Leighton's alarm went off at seven. She'd slept maybe three hours, total.

Her phone interview was at nine. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together and sound competent and employable instead of like someone who'd spent half the night obsessing over her best friend's brother.

She showered and changed into actual clothes. A blouse and jeans, since they couldn't see her bottom half on the video call anyway. Light makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail.

Professional. Put together. Definitely not thinking about Noah's eyes or his voice or the way he'd said *grew up*.

She grabbed her laptop and crept downstairs. According to Chloe, Noah worked out every morning at six, then locked himself in his office until noon. Which meant the coast should be clear.

The kitchen was empty. She made coffee, her hands still shaky from lack of sleep. The spot where the glass had shattered was spotless. Like it had never happened.

She took her coffee and laptop to what Chloe had called the "morning room." Big windows, comfortable chairs, good lighting. Perfect for a video interview.

She had an hour to prep. Review the company website, practice her answers, pretend her life wasn't a complete mess.

At 8:45, her laptop pinged. The interview link was active. She took a deep breath and clicked join.

The interview lasted thirty minutes. Standard questions about her experience, her design process, and why she wanted the job. She gave good answers. Smiled at the right times. Pretended she wasn't desperate.

"We'll be in touch," the hiring manager said at the end. "Probably early next week."

Translation: don't call us, we'll call you.

Leighton closed her laptop and slumped in the chair. That had gone fine. Not great, not terrible. Fine.

She needed more coffee.

On her way back to the kitchen, she heard music. Something with a heavy beat coming from down the hall. She followed the sound to a door she hadn't noticed before, slightly open.

Through the gap, she could see equipment. A treadmill. Weight racks. Punching bag.

The gym.

She should keep walking. Mind her own business. Get her coffee and go back to her room.

Instead, she moved closer to the door.

Noah was inside. She could see him through the opening, his back to her. He was on the weight bench, doing chest presses. No shirt, just shorts and sneakers. Sweat gleamed on his skin. His muscles flexed with each rep, controlled and precise.

She knew she should look away. Knew she was being creepy, standing here watching him.

But she couldn't move.

He finished his set and sat up, reaching for a water bottle. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. There was a scar on his left shoulder, about three inches long. She wondered how he'd gotten it.

Then he turned his head and looked directly at her.

Their eyes locked.

Leighton froze. Caught. Like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The music pounded between them. She couldn't read his expression. Couldn't tell if he was angry or amused or something else entirely.

Then he stood up and walked toward the door.

She should run. Should apologize and leave and never speak of this again.

But her feet wouldn't move.

He pushed the door open wider. Up close, she could see the sweat on his skin, the way his chest still heaved slightly from exertion. He smelled like salt and something expensive. Cologne or body wash or just him.

"Enjoying the show?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

"I heard music. I was just..."

"Watching me work out."

Her face burned. "I wasn't... I mean, I was walking by and..."

"And you stopped to stare."

"I'm sorry."

"You apologize a lot for someone who keeps doing things she shouldn't."

"I know. I'll just..." She gestured vaguely toward the kitchen.

"How'd your interview go?"

The question threw her. "What?"

"Your phone interview. This morning. How was it?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Chloe mentioned it yesterday." He took a drink of water, and she tried very hard not to watch his throat work as he swallowed. "So?"

"It was fine. They said they'd call next week."

"That's good."

"Maybe. I don't know." She twisted her hands together. "I applied to like forty jobs. Only got one call back. The market is awful right now."

"What kind of design do you do?"

"Mostly branding. Logos, marketing materials. Some web design."

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away. "You should eat breakfast. Low blood sugar makes interviews harder."

"I had coffee."

"Coffee isn't food."

"It has calories."

"Leighton."

The way he said her name made her stomach flip. Like he was scolding her and testing how it sounded at the same time.

"I'll eat something," she said.

"Good." He stepped back into the gym. "And next time you want to watch me work out, you can just come in instead of lurking in the doorway."

Before she could respond, he closed the door.

She stood there for a full minute, her heart pounding. Had he just... was he flirting with her? Or making fun of her? She genuinely couldn't tell.

She went to the kitchen and made toast she didn't want, eating it mechanically while staring at nothing. Her phone buzzed with a video call. Chloe.

