Her Job His Rules

A Private Encounter

The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. Like the walls were holding their breath, waiting to see if I’d mess this up.

I glanced down at the tray in my hands—green tea, piping hot, resting neatly beside a small glass of honey and a white porcelain spoon. Apparently, His Highness had requested tea. Not food. Not water. Tea. Like we were in a goddamn royal court and he was a delicate emperor managing stress with herbal remedies.

Whatever.

I adjusted my grip on the tray and knocked once.

“Come in.”

That voice. Cold, crisp—like his entire personality was pressed into two syllables. I pushed the door open with my foot and stepped in, mentally rehearsing the same polite, detached tone I’d been using since day one.

And then I froze.

He wasn’t dressed.

Well—technically he was. But a towel slung low on his hips and damp hair clinging to his forehead didn’t count as clothes in my book. I stared. I didn’t mean to, but I stared. Because Jesus Christ, who walks around looking like that?

“Close the door,” he said, not even looking up.

Right. Door. I nudged it shut with the back of my heel and tried to focus on the tray. Not his chest. Not the way water rolled down from his collarbone and disappeared beneath the white towel.

Nope. Not today, Satan.

I moved toward the small table by the window, careful not to spill anything. “Your tea, sir.”

He didn’t respond immediately. I could feel his eyes now, on the back of my neck. It made my skin itch in the weirdest way—like heat and cold running together in a straight line down my spine. I placed the tray down and turned to leave, because I had no business being in a room with a half-naked man who had the emotional warmth of an iceberg.

But his voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

Oh for f**k’s sake.

I turned slowly, schooling my expression into something close to respectful confusion. “Yes, sir?”

He walked past me, the towel still clinging dangerously low, and reached into the shelf behind me. Which would’ve been fine if he hadn’t chosen that exact moment to invade every inch of personal space I had left.

His shoulder brushed mine. His arm slid past my cheek. His scent—clean, crisp, expensive—wrapped around me like smoke.

I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.

Just pretend he’s a bookshelf. A very rude, warm, naked bookshelf.

He pulled out a small black folder, his fingers brushing mine as he did. Deliberate? Probably. Did it work? Unfortunately, yes. My body betrayed me with a sudden spike of heat in places I would rather not discuss.

“You didn’t serve tea last night,” he said casually.

My brow furrowed. That’s what this was about? I was too distracted by his… lack of attire to process his tone, but it wasn’t accusing. It was… curious?

“I wasn’t called to,” I replied, shifting slightly. “I assumed I was off duty.”

“You’re always on duty,” he said, now leafing through the file like we weren’t having the weirdest tea encounter of my life. “When you’re in this house, you belong to it. To me.”

To you?

I blinked.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t belong to anyone.”

His head tilted slightly, and for the first time, a small smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

“You’re feisty.”

No. No, no, no. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like the way it sounded like a compliment. Like he’d discovered a fun little toy that bites back.

I cleared my throat and straightened my back. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

He closed the file and finally looked me in the eye. “Where are you from, Ava?”

The question caught me off guard.

“My background isn’t relevant to my job,” I said cautiously.

“It is to me,” he replied. “You interest me.”

Oh hell.

That wasn’t supposed to be said out loud. Not from a man like him. Not to a girl like me, wearing nothing but a glorified napkin of a uniform and praying her one pair of panties dried before tomorrow morning.

“I’m just here to work,” I muttered, dropping my gaze.

“Are you?” he said, stepping a little closer.

I held my ground. Barely.

He was too close. The towel. The heat. His damn eyes. Everything screamed danger.

Then, like nothing happened, he turned away.

“You may go.”

I didn’t wait. I practically sprinted out of that room, tray clutched to my chest like it could protect me from whatever storm he was brewing.

---

I shut the kitchen door behind me and leaned on it, eyes wide, heart racing.

What the actual hell just happened?

One towel. One question. One step too close—and I was unraveling like a cheap thread.

He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even say anything inappropriate. But the air had shifted. Something unspoken passed between us and I didn’t know what it meant.

All I knew was—I was in trouble.

Deep, sensual, emotionally confusing trouble.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want to run from it.

I wanted to see what would happen if I stayed.

Thank God.

The fabric was finally dry.

I picked up the now-clean panties from the bathroom window like they were sacred—because at this point, they honestly were. Slipping them on, I nearly sighed out loud at how nice it felt to have a barrier between me and that scandalous excuse of a uniform. It was ridiculous how something so simple could feel like armor. But after spending the last two days basically exposed to the world—okay, to Alexander Felix—I deserved a little relief.

I adjusted the waistband, smoothed the uniform over my hips, and glanced at myself in the mirror. Still looked like a half-dressed cocktail server from some underground club, but at least I didn’t feel completely naked anymore. Progress.

And weirdly? I felt better. Just a little more composed. Less prey, more person.

I tied my hair back, dabbed some balm on my lips, and stepped out of my room—walking like I had something to hide and something to protect. Which, technically, I did.

Down the hall, I could already hear the usual morning shuffle. Trays clinking. Footsteps padding. Quiet chatter in corners that would stop the second Alexander walked in. I didn’t care to eavesdrop, but one voice stood out louder than the others.

Mira.

She was laughing. Flirting? I wasn’t sure with who, but the second she saw me, her eyes sparkled—and not in a good way.

“Well, well,” she purred, walking closer with a tray in hand, her perfectly arched brow raising like she knew something. “Someone looks a little more... comfortable this morning.”

Here we go.

“Must be the good night’s sleep,” I replied, keeping my tone casual but not warm. Mira wasn’t the kind of girl you got friendly with. She was the kind you stayed alert around.

She tilted her head, letting her eyes travel down to my legs—clearly assessing. “Or maybe it’s the breeze finally stopped blowing in places it shouldn’t.”

God. So she did notice.

I gave her a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “It’s called being prepared.”

Mira grinned wider, like she’d won some invisible round. “Sure. But I gotta say... the way you’ve been walking these past two days? Bold. Very bold.”

Okay. That was enough.

I stepped closer, just enough to make her blink. “You keep paying attention to how I walk, people might start thinking you’ve got a little crush.”

She blinked once. Then smiled—sharp this time. “Please. If I wanted attention, I wouldn’t need to walk half-naked to get it.”

Ouch. Point for Mira.

But I didn’t flinch. “Right. You’d just trip over your own ego and fall straight into the boss’s lap.”

She laughed at that—an actual laugh. And to be fair, even I wanted to smirk a little. The thing about girls like Mira? They didn’t respect weakness. So you couldn’t give it to them. Not even a little. Especially not in a house like this, where the walls listened and power came in the form of glances.

As we both walked into the dining corridor to begin the breakfast service, Mira leaned closer, voice low. “You might’ve found your underwear, Ava. But don’t forget, it’s still his house. And some of us know how to survive in it.”

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t have to.

I just smiled like I wasn’t sweating underneath that stupid fabric, like I wasn’t walking a tightrope every second in this mansion, and like her words didn’t sting a little more than I’d like to admit.

Survive? Yeah. I knew how.

But I wasn’t here to blend in like her.

I was here to get paid, get out, and maybe—just maybe—leave a few people like Mira wondering how I managed to do it all without ever crawling.