NALANI’S POV 

“You're fired,” Stan Brunello, the head of my team, said as soon as I walked into his office.

My head spun around to see if there was anyone else in there who he could have been talking to other than me.

But it was just me.

I could feel my brows creasing into a tight frown.

“Did you just say… I'm fired?” I asked. 

He didn’t even look up from his desk. 

“The missing pearls, Nalani,” he said smugly, leaning back into his chair. “We found them in your locker. There's no point denying it.”

I almost laughed.

“You're joking, right? I asked. “How's that even possible?”

Earlier, word spread through the team about a guest missing their pearls worth over forty-five thousand dollars.

I didn't think twice about it. 

Why would I?

I didn't take them.

I went on to clean the suite assigned to me until Stan called me here.

Surely, there was a mistake.

Footsteps sounded softly behind me and with them came a wave of Dixie’s floral scent.

Immediately, my face fell.

This was about her. 

Of course. 

Dixie, Stan's fiancée, had had it for me since the Christmas party three weeks ago. 

And it didn't really matter what actually happened. 

Stan tried to kiss me at the party. I pushed him away. 

Dixie walked in at that exact moment and she has been on a mission to ‘deal with me’ as she swore she would.

So, this…?

This was her revenge. 

She drew closer until she stood next to me. 

The corner of her mouth  curved into a devilish smirk and she blew chewing gum in my face.

“Wouldn't be your first time,” she said. “You just can't help touching stuff that isn't yours, huh?” 

I ignored her.

“Stan,” I said as calmly as I could, considering the anger already rising inside me. 

“You weren't that drunk,” I said. “So, I know you remember what happened. All you have to do is tell her the truth. You know I didn't steal anything.”

Who was I fooling?

He kept a straight face.

“Look,” he said. “No need to drag this matter. Just clean out your locker and report to security before leaving.” 

He spoke with the authority he always seemed to lack.

I couldn't believe my ears. 

This same Stan who couldn't muster the courage to ask me out directly, suddenly had an attitude toward me.

The more I stared at him, the hotter my anger boiled. 

I had two options.

I could fight the accusation and give Dixie a chance to mobilise the rest of the team against me.

I bet she couldn't wait for me to go down that path. 

Or… I could just walk away.

I had planned to work for two more months at the hotel before I'd quit and go for my internship. 

And I was counting on those final paychecks. 

I had only just paid off my student loan. And I had my ailing grandmother, Nana, back at home. 

It was risky to be out of a job now.

Dixie stepped in front of me, interrupting my thoughts. 

“I told you,” she said softly. “You crossed the line with me.”

I raised my gaze to meet hers just as she added,

“Guess it finally caught up with you.”

Her tone was slow and deliberate. 

God, I wanted to land a hot slap across her face just to reset the look she had on it.

Instead, I pressed my lips together in a tight hold, inhaling deeply.

I was so close to an outburst that tears threatened. 

But I held them back. 

Another word from me and they would flow like a busted dam.

It's one thing I hated about myself: I cried whenever I got really angry.

I could be sad and never shed a tear. But anger gets me there pretty fast.

And I wasn't about to give these two the satisfaction of watching me lose my cool.

After the party, Dixie had made sure everyone else hated me.

I had endured side talks and name calling until I stopped looking forward to coming to work.

Crying now would be like signing my defeat in her books.

Never.

To hell with this place.

I shot one final look at Stan and turned.

As I stormed out, my vision narrowed to the exit sign ahead.

The hallway blurred, my mind racing with thoughts of what I should have done, and how  much of a financial setback this would cause me.

Suddenly…

Bam!

I collided with a rock-solid chest, my momentum carrying us both backward.

“Aww,” I groaned, grabbing the side of my head.

Before I recovered, the owner of the chest stretched his hand towards the private elevator and rasped with a deep voice, “Open.”

That was when I looked at his face. 

My eyes grew wide once I recognized him.

Jordan Styles. 

The heir and acting-CEO of Empire Conglomerates. 

He literally owned the hotel. He was my boss’ boss.

I quickly turned away from him, automatically locking away my tears and assuming my housekeeping posture.

“Right away, Mr. Styles,” I said.

I reached for my keycard, then paused. 

Wait…

The private elevator didn’t answer to me. 

It answered to him.

My eyes darted to his face again.

“Sir, you have to…”

His body was bent over slightly and he groaned. 

“Mr. Styles?” I called.

Slowly, his gaze met mine, and a bit of tension hung in the air. 

His jaw was clenched hard. And in spite of the pain he seemed to be enduring, his eyes remained guarded. 