She answered, propping the phone against a fruit bowl.

"Hey! How'd the interview go?" Chloe's face filled the screen, bright and cheerful.

"Fine. I think."

"That's great! See, I told you things would work out." Chloe shifted, and Leighton could see she was in a coffee shop. "How's everything there? Is Noah being decent?"

Leighton thought about last night. The broken glass. His eyes on her pajamas. The way he'd told her to stop apologizing.

"Yeah. He's been... fine."

"Really? Because I know he can be kind of intense. If he's being an ass, you can tell me. I'll kick his ass for you."

"No, seriously. It's fine. He's barely around." The lie tasted bitter. "I hardly see him."

"Good. That's good." Chloe took a sip of her coffee. "I feel bad about just dumping you there and running to work every day. I should have taken time off."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've done enough. More than enough."

"You're my best friend. There's no such thing as enough." Chloe's expression softened. "I mean it, Leigh. If you need anything, or if Noah gives you any shit, just tell me."

"I will. I promise."

They talked for a few more minutes about nothing important. Chloe's work drama. The new restaurant she wanted to try. Normal things that made Leighton's chest ache with how much she missed her regular life.

After they hung up, she sat in the empty kitchen and hated herself a little for lying. Chloe deserved the truth. But what would she even say? *Your brother looked at me in my pajamas and now I can't stop thinking about him? I watched him work out like a creep this morning.*

Yeah. That would go over well.

She cleaned up her breakfast mess and headed back upstairs. The gym door was closed now, the music silent. Noah was probably in the shower.

She tried very hard not to picture that.

Back in her room, she opened her laptop to apply to more jobs. But her email had a new message. From the company she'd interviewed with this morning.

Her heart jumped. They'd said next week. It had only been an hour.

She clicked it open.

*Thank you for your time this morning. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with other candidates. We wish you the best in your job search.*

She read it three times. Each time, the words felt sharper.

Not even a full hour. They couldn't even wait a day to reject her.

She closed the laptop and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. One week down. One week to go. And still no job prospects. No apartment leads. Nothing but a growing pile of rejections and a dangerous attraction to a completely off-limits man.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*Stop beating yourself up. One rejection isn't the end of the world. - N*

She stared at the message. How did he even get her number? Chloe, probably.

She typed back: *How did you know I got rejected?*

*I didn't. But you had that look on your face after the interview. Like you were waiting for bad news.*

*What looks?*

*The same one you had when you showed up here with one suitcase.*

She didn't know what to say to that. The fact that he'd noticed. That he'd been paying attention.

Another text came through: *For what it's worth, they're idiots.*

Despite everything, she smiled.

*Thanks*

She waited to see if he'd respond, but he didn't. She saved his number in her phone, staring at his name for longer than was probably healthy.

This was bad. This whole situation was bad.

But when her phone buzzed with another job listing Chloe had sent her, she felt just a little bit less alone.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Leighton spent the afternoon in her room, applying to more jobs and trying not to replay Noah's text message over and over in her head.

*They're idiots.*

Two words shouldn't matter this much.

Around five, her stomach reminded her she'd only eaten toast all day. She ventured downstairs, hoping to grab something quick and escape back to her room before anyone noticed.

The kitchen was occupied.

Noah stood at the island, going through a stack of papers. He'd showered since this morning. His hair was still damp, pushed back from his face. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans, barefoot again. She was starting to think he never wore shoes in the house.

He looked up when she entered. "Hey."

"Hi." She moved toward the fridge, trying to act casual. Like this morning hadn't happened. Like she hadn't been caught watching him work out like some kind of stalker.

"We need to talk."

She froze, her hand on the fridge door. "About what?"

"Ground rules."

"Oh." She turned to face him. "Okay."

He set down the papers and crossed his arms. "My office is off-limits. Always. Even if the door's open. Don't go in there unless I specifically invite you."

"I already apologized for that."

"I know. This is me making sure it doesn't happen again." His voice was firm. Professional. Like he was running a business meeting. "Second, the gym. Same rule. Don't come in while I'm working out."

Her face heated. "I wasn't trying to..."

"Third, my bedroom. That should be obvious, but I'm saying it anyway. Stay out."

