, baby?” Giselle asked, advancing towards me.

“Baby? Wow.” Lexi smiled. 

I tightened my fist, holding off my anger. “If you take one more step, Giselle… I will end you.”

“Baby…” she whined, glaring at Lexi who was trying her best not to burst.

“I'm leaving, Mr. Cross, see you at Nine AM tomorrow .” Lexi walked out, hitting her shoulder against Giselle's.

I swallowed the urge to run after her.

“Your days are over, Giselle.” I threatened, slumping on the couch in frustration.

The hell is wrong with me?

Giselle stormed off.