Chapter 5

Billie.

I arrived at my apartment, and my heart did a full gymnastics routine when I noticed the door was slightly open. Not good.

Slowly, I stepped inside, my instincts screaming at me to just turn around and bolt.

"There you are, Billie Jean."

That voice sent a cold shiver down my spine. Drew. Sitting in my chair like he owned the place, legs crossed, the very picture of a mobster with a part-time gig in intimidation. Behind me, his buddy Tay silently closed the door, blocking my only exit.

Now is really not the time for this.

"Hey, Drew. Tay." I forced a smile, my voice coming out just a little too high-pitched. "About the money. I just got a new job and—"

Drew stood up, nodding. Oh, maybe he believed me—

Nope. He grabbed my purse, rifling through it like he had every legal right to, and yanked out five hundred bucks. He held it up between two fingers, looking amused.

"I was... I was going to bring it to you guys," I lied, as convincingly as a kid with chocolate all over their face swearing they didn't touch the cake.

Drew gave me a long look, then smiled. Not the good kind of smile.

"You think I'm that stupid?"

Then, bam. A fist to my cheek. My head snapped to the side, and I hit the ground hard, my face officially entering the 'premium punching bag' club.

Drew crouched beside me, his voice turning low and ice-cold. "I'll be back on Monday. You better have my money. Otherwise…" He reached out, tracing my collarbone with a finger that made my skin crawl. "We'll have some fun with that pretty face. And when we're done? I'll make sure you're shipped off to one of my whorehouses in the Red District."

I swallowed hard, hating how real that threat was.

"John will love these huge melons," Drew continued, eyes flicking to my chest like a complete degenerate. "Might even let him keep you until I get my money back."

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Why—out of all the possible bad decisions in my life—did I have to borrow money from a loan shark who's also a pimp and has ties to the mafia?!

After they left, I triple-locked my door, shoved a chair under the handle for good measure, and collapsed onto my bed. My cheek throbbed like hell, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the fact that Drew wasn't bluffing. I had to get the money.

And fast.

The problem? The million-dollar severance I was after required one very specific condition: getting fired by Lexus Knight.

Which was proving to be impossible.

That man was arrogant, cold as a block of ice, and annoyingly untouchable. I'd tried everything—slacking off, messing with his schedules, borderline insubordination—nothing worked.

I buried my face into my pillow, groaning. I was stuck.

Then, a different problem hit me. Lexus. On top of me.

His teal eyes locked onto mine. His lips twitching, almost like he wanted to kiss me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory to disappear. It was an accidental fall. A complete freak accident.

But it felt so perfect.

I groaned louder. "What is wrong with me?! He's a perv. A stalker. A complete creep—"

I rolled over, covering my face with the pillow.

But he's also really cute.

I hated myself for thinking it. Absolutely hated it.

But that wasn't the point. I needed to focus. I had one last trick up my sleeve. Something risky. Something dangerous.

Something Lexus definitely wouldn't be able to ignore.

Operation Seduction.

It's game time.

~~~~~~~

I took several deep breaths, mentally preparing to kickstart "Operation Seduction."

Lexus Knight was already awake, sitting at the table, casually enjoying his breakfast—which, of course, was a home delivery. The man was rich, devastatingly good-looking, and yet his pots and pans still looked like showroom decorations. Why own a kitchen if you're not gonna use it?

"Good morning, sir. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was insane," I said sweetly.

He didn't even look up from his precious tablet. Just a slight shift of his teal eyes, a flicker of acknowledgment, then—back to reading.

Alright, Billie. Time for Step One: No Bra.

I knew he was looking yesterday. That towel incident? Oh, yeah. His gaze had lingered, just a little too long. It had even made me blush—which I hated.

Today, I went full tactical. No bra. Tight uniform. And, to enhance the effect, I had strategically watched an erotic clip in the elevator, just to get a little…you know…nippy.

His gaze did travel—head to toe, then back to his tablet.

No reaction.

No double take.

No visible male distress.

Plan failed.

Alright. Step Two: Hint Without Hinting.

I grabbed the vacuum and turned it on. Then, watching his shadow move across the room, I dove under his bed.

Not to clean. No, no.

I had placed a perfectly positioned pocket mirror under there. Genius. If he so much as flicked his gaze to my strategically arched backside, I'd catch it.

I held my breath.

Waited.

Nothing.

I peeked.

His eyes? Still on that damn tablet. And just like that, he walked out. I turned off the vacuum and grunted like a caveman.

What is up with this man?! He's harder to seduce than a priest.

Fine. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Step Three: No Panties + Gym Distraction.

I marched to his home gym, bucket of soapy water in hand. He was working out—lifting weights, shirt off, muscles flexing.

A sight to behold.

Focus, Billie.

I walked over, placing myself strategically near the barbells above his head. Perfect angle. Cookie? Completely exposed.

He had to see this. There was no way he wouldn't.

I waited.

I glanced down.

And—

HE WASN'T EVEN LOOKING.

He was sitting up, casually talking on the phone. Not a single glance.

I took off my panties for nothing.

Damn him!

Frustrated, I launched the sponge into the soapy water with a splash. Why was this man built like a fortress against seduction?!

At least one of these should have worked.

But no.

Lexus Knight? Completely unaffected.

I need a new strategy.

~~~~~~~

Lexus.

I noticed her the moment she walked in.

"Good morning, sir. Sorry I'm late. Traffic was insane."

Billie's voice was sickeningly sweet, like she was up to something.

I barely lifted my eyes from my tablet, but I still saw everything.

No bra.

Of course.

Her uniform was just tight enough, and those damn peaks were impossible to ignore. She wanted a reaction. She wasn't getting one.

I kept my gaze steady, letting it drift lazily from her head to her toes—like I couldn't care less—before returning to my tablet.

I cared.

But I refused to let her know that.

I flipped a page, pretending to read while my jaw clenched so tight it could crack a diamond.

She huffed and left. Plan failed.

But she wasn't done.

A few minutes later, I heard the vacuum.

I glanced over just in time to see her dive under my bed.

What the hell is she doing?

Then I saw it—a mirror.

She was checking if I was looking.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my body to move as if I hadn't noticed, as if her very obvious ass-in-the-air pose wasn't testing my patience.

I kept walking. Didn't even glance her way. The moment I was out of the room, I smirked.

She's really trying, huh?

Then, the final straw.

I was in the gym, lifting weights, trying to focus on my damn workout. She walked in, carrying a bucket of soapy water—which she did not need to be here for.

I ignored her.

At least, I tried to.

She positioned herself right above my head.

And I saw it.

Bare. Pink. Lips.

I inhaled sharply, feeling my body betray me. My hands clenched around the barbell. Keep lifting. Keep breathing. Don't look again.

I sat up, grabbing my phone, pretending to have a call. I needed an escape.

Behind me, I heard a splash. She was pissed. I smirked to myself.

Billie Castor Jean thought I was oblivious.

She had no idea how close she was to winning. Or perhaps she won; she just didn't know it.