Chapter 1

Clara's POV

I said, "Bye, Sam," and waved to the manager.

He saw me race out of the bakery and grinned.

I glanced at my watch at 18:30.

This meant that I had a mere thirty minutes before I had to start working at the hotel. We had a busy day with a lot of orders coming in, so my shift finished a little later than normal today.

I was simply covering for a buddy, therefore today was my final day. This meant I had to hunt for another part-time work because I was back on the job market. I had to leave before I lost my second job, though.

The bus was ready to leave when I put out my hand to stop it.

"Clara," the bus driver grinned as I got on, panting profusely.

"I'm grateful, Brian," I said.

To put it mildly, I was accustomed to being late.

The hotel where I worked was a twenty-minute drive away; if I ran quickly enough, I could make it in time. I tapped my foot tensely, counting every minute. It doesn't help that I'm the last one to arrive—my boss has been seeking an excuse to dismiss me ever since I was recruited.

The motel was just a block away when I got off the bus. It was visible from a mile away. In the district, it was the highest structure.

Reading 'New Ravens suites' made me sigh as I continued to look at the structure as I normally do. If you were a visitor, it was the greatest place to be; if you worked there, it was the worst.

How one individual possesses all of the stuff is absurd. Located on the first floor of one of the best hotels in the city is a five-star restaurant. Among many other things, guests have the greatest view of the city and a private jacuzzi. You have to have contacts to get a room here, not to mention that many of the rooms include precious artwork. It would cost an arm and a leg to stay here for only one night.

I took my uniform out of my bag pack. I headed straight to the locker rooms so I could quickly change.

"Shot," I said as I left the changing areas.

Everyone was already in a meeting at this point. Before we began our shift, Marcus, our boss, loved to gather us around for a short "word of encouragement."

Marcus started speaking, and I blended in with the throng without anybody noticing.

Marcus said, "Maddison Riley," rising over the throng. "That is who you are going to be serving,"

As everyone in the throng exchanged glances, there were whispers.

Madison Riley was essentially a celebrity; she gained widespread recognition after appearing in a well-known advertisement. Her parents possess a sizable construction firm, and she owns a well-known store featuring high-end designer clothing, therefore her family's wealth is mostly responsible for her notoriety.

My buddy Ivy caught my eye from the corner of the room.

Shouting "Hi," I approached Ivy who was standing next to her.

"If you were late by another minute, I'm pretty sure he was going to fire you." She said quietly.

I said, "He always exaggerates."

Marcus was still being heard by us.

He arched an eyebrow, saying, "I don't need to remind any of you how important she is."

Marcus, a middle-aged man who was most likely in his late forties, was a competent manager when he wasn't busy overworking us. Most people claim that Marcus only became manager because his father was the previous manager and had to retire. mostly because he was attempting to advance to a different downtown hotel branch.

"Now that you're all gone," he brushed us off.

He saw me and Ivy, his typical targets. He gestured for us to wait by pointing at the two of us.

Marcus walked up to us while we waited for everyone else to go.

"I need the two of you to personally take care of Maddison. She is one of our biggest clients and if any of the rumors are true, God help us. She is going to be the future madam of this place so I wouldn't do anything stupid if I were you." said Marcus.

Ivy cynically said, "Sure boss, we'll do it gladly. Only because you asked us so nicely."

Clapping his fists together, Marcus screamed, "Now go, what are you still doing here?" He halted, sighing, and turned back to face me. He rolled his eyes, and said, "If you were any smarter, you would be in a mansion with a rich husband," and he went by me.

I muttered to Ivy, "Am I supposed to take that as an insult?"

"Come on, he is just jealous that even the gay guys are turning their attention on you." She was joking.

I strolled over to Maddison's apartment with Ivy. Her belongings were already being brought in by others. The maids from the previous shift had packed and organized her bags beforehand.

I've always been curious about what it's like to be really wealthy and not have to worry about making ends meet.

With a groan, I grabbed the dishwashing liquids. Daydreaming all day was not an option for me; I had a job to do.

Ivy made her usual decision to explore before continuing with her duties.

"Derek Montenegro, the sexiest bachelor in New York," Ivy said.

Ivy was staring at a GQ magazine when I turned to face her.

"He looks amazing," she said, turning the magazine cover in my direction.

Yes, he was definitely deserving of the label of "sexiest bachelor in New York." With hardly even a grin on his face, he posed so smoothly for the magazine cover. Any woman would go crazy at his casual appearance in a blue tux. His influence was so strong that it caused my knees to weaken. If I were to see him in person, I wonder how I would respond.

I had to escape my own thoughts.

I looked away from his photo and reminded her, "Yes, he is also our boss."