Before I could decide what to do, he slapped his hand on the hand scanner beside the elevator. 

The doors slid open and he stumbled in, turning to glare at me.

And as if I didn’t have enough troubles of my own to deal with, I jumped in, right after him.

As the doors closed behind me, I edged closer, my eyes scanning his face. 

“Sir…”

But he turned his body away from me sharply, shifting into one corner in the small space.

The movement was abrupt.

Too abrupt for someone who clearly needed help.

I've seen all kinds of guests display different characteristics in different states of drunkenness or when they got high. 

His gaze, which drifted past me was unfocused. 

I noticed his skin was reddening. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, glinting in the soft light.

He yanked at his tie roughly, failing in his attempt to loosen it. 

Yeah. 

Something got him bad.

And whatever it was, he seemed unwilling to give up his control. 

Suddenly, my eyes fell on it. 

I saw what he was trying desperately to hide.

His arousal.

My breath caught in my throat, and my hand flew to my mouth to stop the gasp I felt coming.

My face burned. 

I didn't need anyone to tell me that.

I literally felt the flush.

But, I had to look again.

This wasn’t some sickness. 

It wasn’t alcohol.

Something had been done to him.

Whatever it was, it wasn't just making him weak.

It was stripping him of control. 

And I was trapped in the elevator alone with him.

Like this.

“Oh shoot,” I muttered. 

I could hear Nana’s voice in my head:

“Sweetie, if you spent two seconds thinking about what you're about to do before doing it, you might save yourself a whole bunch of trouble.”

I cursed myself inwardly. My heart raced.

Get out, get out, get out!

Now!

But my feet stayed on the spot.

This was Jordan Styles.

Mr. Perfect.

He lived in a world of his own, totally unreachable.

Whenever I saw him in the hallway, he was always in his tailored suits, straight-faced, and having a controlled posture.

Rumors had it that he never granted interviews because he didn’t like media attention.

Those of us who worked on the penthouse floor knew his privacy was a huge deal.

So, I couldn't just leave him.

Before I could rethink my decision, I heard myself ask cautiously,

“Mr. Styles, do you need any help? Should I call...”

“No!” he rasped.

“Stop the elevator.”

I did, but stayed close to the buttons.

Even a perfect man couldn't be trusted like this.

I took a defensive posture, my fists ready to do some damage.

I swear, if he tries to grab me, I would kick his butt, and answer questions later.

He caught my reaction and simply turned away.

Well, I tried.

“Uh… I’ll just go,” I said, my finger already going for the button.

His head snapped up.

“NO!” This time, the word tore from him.

I jumped, my heart pounding.

His eyes met mine, briefly but long enough for me to see the raw humiliation there.

And a warning.

“Don’t leave,” he said in a quieter voice. “And don’t look.”

“You think I want to look?” I gasped, the heat in my face rising again.

I shook my head, gesturing with my hand.

“I don't even wanna be here. I'll leave and this never happened.”

“Don't!” he warned.

I reached for the button regardless.

“DO. NOT. LEAVE!” he warned again.

My eyebrows shot up, a sharp retort rising to my lips.

Who the hell did he think he was talking to?

Housekeeping?

“Uh,” I said. “You can't make me stay.”

“Forget the uniform. I don't work here anymore, and there's no way in hell I'm spending another second stuck here with you… like this.”

I punched the button to open the doors, saying,

“The best I can do is… call security.”

The doors began to open.

“Help me,” he murmured almost inaudibly, but I heard him clearly.

The way he said it…

I sighed.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Don't let anyone see me like this,” he answered.

I frowned.

“Shouldn't you have remained in your suite if you wanted privacy?”

He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

“Damn it,” he cursed under breath.

His face contorted, his breaths becoming slower and heavier.

“O-okay, okay,” I said, pushing the buttons that closed the doors again.

I better not regret this.

I searched my brain for possible solutions.

An idea came fast.

“I think I can help you, but you can't lose your shit and pounce on me, okay?” I said.

“Not that I'll let you,” I added before he could even answer.

“I know self defense. And I got a pretty mean kick. Don't make me show you. I'm not playing.”

He only nodded.

“Cool.”

I pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

I faced forward, but stayed alert.

“There should be a couple of vacant suites on the twelfth floor,” I informed him.

He dipped his chin once.

The silence was awkward.

My heart pounded like Jerry's, when Tom had him cornered, in the cartoon show from my childhood.

When the doors finally opened, I let out a slow breath.

Sticking my head out first, I looked up and down the hallway.