"Are you done?" The words came out sharper than she intended.

His eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"Are you done treating me like a child who doesn't know how to respect boundaries?"

"I'm establishing expectations."

"You're making a list of all the ways I'm not allowed to exist in your space." She crossed her own arms, mirroring his stance. "I get it. You don't want me here. You've made that pretty clear. But I'm not eight years old anymore, Noah. You don't need to lecture me about not touching your stuff or wandering into rooms I shouldn't."

Something flickered in his eyes. He pushed off the island and moved toward her, closing the distance between them. She held her ground, even though every instinct told her to step back.

He stopped a foot away. Near enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

"No," he said quietly. "You're not eight anymore."

The way he said it made her breath catch. His eyes traveled down her face, lingering on her mouth, then lower. Taking in the curve of her neck. The way her t-shirt fit. How her jeans hugged her hips.

When his gaze came back to hers, there was heat in it. Dark and dangerous.

"That's the problem," he added.

She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it.

"What's the problem?" she managed.

"You. Here. In my house." He shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "Chloe's best friend. Twenty-three years old. Completely off-limits."

"I didn't ask to be here."

"I know."

"And I'm not trying to... I don't..." She struggled to find words. "I'm just trying to stay out of your way until I can leave."

"That's another rule." His voice had an edge now. "Stop trying to be invisible. It's not working."

"What do you want from me?"

"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "That's the problem. I don't know what I want, and that's not something I'm used to."

They stood there, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Leighton's skin felt too tight. Her mouth is too dry. She wanted to move closer and run away at the same time.

"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I don't know what I want either."

His jaw clenched. "Yes, you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I see the way you look at me. Like I'm something you want but know you can't have." He leaned in slightly, and she caught the scent of his soap. "You've been looking at me like that since you were sixteen."

Her face burned. "I wasn't..."

"You were. At Chloe's birthday party. You wore a blue dress. You stood in the corner all night, watching me."

She remembered that party. Remembered the dress. Remembered how she'd felt when Noah had walked in with some blonde model on his arm. Remembered spending the whole night wishing she was brave enough to talk to him.

"I had a crush on you," she admitted. "So what? Half the girls in Chloe's school had crushes on you. It didn't mean anything."

"Didn't it?"

"No. I was a kid. Kids get crushes. They grow out of them."

"Did you? Grow out of it?"

The question hung between them. She should lie. Should tell him yes, of course, she was over it. That she didn't feel anything when he looked at her. That her heart didn't race when he got close.

But she was tired of lying.

"I don't know," she said. "Did you grow out of treating every woman like a temporary distraction?"

His expression darkened. "That's not fair."

"Neither is calling me out for how I look at you when you've been doing the same thing to me since I got here."

"I haven't..."

"You have. In the kitchen last night. In the gym this morning. Right now." She took a step closer, emboldened by her own anger. "So don't act like I'm the only one feeling something I shouldn't."

His hand came up, catching her chin. Tilting her face up to his. "You're right. I have been looking. Want to know what I see?"

She couldn't breathe. "What?"

"Trouble. The kind I swore I was done with." His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she shivered. "The kind that makes me want to break every one of my own rules."

"Then maybe you shouldn't make so many rules."

For a second, she thought he might kiss her. His eyes dropped to her mouth. His hand tightened on her chin. She could feel the heat radiating off his body.

Then he let go and stepped back, breaking the spell.

"Two more rules," he said, his voice rough. "Stay out of trouble. And stay out of my head."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Figure it out."

He grabbed his papers and walked out, leaving her standing alone in the kitchen, her whole body trembling.

She touched her lips where his thumb had been. Her skin still tingled from his touch.

This was bad. This was so much worse than a childhood crush. This was a real attraction. Real chemistry. The kind that could ruin everything.

Her phone buzzed. Chloe.

*Dinner tomorrow night? I'm bringing Thai food. Miss you!*

Guilt crashed over her. Chloe. Her best friend. Who had specifically warned her years ago that Noah was off-limits. Who had saved her from being homeless? Who trusted her?

She typed back quickly.

*Miss you too. Can't wait.*

She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face. She needed to get it together. Needed to stop whatever this was before it went any further.

But when she closed her eyes, all she could feel was his thumb on her lip. All she could hear was his voice saying *You're trouble*.

