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.

I had two hours before my evening lectures at the university. So, I took a cab to Baker's apartment.

Baker Fields was my boyfriend. He interned at a big law firm in the city and shared the apartment with his cousin Milo.

By this time, he was usually at work.

I had his spare key and he had a laptop I could use to type out my internship application.

Soon, I was unlocking his front door and stepping inside.

The familiar smell of the house welcomed me.

I tossed my bag on the couch and walked over to his desk.

The laptop was turned on, only it was in sleep mode.

I paused, tilting my head.

Was he here?

Thinking to surprise him, I tiptoed my way into the bedroom.

The door was slightly open.

I slipped inside, a bit of mischief bubbling inside me in spite of myself.

A soft noise reached my ears from the bathroom before a red bra caught my eyes.

I stopped mid-step.

And listened more.

The noise grew stronger, becoming noises.

Moaning.

Grunting.

And half-laughter.

The first thought that came to my mind was that Milo must have had a girl over and was now having shower sex with her.

Eww.

I turned to leave as quietly as I came.

Then a voice, unmistakably Baker's spoke breathlessly,

“Damn it, baby. You're fire.”

My eyebrows shot up.

I stood there frozen, my ears ringing with words I could never unhear.

I felt a tightness in my chest.

My breath seemed locked.

Not my Baker.

A low, husky laugh mingled with the sound of splashing water sounded cleared what was left of my doubt.

I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

Then his partner whispered,

“Say that again,” her voice, dripping with intimacy.

My jaw dropped.

I didn't know when I blurted.

“Pheebs?”

Both Baker and my best friend, Phoebe must have frozen in the bathroom because the shower suddenly stopped running and silence settled heavily in the room.

My chest caved in, as if someone had reached inside and ripped my heart out.

Something I never thought I would have to experience with Baker.

He was the perfect boyfriend, smart with the right kind of ambition.

Totally a husband material.

He was both supportive and understanding.

When I told him I wasn't going to have sex before marriage, he didn't make a big deal out of it.

For all I know, he was saving to buy me an engagement ring.

I thought the world of him because of that.

I already had names for our babies.

A girl can hope, right?

“Nala?” Baker's voice called from the bathroom, snapping

me out of my daze.

I turned so fast, I stumbled over my own foot.

Hurrying back into the living room, I grabbed my bag.

Before I could reach the door, Baker's damp hand grabbed my wrist, stopping me.

“Wait, Nala,” he pleaded. “Let me explain.”

I blinked back the tears stinging my eyes, inhaled deeply and turned.

My eyes swept his entire frame, from top to bottom.

He was wet and half-naked.

A towel hung loosely over his waist.

What was it with men and indecency today?

Irritated, I flicked my eyes back to his face.

“Y-You want to explain why my boyfriend was having shower sex with my best friend?” I asked in a controlled breath.

“Like if I gave you a minute right now, you'd really have an explanation for what you were doing?”

His grip tightened over my wrist.

“It just happened,” he answered. “I swear. And it'll never happen again. You know how much I love you.”

I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Let go of my hand, Baker.”

“I knew it,” Phoebe's angry voice sounded from the bedroom as she stepped out.

Wait.

Wasn't I supposed to be the angry one here?

She didn't even spare me a glance.

“I knew you would choose her,” she spat.

“After everything we've shared. You're holding on to someone who wouldn't even let you feel her up. She's a virgin who doesn't even know what to do with her own body. Yet, she got you wrapped around her little finger like a dummy.”

A dry scoff escaped me.

I blinked, my eyes darting from her to him.

My mouth hung slightly open but… I had no words.

“Don't pay attention to her, Nala,” Baker said. “It's you I love. I swear.”

“Let go of my hand,” I repeated calmly, the tremor in my hand betraying the hurt inside me.

“What about us, Nala?” Baker asked, his voice pleading.

“I am going to get a bigger bowl of ice cream,” I answered, tearing his hand off my wrist with my free hand. “And then, I'll delete you forever.”

Hot tears blurred my vision as I stepped out of the apartment, the hot afternoon air hitting me like a slap.

I reached into my pocket for my handkerchief.

It wasn’t there.

I'd left it at Suite 126B.

A sob escaped me.

First, my job.

Then, my boyfriend.

And now, my handkerchief.

Was this day cursed?

“You’re such a coward,” Phoebe's voice rang out.

“Other than a pretty face, what else does she have that I lack?” she yelled. “I can't believe you're dumping me right after you called me fire. You turn into a simp whenever you're around her.”

“You shut your mouth!” was Baker's response.

But it didn't matter what he said anymore. My heart was shattered beyond repair.

~~~~~

JORDAN'S POV

When I finally woke up, there were gaps in my memory like pages torn from a ledger.

I remember being in the elevator with a female housekeeper.

And that was it.

I checked my watch.

It had been about four hours.

Dr. Grant checked my pupils again and nodded.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Where's the lady?” I asked.

He shrugged, gathering his equipment into his briefcase.

“Probably back to work.”

Then he added,

“You know she asked an important question. One you should find an answer to immediately.”

I frowned.

“What question?”

“How was it possible to tamper with your drink right inside your suite?”

“That's not rocket science,” I responded, getting up and buttoning my shirt.

“The housekeeper is who I need to find.”

He nodded.

“Yeah, she deserves a bonus, the way she handled everything. A lot could have gone wrong pretty fast.”

A bonus was the last thing on my mind.

She had seen me helpless and I knew how the human mind worked.

A billionaire caught in a scandalous position is a major attraction for opportunistic people.

Did she take photos?

Make videos?

I needed answers.

Four hours ago, I had a persistent migraine and returned from the office for a little nap.

I began feeling strange after taking my painkillers.

But it only got worse.

My body seemed to reject rest altogether.

Gradually, the ache in my head became a secondary issue.

I wanted more than anything to get in bed with a woman.

My whole senses were hijacked by desire.

That was the moment I knew my drink had been touched.

And there was only one person close to me who would be silly enough to drug me in order to have their way with me.

Lily Summers.