Day three, and Leighton still couldn't sleep.

She'd applied to twenty-seven jobs. Had one phone screen scheduled for tomorrow. Spent most of her time in her room, venturing out only when she was certain Noah was locked in his office or gone entirely.

The avoidance strategy was working. She'd barely seen him since the kitchen incident last night.

But now it was 1 AM, and her stomach was staging a revolt. The protein bar she'd eaten for dinner wasn't cutting it.

She pulled on her sleep shorts and a thin camisole, too tired to bother with the hoodie. The house was always warm anyway. Noah probably had some fancy heating system that cost more per month than her old rent.

This time, she knew the way to the kitchen. Small victories.

The house was dark and quiet. She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. She was getting used to the space now. Starting to memorize which hallways led where, which doors opened to what rooms.

The kitchen light was on.

She froze at the entrance.

Noah sat at the kitchen island, laptop open in front of him, a glass of amber liquid next to his hand. He'd changed since earlier. No shirt, just gray sweatpants. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it.

He looked up when she appeared.

For a second, neither of them moved. His eyes traveled down from her face, taking in her pajamas. The thin straps of her camisole. Her bare legs. Then his jaw tightened, and his gaze snapped back to his laptop.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were down here."

"It's fine."

She should leave. Go back upstairs. Eat the stale granola bar she'd stashed in her room.

But she was so tired of hiding. And she was hungry. Really hungry.

She moved into the kitchen, giving him a wide berth. She opened the fridge and studied its contents as if she were taking a test.

"There's leftover lasagna," Noah said without looking up. "Second shelf."

"Thanks."

She found it and put some on a plate, then stuck it in the microwave. The hum of it filled the silence. She kept her back to him, hyperaware of how little she was wearing. The camisole had seemed fine in her room. Now she felt practically naked.

The microwave beeped. She pulled out her plate, the smell making her mouth water. She grabbed a fork and turned to leave.

"You can eat here."

She looked at him. He was still focused on his laptop, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen.

"I don't want to bother you."

"You're already bothering me. Might as well commit."

She couldn't tell if he was joking. His voice gave nothing away.

Slowly, she walked to the island and sat on the stool across from him. Far enough that there was no chance of accidentally touching. Close enough that she could see what he was drinking.

"Is that whiskey?"

"Scotch. Macallan 25."

She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded expensive. Everything in this house was expensive.

She took a bite of lasagna. It was incredible. Homemade, with real mozzarella and herbs she couldn't name. Nothing like the frozen stuff she used to buy.

"Did you make this?"

"I have a chef who comes three times a week."

Of course he did.

"Must be nice."

He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Must be nice to have food?"

"To have someone cook it for you. To live in a house with fifteen bedrooms. To not worry about rent or bills or getting evicted."

His expression darkened. "You think I didn't work for this?"

"I didn't mean..."

"I started my company when I was twenty-four. Worked eighty-hour weeks for three years straight. Nearly went bankrupt twice. So yeah, now I have a chef. I earned it."

"I wasn't attacking you."

"Sounded like it."

She set down her fork. "I'm sorry. You're right. That was rude."

He studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. Then he picked up his glass and took a drink.

"Why graphic design?" he asked.

The question surprised her. "What?"

"Your degree. Chloe mentioned it. Why that?"

"I like making things. Creating things that didn't exist before." She shrugged. "It's the only thing I've ever been good at."

"You must be decent if you got hired out of college."

"I was. Until they decided decent wasn't worth the salary."

"Their loss."

The words were casual, throwaway. But something in her chest warmed at them anyway.

She took another bite of lasagna. He went back to his laptop, typing something, then frowning at the screen.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"Contract negotiation. A company in Tokyo wants to license our software. They're being difficult about the terms."

"At one in the morning?"

"Tokyo is fourteen hours ahead. It's business hours there."

She watched him work, fascinated despite herself. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Every so often, he'd take a drink, his eyes never leaving the screen. This was Noah in his element. Focused. In control.