And the worst part? She wanted to be. She wanted to be the kind of trouble that made Noah Knight break his own rules.

She grabbed a protein bar from the pantry and headed back to her room. As she passed his office, she heard him inside. Talking on the phone. His voice was calm and controlled. Completely different from how he'd sounded in the kitchen.

How many versions of himself did he have? The cold businessman who'd told her two weeks maximum. The gym rat who caught her watching. The man who texted her about rejections. The one who'd just touched her face like he wanted to do more.

Which one was real?

Maybe they all were. Maybe Noah Knight was just as complicated and messed up as she was.

That should have been comforting.

Instead, it just made her want him more.

She locked her door and climbed into bed, even though it was barely six. Tomorrow Chloe would be here. Tomorrow she'd have to pretend everything was fine. That nothing had happened. That she and Noah were just two people sharing a house, nothing more.

She could do that. She'd been pretending her whole life.

What was one more lie?

Leighton woke up to her phone buzzing. A text from Chloe.

*Emergency at work. Can't do dinner tonight. Rain check? I'm so sorry!*

Disappointment settled in her chest, followed quickly by relief she didn't want to examine too closely.

*No worries. We'll do it another time.*

She set her phone down and stared at the ceiling. Another day in this house. Another day of avoiding Noah while simultaneously wanting to find him.

This was getting ridiculous.

She needed to do laundry. She'd been rewearing the same few outfits all week, and everything was starting to smell like desperation and bad decisions.

The laundry room took twenty minutes to find. Of course it did. This house was designed to make her look stupid.

She threw everything in. All her clothes, her sheets, towels. Might as well do it all at once. She added detergent and started the machine, then headed back upstairs in the tank top and shorts she'd slept in.

An hour later, she went back down to move things to the dryer.

The machine was still running.

She stared at it. Checked the settings. Heavy wash cycle. Two hours total.

Perfect. Just perfect.

She trudged back upstairs. She could wait it out in her room. Except her room was freezing. The air conditioning had kicked into overdrive, and she was already shivering in her thin tank top.

She needed something warm. A hoodie. A blanket. Anything.

Her eyes landed on the door across the hall. Noah's room.

Absolutely not. That was literally rule number three. Stay out of his bedroom.

But he wasn't home. She'd heard him leave an hour ago, talking on the phone about meetings and contracts. He'd be gone for hours. He'd never know.

Just in and out. Grab a sweatshirt or something. Put it back before he got home.

She opened his door slowly, half expecting an alarm to go off.

The room was immaculate. King-size bed with dark gray sheets, perfectly made. Modern furniture, all clean lines. The space smelled like him. That expensive cologne or body wash or whatever it was that made her brain go fuzzy.

His closet was huge. Rows of suits, dress shirts, perfectly organized by color. She pushed past them to the casual section. Found a white button-down shirt that looked soft and worn.

Perfect.

She pulled it on over her tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She rolled them up and headed back to her room.

Except her room was still freezing.

The kitchen, she decided. She'd make tea. Wait down there until her clothes were done.

She padded downstairs in Noah's shirt and her bare feet. The house was quiet. Peaceful, even. She could almost pretend it was hers. That she belonged here.

She put the kettle on and rummaged through the tea selection. Someone had expensive taste. Everything was loose-leaf and imported and probably cost more than her old grocery budget.

The front door opened.

Her head snapped up. No. He wasn't supposed to be back yet.

Footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer.

Noah appeared in the kitchen doorway and stopped dead.

His eyes traveled down her body. Slowly. Taking in the white shirt. Her bare legs. Her bare feet. His shirt, hanging off her shoulder where she'd apparently missed a button.

"Hi," she said weakly.

He didn't respond. Just stared at her, his jaw tight.

"I can explain."

"You're wearing my shirt."

"My clothes are in the wash. Everything. I didn't have anything clean and I was cold, so I..." She trailed off. His expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry. I know you said not to go in your room. I'll take it off right now."

"Don't."

The word came out rough. Almost harsh.

She froze. "What?"

"Don't take it off." He set his briefcase down by the door, his movements careful. Controlled. "Not here."

"Oh." Her face burned. "Right. I'll just go upstairs and..."

