I stepped out of the cab and stared up at the hotel. You're probably wondering what I was doing here at this hour.
At exactly 2 a.m., Hayden's butler had delivered a message: go to room 09 at this address, because Hayden was drunk.
Why me? Why not his assistant? Simple. He said he was my boss and I would listen when he spoke.
Of course he'd pull that card. Never mind the fact that I didn't even work for the Hewitts.
The butler had also asked for my number. Since I already had Hayden's, I sent him a quick text. Because, honestly, I had no idea how to get past the receptionist.
[Just tell her you're a cleaner or something.]
I stared at the text, frowning. "Just tell her you're a cleaner or something," I muttered mockingly under my breath.
Cleaner? In denim shorts and a black hoodie? Nothing about me screamed cleaner.
But before I could overthink it, the receptionist hung up a call and turned to me with a smile. "Oh, you must be the cleaner for room 09."
…Oh? Oh?!