Different from the cold, irritated version he'd been with her.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"You just did."

"Can I ask you another something?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Go ahead."

"Do you remember me? From before. When I used to come over with Chloe."

His hands stilled on the keyboard. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since she'd walked in.

"Yes."

"You acted like you didn't."

"I know."

"Why?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he closed his laptop and picked up his glass, swirling the scotch. "Because it was easier than acknowledging that Chloe's little friend grew up."

Heat flooded her face. She didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know what it meant.

He stood up, still holding the glass with a generous sip of scotch left at the bottom. "You should finish eating and get some sleep."

"Okay," she said quietly.

He moved toward the sink with his glass. Leighton stood too, grabbing her empty plate. She turned at the same moment he pivoted back, probably to say something else.

They collided.

Her elbow caught his forearm. The plate slipped from her hands and clattered onto the counter. His glass flew, shattering on the marble floor in an explosion of crystal and expensive scotch.

"Oh my god." She dropped to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a disaster. I'll pay for it.."

"Don't touch it."

She looked up at him. He was standing over her, his expression unreadable.

"You'll cut yourself." He moved to the pantry and came back with a broom and dustpan. "Move back."

"I can clean it. It's my fault."

"Leighton. Move."

She scrambled backward, pressing against the island. He swept up the glass efficiently, his movements quick and sure. When he was done, he dumped it in the trash, then grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the liquid.

She stood there uselessly, her heart pounding. "I'm really sorry. That glass looked expensive."

"It was."

"How expensive?"

"You don't want to know."

She closed her eyes. Perfect. She'd destroyed something that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Send me the bill. I'll find a way to pay you back."

"Forget it."

"Noah..."

"I said forget it." He threw away the paper towels and turned to face her. "It's just a glass."

"A really expensive glass that I broke because I'm clumsy and stupid and..."

"You're not stupid."

"I can't even hold onto a plate without causing property damage."

"It was an accident."

"I keep saying that about a lot of things lately." She pressed her hands to her face. "I'm sorry. I should just go back to my room and stop breaking your stuff."

She moved toward the door, but his voice stopped her.

"Leighton."

She turned. He was standing by the island, his hands braced on the counter, his dark eyes intense.

"Stop apologizing for existing."

"I'm not..."

"You are. You've apologized about fifty times since you got here. For eating. For getting lost. For breathing. It's exhausting."

Her throat tightened. "I'm taking up space in your house. The least I can do is..."

"The least you can do is stop acting like you're not allowed to be human." He pushed off the counter. "You're Chloe's best friend. That means something to her. Which means you're not going anywhere for two weeks, whether I like it or not. So stop walking on eggshells."

"Do you? Like it?" She blurted out, shocking herself.

The question hung between them. She shouldn't have asked. It was too direct. Too honest.

But she was tired of pretending.

He moved closer, and her breath caught. He stopped a foot away, near enough that she could smell the scotch on his breath, see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

"I don't know yet," he said quietly.

Then he walked past her out of the kitchen, leaving her standing there alone, her heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with breaking his glass.

She touched her fingers to her lips. They were trembling.

This was dangerous. The way he'd looked at her. The way her body had responded when he got close. The way she wanted him to come back.

She was so screwed.

She left her plate in the sink and went back to her room, but sleep was impossible. All she could see was the way his eyes had traced down her body. The almost-smile when she'd asked her question. The intensity in his voice when he'd told her to stop apologizing.

*Chloe's little friend grew up.*

What did that mean? Was he attracted to her? Annoyed by her? Both?

She rolled over and grabbed her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Anything to stop thinking about Noah Knight standing shirtless in his kitchen, looking at her like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.

Her alarm would go off in five hours. She needed sleep.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And she wondered what would have happened if she hadn't dropped that glass. If they'd stood there, inches apart, for just a few seconds longer.

Nothing good, probably.

Noah Knight was off-limits for about a thousand reasons.

She just needed to remember that.

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?