Thankfully, it was empty.

I turned to him.

“We're clear," I said. "If we can avoid the cameras, you should be fine.”

He straightened.

I pulled out my handkerchief from my pocket and drew closer to him.

“I'm gonna put this over your head, okay?”

He jerked his head away, frowning.

I rolled my eyes.

“Oh please,” I scoffed. “It's clean. It's either this or you may as well smile for the cameras. I believe you already know how good they are.”

His eyes pinned me, cold and accusing, before he lowered his head enough for me to lay it on.

Afterward, I offered my shoulder.

His muscles tensed.

“Mr. Styles,” I said calmly.

“I can help you get into one of these suites, but I can't stop anyone from showing up and finding you here. We got a clear hallway. But we need to move now.”

I paused before adding,

“If it helps, think of me as a male friend. Or… a crutch.”

“Mm-hm,” I said, nodding. “Definitely a crutch.”

This time, when his eyes met mine, they didn't look away as other times.

A little bit of warmth had crept in, softening his gaze.

“We good?” I asked.

He shifted and leaned on me, his weight almost crushing me.

I staggered.

“Okay,” I said.

“Easy there, Captain Muscles.”

His body felt warm through his shirt.

A whiff of his cologne hit me.

“Ready?”

“Mm,” he hummed.

We kept our heads down. I half-dragged him out of the elevator.

“Just so you know,” I muttered while straining beneath his crushing weight as we went.

“This is the second worst day of my life. And I bet I'm the only employee in the world who has to keep working after getting fired for being a slut and a thief.”

“What?” he croaked.

“Uh-huh,” I went on. “The judge and jury are sleeping with each other. One's a coward, the other, a Jezebel. So, you can imagine my fate.”

When we reached the suite I had chosen, I opened it. We stumbled in and I heeled the door shut.

“Sit,” I said, breathing heavily.

He sank onto the bed.

I walked to the fridge.

“I'll get you some water first.”

I grabbed a bottle of water, opened it and passed it to him.

He emptied everything into his mouth, crushing the bottle as he gulped.

Some water spilled on his shirt.

The sight made me feel sorry for him.

“You should lie down for a while.”

He laid down with back toward me before I finished speaking.

“Great," I muttered, staring at his broad back. "Now what?”

“I'm gonna take off your tie and shoes, okay?” I said after a while, “You may feel better without them.”

He didn't answer.

I took off his shoes first.

He had slender long feet, covered in socks that looked brand new.

Then, I went for his tie.

The last thing I wanted was for my touch to trigger him.

His eyelids slowly closed.

I began.

Very carefully.

“You're doing great," I said.

"Deep breaths. One at a time.”

Whatever it took to keep him calm, right?

My fingers brushed the side of his neck lightly, unintentionally.

He drew in a slow breath and his eyes fluttered open.

I froze, noticing for the first time how blue his eyes were.

He reached out, smiling lustily as he brushed my cheek.

“You're… beautiful.”

Uh-oh.

I jerked backward, taking the tie with me.

My heart beat lost its rhythm for a moment but I was quick to recover.

I cleared my throat and announced nervously, “Done.”

His eyelids fell shut.

And the room became quiet.

I didn't know what else to do, so, I walked to a corner, pulled out my phone, and googled:

“How to overcome the effects of an aphrodisiac.”

The results popped on my screen:

“Stay calm.”

“Hydrate.”

“Wait it out.”

I scoffed.

“Wait it out?”

Not a chance.

I tucked my phone in and returned to the bedside.

He lay still, his back tensed, arching slightly more than before.

I turned around to check his face. His eyes were still shut and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

His chest rose and fell slowly like he was deliberately measuring his breaths.

I sighed.

Was it okay to leave him like this?

I mean, I had my own troubles to deal with. Babysitting the horny CEO wasn't my job description.

Plus, I didn’t have the job anymore.

Where was his pretty girlfriend when he needed her?

Whatever, I needed to leave.

“Do you need more water?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

The silence stretched between us a beat.

I tapped my foot impatiently.

“Uh… is there someone I should call?”

His eyes stayed shut but his brows creased slightly.

I shifted my weight, my eyes narrowing as I waited for a response that never came.

“Is there anything else you need me to do?” I pressed further.

“Just… stop talking.”

I don't know whether it had to do with his tone or my own pent-up frustration, but damn, those words stirred my anger up.

My brows shot up.

“Oh,” I said, “I'm annoying you? Why do I even bother?”

“I'm sure you need some privacy doing whatever gets you back to… normal. You know where the bathroom is.”

I turned toward the door.