"How long until your clothes are done?"

"An hour, maybe?"

He nodded once. Then he moved into the kitchen, giving her a wide berth. Like he didn't trust himself to get too close.

He went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle. Drank half of it in one go. His hand gripped the bottle tight enough that his knuckles went white.

The kettle whistled. Leighton jumped, then turned to grab it. She poured water over the tea bag, hyperaware of Noah behind her. Of the way his shirt shifted as she moved. Of how little she was wearing underneath it.

"Why are you home early?" she asked, just to fill the silence.

"Meeting got canceled."

"Oh."

More silence. She could feel his eyes on her back. Could practically feel the weight of his gaze.

She turned around, holding her mug like a shield. He was leaning against the far counter, arms crossed. His eyes were dark. Intense.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking."

"I could say the same to you."

"I'm not..."

"You are." He pushed off the counter. "You've been looking at me like that since you got here. Like you want something from me."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Liar."

The word hung between them. Challenge and accusation and something else she couldn't name.

"Fine," she said. "Maybe I do. So what? Nothing's going to happen. You've made that clear."

"Have I?"

"You listed off your rules yesterday. Stay out of your space. Stay out of your head. Stay away from you."

"I don't remember saying that last part."

"It was implied."

He moved closer. Not much. Just a step. But it felt like the distance between them had shrunk by miles.

"You want to know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"Liar," he said again. "You want to know. You're dying to know."

She set down her mug before she dropped it. "Noah..."

"I was thinking about how that's my favorite shirt. I've had it for five years. Worn it a hundred times." Another step closer. "And now I'm never going to be able to wear it again without thinking about this. About you in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt, looking at me like you want me to break all my own rules."

Her breath caught. "I'm not..."

"Your clothes aren't in the wash."

"What?"

"You heard me." His eyes bore into hers. "You could have worn your tank top and shorts. Could have grabbed a blanket from the linen closet. Could have done a dozen other things. But you went into my room and took my shirt."

"I was cold."

"Bullshit. You wanted to see what I'd do if I found you wearing it."

"That's not true."

"Then why are you still standing here?" He took another step. Close enough now that she could see the muscle ticking in his jaw. "If you really didn't want this, you'd already be upstairs. But you're not moving. Because you want to know what happens next."

"Nothing happens next." Her voice came out breathy. Unconvincing. "You're Chloe's brother. I'm her best friend. Nothing can happen."

"I know."

"So we should stop. Right now. Before we do something stupid."

"I know," he said again.

But neither of them moved.

The air between them felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would make something explode.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Lingered there. She could see him fighting with himself. See the moment he decided to leave.

He stepped back. Grabbed his briefcase. "Your clothes should be done soon. You should go check on them."

"Noah..."

"Go, Leighton."

It wasn't a request.

She went.

She practically ran up the stairs, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She could still feel his eyes on her. Could still hear the rough edge in his voice when he'd said *my favorite shirt*.

She stopped outside his bedroom door. The shirt felt different now. Like it was touching her everywhere. Like he was touching her.

She should take it off. Should put it back and pretend this never happened.

Instead, she went to her room and sat on the bed, pulling the collar up to her face. It smelled like him. Like that expensive scent that made her head spin.

She was in so much trouble.

Her phone buzzed. Noah.

*Keep the shirt.*

She stared at the message. Typed back: *What?*

*Keep it. I meant what I said. I can't wear it anymore without thinking about this. About you.*

*Noah, we can't...*

*I know. Trust me, I know. But I'm done pretending I don't notice you. Done pretending I don't want things I shouldn't want.*

*What are we doing?*

*I don't know. But I'm tired of lying about it.*

She clutched the phone to her chest. This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. It would ruin everything with Chloe. Would blow up in both their faces.

But god, she wanted it anyway.

She wanted him anyway.

*Me too,* she typed. Then, before she could overthink it: *I'm tired of pretending too.*

His response came immediately.

*Then stop.*

Two words. Two words that felt like permission and warning all at once.

She lay back on the bed, still wearing his shirt, and wondered how she'd gotten here. How she'd gone from fired and homeless to living in Noah Knight's house, texting him about things they shouldn't want.

Her life was a mess.

But for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to be anywhere else.