Accidentally Claimed by the Billionaire Devil

Chapter 4

Everybody else was finishing up and there were only a few clipboards left. I grabbed one and signed all of the blank spots quickly, then handed it over to the man in the suit.

“On the elevator, please,” he said.

I got in, pressing myself back against the side of the elevator along with a half dozen other girls. The elevator swooped upwards quickly, leaving my stomach down on the first floor.

The elevator was made of glass, and as we lifted past the first few stories I gasped. I hadn’t realized what was so obvious. If I could see the elevators from outside, the elevators could see out.

I could see all of New York!

The elevator shaft was made of glass panels, and we looked out onto the city with all its glimmering lights and narrow alleys where darkness hides. The floor, too, was glass.

Oh, jeez.

My palms turned clammy with fear. All of the blood in my body sucked down into my feet, and I felt like I was going to collapse. God, I felt so vulnerable in a dress. I couldn’t run in heels. As we rose higher and higher, I gulped air and tried not to look directly down.

My fingers were sweating, but I held the cake firmly in my grasp. I was not going to let anything get in the way of delivering this cake successfully. Harper was counting on me.

I heard a giggle, and looked up to see the tall blonde woman staring daggers at me. Her friend was the one laughing. I flushed again and averted my eyes.

“You’re not going to the party, are you?” the friend said.

“I’m just delivering this to the kitchen,” I said, in as confident a tone as I could muster. I felt like throwing up. The only thing holding me back was the thought of ruining a two thousand dollar cake with puke.

“Right. The kitchen.” The girl rolled her eyes, and Blondie dissolved into giggles. I turned my head to look away from them.

Bad idea. From so high up, the people down on the street looked like ants. The cars looked like tiny Hot Wheels versions of themselves. And I was way, way too high up.

“Scared of heights?”

I looked up to see another one of the supermodels whispering at me. She didn’t look like she was making fun of me, though. Heck, she looked just as green around the gills as I did.

“Yeah,” I said. “A little. You?”

“I’m terrified of heights,” she said. I noticed then that her hands were clutching the rail. Her fingers were white with pressure.

“It’s alright,” I said. “They probably spent a million dollars on this elevator. No way would it ever break and send us all flying down to our deaths. It would be a publicity nightmare. Right?”

Her mouth dropped open. She stared at me in terror. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most comforting thing ever to say. Fortunately, the elevator stopped just then and the doors opened. I felt my heart rise back up into my chest as I tottered shakily out of the elevator.

“Alright,” I said to myself, trying to get my head back into the game. “Deliver the cake. Deliver the ”

As I walked out into the top-floor penthouse, I forgot all about what I was here to do. My legs stopped working and I just stood there gaping. There really were no words for it, but one of my mom’s old phrases came into my head and so that’s what came out of my mouth.

“Jesus’s jumping jelly beans!”

I stared out across a huge room. Every square inch of the place glittered and shone. Crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, sending their glowing light out onto the floor that hummed with hundreds of people, all dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. Something about it seemed strange to me, but I was too much in awe to figure it out. The art on the walls. The servers glided through the masses of chatting partygoers.

And the ice sculptures!

Near me, a towering ice sculpture arched over the hallway. It was an angel wrestling with a demon, and their hands were locked together as they stared into each other’s eyes. It was gorgeous, a sculptural masterpiece. It should have been in the museum of contemporary art, but instead here it was, melting in some rich guy’s apartment. Nobody was even looking at it!

Another man in a tuxedo was talking to the supermodels, and when he saw me he motioned me over angrily.

“Sign in here before you go inside,” he said, pointing to another clipboard. “Leave your ID in this case with me. And put on a collar.”

He held out a red leather collar in my direction. I just stared at him. Apart from having both of my hands occupied with holding a cake, I was totally weirded out by his request.

A collar?

That was when I realized what was weird about the party going on. All of the women were wearing collars. I gazed around. Some of the women had thin black bands around their necks. Others had chunky gold collars ornamented with diamond studs. And the supermodels were all fitting collars around their necks, too.

“What the heck?” I murmured. Was this some sort of b*****e orgy thing for millionaires? I had no idea what was going on.

The man looked like he wanted to send me back down the elevator, or perhaps throw me off of a balcony to get me away from him sooner. Fortunately, the supermodels spoke up.

“She’s not with us,” the bitchy blond girl interrupted.

“Yeah,” her friend echoed. “She’s going to the kitchen.”

The man frowned at me.

“Cake delivery,” I explained, holding up Harper’s creation.

“Yes, yes,” the man said, clearly irritated at having to deal with me. “Down the hall and to your left. But leave through the servants’ exit, please.”

I didn’t bother asking him where the servants’ exit was. It would be easier to just ask someone once I got to where I was supposed to be going. I turned around and exhaled, thankful that I didn’t have to deal with collars or supermodels anymore.

Me? I was just delivering a cake.

I wandered off underneath the ice sculpture of the angel and demon. The ice was melting, and water dripped off of the ends of the angel’s wings. Passing through, I continued walking along the outskirts of the party, the cake box clasped in my hand.

The hallway led out of the main room. As I walked away, the noise of the party grew quiet. Here, the hall was paneled with thick oak. Crushed velvet drapes framed sculptures made out of a more permanent marble and the ceiling was vaulted with gilded wood ornamentation. Whoever this rich guy was, he had a taste for antique design.

As I was walking past the first door on the left, I heard a noise. That wasn’t the kitchen, was it? I pulled the door open with one hand, holding the cake with the other. I poked in my head.

“Oh!” I cried.

The room I’d opened up was a den of some kind, with leather sofas and books lining the walls. There was a pool table in the middle of the room.

And on the pool table, a woman lay on her back. The man standing at the far end of the table looked up at me, his pants around his ankles. His tie fluttered over her ample cleavage as he bent over her, between her legs.

“Room’s occupied,” the man grunted.

“Unless you want to join,” the woman said, looking at me from upside down.

“Uh… no. No thank you. Sorry to interrupt,” I said, a fierce shame burning on my cheeks. I closed the door quickly behind me.

I made my way down to the end of the hall. From the left, waiters streamed out of a door. Okay. That was the kitchen. I was almost there when something caught my eye.

No way.