“Wait,” he said. This time, his voice had lost its commanding tone. “Please.”

My hand paused over the door lock.

“Just... until my doctor gets here,” he added quietly.

Now, we're talking.

“Did you call him already?” I asked, turning around.

“No,” he said, pushing himself up. “Let me borrow your phone.”

I wasn't even going to ask where his phone was.

I unlocked and handed my phone over.

He punched all the wrong digits in all the wrong ways.

“Here” I said, taking back the phone. “Let me help.”

He squeezed his eyes tight, grabbing his head as he pulled out the digits slowly from his memory.

Finally, I dialed his doctor and when it began to ring, I returned the phone to him.

But before he could take it back, his body fell backwards on the bed.

I dropped the phone, screaming,

“Mr. Styles!”

Nothing.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “You're going to die now? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

Nothing.

“You better wake up or your obituary will be a joke,” I went on.

“Mr. Perfect OD'ed on freaky stuff. I'll grant interviews from here to Jupiter and back. You’ll never rest in peace. You hear me?”

I grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.

“Mr. Styles, wake the hell up.”

Still nothing.

“Oh God. I knew I should never have gone in that elevator.”

A deep voice came through the phone.

“Hello?”

I grabbed it, straightening.

“Y-yes,” I began. “It's Mr. Jordan Styles. He's unconscious. I think he took something… really bad. You have to come now.”

“Who's this?” the voice queried.

“Me?” I said. “Uh… housekeeping. He called with my phone, and then he fainted or something.”

There was a split second pause.

“What are you talking…?”

“Listen, you can do twenty-one questions later,” I cut him off. “Just get here as fast as you can and wake him up.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Suite 126B,” I said. “Please,

hurry.”

I ended the call and went back to check on him.

His skin was hot.

“Damn it, you're burning up.”

I paused for a moment, heart racing.

“Okay,” I said. “I'm unbuttoning your shirt.”

Then in a more quiet voice, I added,

“Please don't die on me. What the hell did you take?”

I quickly loosened some buttons.

“Just be okay and let me get back to my life.”

Afterwards, I fetched the remote control and turned down the AC.

Then, I went into the bathroom and returned with a damp towel, placing it on his forehead.

“It’s way too early in the new year for all this.”

“I got fired for what I didn’t do, I would definitely be hung by my toes for this.”

When the doorbell finally sounded, I couldn’t have gotten to the door faster.

A very fit middle-aged man stood there.

“You're the doctor?” I asked.

He looked at me from head to toe.

“I am.”

I was about to ask for his ID, when I remembered that the only thing I knew about him was his phone number.

“Uh… wait here,” I said.

A frown formed on his face in protest.

Shutting the door, I went back inside to get my phone.

My heart kept pounding.

By the time I opened the door again, I was already dialing the doctor's number.

He pulled out his phone, holding up the screen to my face.

Great.

I motioned him inside.

“Quickly. Get in," I said.

"He hasn't moved a muscle since he slumped. You can wake him up, right?”

He began checking Mr. Styles.

I shifted, hovering.

“He is going to be alright, right?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he asked,

“What did you say he took?”

I shook my head.

“I don't know. I can only guess.”

“And what would your guess be?” he asked calmly.

“Honestly?” I replied. “An aphrodisiac or something like it.”

His eyes flew to mine.

My hands flew up.

“Don't look at me. Wake him up and ask him yourself. I found him like that.”

Right then, Jordan Styles stirred. He pushed up slowly until he sat up.

“I took some pain killers,” he said groggily. “I believe the water was laced with something.”

“Well,” the doctor said. “That explains a lot.”

“How is that even possible?” I wondered out loud. “No one ever goes near your suite.”

They both ignored me like I wasn't in the room anymore.

Imagine that.

His doctor was here and I'd become useless.

I guess my mission was accomplished.

I slipped out quietly.

In the locker room, I changed into my own clothes, then reported to the security post to leave all my access keys.

Finally, I signed out.

Twenty minutes later, I sat with a medium-sized cup of vanilla with caramel ice cream at my favorite ice cream place.

Slowly I ate, allowing the familiar sweetness to comfort me.

But that didn’t last long.

Reality buzzed in my head.

Nana had a lung infection and was getting scheduled treatments which weren't kind to my savings.

Recently, I noticed the little pauses she took to catch her breath while we talked, and the way she smiles through the pain she must feel in her chest.

What if she becomes sicker? My savings were a joke.

A faint sigh escaped me.

I must begin my internship earlier than I planned.

Nana’s life may very well depend on it.