I gave the broom to her.

She said, "You really have a way of ruining my mood."

Taking up the broom, she began cleaning the living room. There wasn't much to do at this place; every day, even when no one was staying in the rooms, they were all cleaned.

We had to tidy the bedroom next.

Ivy reached over to the nightstand and grabbed up another magazine—this one was another of Derek's. "How is it possible that a guy looks like that, yet no one has ever tried to have his baby," she said.

I said, laughing, "Are you still on that?"

"I mean, look at him. He is practically a Greek god. If I were those other girls, I'd get pregnant and trap him immediately." She laughed.

"We would have to become millionaires before he gives us a bit of his attention. He is hardly ever seen with a girl in the tabloids." I said.

Unexpectedly, I noticed his images in one of my fifteen-year-old sister Katy's adolescent magazines, which she received every month and which were devoted to boy bands. He was the center of attention for the tabloids.

"Maddison must have the right idea, everyone knows that's the only reason she is coming here, to try and seduce him." She went on.

I said, pretending to speak French, "Maybe she just wants to experience New Ravens suites." I'm not even sure why I did it.

"Come on, we've all seen women like her. Her parents own a mansion just a few blocks from here. She might have her own money but it's the power she craves. We know that she is only after his money. She is just looking for a place where she can target him." Ivy responded.

"That's even if he shows up here," I said. "You've said it yourself; you've worked here in the last two years, yet you have never seen him step a foot here."

Although I've just been employed here for the last three months, I've heard that he seldom really comes up in person because he is constantly on the road. I've never been in there, but I do know that he has a private apartment on the top level, which is only sometimes accessible by the maids with the highest clearance to keep the place tidy.

"Anyways, the guy is a jerk. He won't let his employees take any time off. We work throughout Christmas and if I hadn't faked an injury, I would have missed my grandmother's funeral." She said.

"I think that's a little bit of Marcus' doing," I said.

"That's true, Marcus is a total ass. He is just bitter that he is alone, so he projects it on everyone." She said.

Something buzzed on my pocket phone. I was starting to make the practice of checking my surroundings before picking up the phone. Since we were hosting some celebs, they didn't want us using our phones at this place.

I noticed Waylen's name on the caller ID.

Our relationship ended a week ago. He hasn't stopped phoning me since then. Fortunately, I won't be working at the restaurant anymore, because I was sick of his coming by. He knew my mom would beat him up, so he didn't dare come to my house. She is unaware that I even began dating.

I figured he would stop calling after all of this. For the whole duration of our relationship, he lied to me—even on small matters. When I spotted him at a bookshop, I asked him where he was, and he said that he was at home. Eventually, among other things, I became weary of it.

I hung up on him.

He texted, saying, "Please, I need to see you so we can talk."

Enraged, I turned off my phone and shoved it in my pocket.

Ivy enquired, "What happened to you?"

"It's Waylen," I said.

"You never told me why the two of you broke up," Ivy said.

"Things just weren't working out. He was a liar, and we just didn't have any chemistry and now he won't stop texting me." I said.

"You could have stayed with him; the guy was always around you like a little puppy. You broke his heart." She said.

"It would have been worse if I continued leading him on. He was already planning on children and buying a house." I said.

She raised her eyebrows, "Do you know how many women would kill for a guy like that?"

"Come on, you know what I mean. I just wasn't ready for that kind of commitment; I couldn't picture myself with him in the future." I said.

"I don't blame you; the guy was a bit of a creep anyway," she said.

A gentle tapping on the door was heard.

To answer the door, I came out of the room.

Standing at the doorway was a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back neatly and a bundle in her hands. She grinned at me. All of them with their covers on gave the appearance of dresses.

"I'm here to drop off these dresses for Ms Maddison," she said with a grin.

"You can give them to me," I said.

As she handed me the outfits, she grinned.

I closed the door after seeing her go away.

I went back to the bedroom and made the beds with the dresses.

Ivy wondered what it was as she glanced at me. Her eyes shimmered, telling me that trouble was what this would bring.

She started to unzip the zipper before I could object. "It's Christian Dior," Ivy cried, tracing her fingertips over a garment.

I read her thinking and demanded, "Put that down."

I've already witnessed this side of Ivy; the last time she let her curiosity get the better of her, we almost got expelled from the pub.

"Come on, a dress like that? It's just begging to be worn." She said.

My remarks went unnoticed. She was taking off the black sparkling beauty's cover and trying to put it on already. That outfit would make me murder for it.

"This isn't Maid in Manhattan. You will get us caught, we will never be able to work another job in New York or anywhere else." I attempted to argue with her.

She urged, "Come on, you could be on the lookout."