Chapter 1 - The Man in the Elevator
"He's so handsome, and I'm just a broke virgin. He's literally my dream man.” I whispered those words inside a stalled hotel elevator, standing inches away from the most gorgeous stranger I'd ever seen. I was a broke bakery worker in a stained apron, and he looked like a man who could buy the entire building without checking his bank account. I thought he hadn't heard me. But minutes later, I walked into a ballroom full of Chicago's most dangerous men—and discovered the stranger was someone I should never have spoken about so carelessly.
My name is Nerissa, and that night, I'd been on my feet for fourteen hours.
I worked at a bakery in Chicago's West Loop, earning barely enough to keep a roof over my head and help my younger sister, Sasha.
Some nights, Sasha pretended she'd already eaten so I wouldn't worry about feeding her.
I'd sold almost everything valuable we owned. All I had left of my mother were an old coat and a few notebooks filled with her handwriting.
So when my manager handed me a delivery box, I didn't complain.
“The Langham. Presidential suite,” he said. “And don't embarrass us in front of the wealthy.”
Inside the box were thirty dollars' worth of pastries.
Seven hours of my wages.
I drove through the freezing Chicago night in our bakery's rattling sedan, trying not to think about overdue bills.
When I reached the hotel, I entered through the service entrance and stepped into an elevator.
On the fourth floor, the doors opened.
And he walked in.
Black polished shoes. An immaculate dark suit. A gold tie pin. A signet ring engraved with a symbol I didn't recognize.
His black hair was combed back, except for one stubborn strand near his temple.
A faint scar crossed his eyebrow.
And his face...
I'd never seen a man that handsome outside a movie.
He pressed the button for the twentieth floor without looking at me.
I tightened my grip on the pastry box.
My apron had a coffee stain. My hair was tied with one of Sasha's old elastics. I probably smelled like butter and cinnamon.
Standing beside him, I felt painfully out of place.
Then, between the twelfth and thirteenth floors, the elevator stopped.
The lights flickered.
My stomach dropped.
“It jams sometimes,” I said nervously.
He barely tilted his head.
No smile.
No reassurance.
Just that terrifying calm.
I stared at his reflection in the mirrored wall, trying desperately not to look directly at him.
And then exhaustion betrayed me.
Before I realized my lips were moving, I whispered:
“He's so handsome, and I'm just a broke virgin. He's my dream.”
My entire body went cold.
Had I really said that out loud?
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Please don't let him have heard me.
The elevator started moving again.
When the doors opened on the twentieth floor, he stepped out without a word.
He didn't turn around.
Didn't smile.
Didn't acknowledge me.
I nearly cried with relief.
He hadn't heard me. He couldn't have.
I delivered the pastries to a white-gloved maître d', who barely looked at me.
Then I asked where the service elevator was.
“Under construction,” he replied. “Go through the ballroom and take the main elevator.”
“The ballroom?”
He gave me a thin smile.
“The Italian elite won't notice you. Just keep your head down.”
I hugged my empty tray against my chest and pushed through the double doors.
The room was enormous.
Crystal chandeliers glittered above tables covered in white flowers. Women wore diamonds that probably cost more than my entire apartment building.
Men in dark suits stood in quiet groups, many wearing gold pins just like the stranger's.
I suddenly felt very small.
I kept my head down and followed the wall, praying nobody would stop me.
Just a few more steps.
Then I could go home to Sasha.
Forget the elevator.
Forget the handsome stranger.
Forget the humiliating words I'd whispered.
I was almost at the exit when something changed.
The conversations stopped.
Champagne glasses lowered.
Every head turned toward the same part of the room.
And suddenly, the entire ballroom fell silent.
I froze with the empty tray pressed against my chest, terrified that I'd walked into something I was never supposed to witness.
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