Chasing the boss

The unspoken threat hung in the air. My last paycheck had barely covered rent, let alone the mountain of my father's gambling debts. And my mother's columbarium had just sent another notice, apparently even dead people weren't immune to California's rent hikes.  

Two hours later, I stood in front of my cracked full-length mirror, twisting to see how much of my cheap black dress actually covered my ass. The answer, not enough.

Mia whistled from my bed where she was painting her nails. “Damn, girl. You clean up nice for someone about to commit felony trespassing.”

“I'm not trespassing,” I muttered, struggling with the zipper. “I have a press pass.”  

Her eyes bulged. “A fake press pass.”

“Semantics.” The zipper finally gave way, taking a chunk of my dignity with it. 

“You're unbelievable, Lexi.” Mia rolled her eyes, focusing on her nails.

“Besides, it's a charity gala.” They let anyone in if they think you'll donate.” I pointed out.  

Mia arched a perfectly sculpted brow. “You look like you donate to the 'needs ramen money' foundation.”  

I flipped her off and grabbed my thrift-store clutch. Inside is my fake credentials, a mini recorder, and the last shreds of my self-respect.  

“I'll be here praying you don't get caught.” She said, like she meant it. I know she’ll be eating all day.

“Hmm,” I nodded. “So nice of you, girlfriend.” 

I stepped out of my apartment and based on where I was going to…I needed to have more money.

I stepped back in and just as I had suspected, she was already eating my food. 

“You know that’s all I have left, Mia.” I said, my heart aching as she took the next bite of my burger. 

She didn't even reply. 

“You got some money?” I asked. 

“What for?” She asked, her mouth full.

“You know I can't show up there looking like a charity case. I need to order an Uber.”

Mia chuckled. “Well…girl, you're a charity case. You’re broke.”

“Just give me the money, you sick ass.” I snatched the few dollars from her hand and hurried out of the room.

I arrived at the Grand Atherton Hotel right on time. 

The hotel looked like someone had vomited money all over it. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors so shiny I could see my reflection in them, and the clear panic in my eyes.  

A security guard eyed my thrift-store dress skeptically as I clutched my fake press pass like a lifeline.

“Daily... Metropolitan?” he asked,  squinting at my forged credentials.  

“New digital division,” I lied smoothly. “We cover… philanthropy in the tech sector.”  

Miraculously, he waved me through.  

The ballroom was a sea of designer gowns and inflated egos. I grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter, downing it in one gulp. Liquid courage.  

A cluster of socialites nearby eyed me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into their showroom.  

“Who invited the help?” One whispered behind her champagne flute.  

“Probably some blogger,” her friend sneered. “She’s here for the free food.”

I resisted the urge to flip them off and turned towards the crowd. Well girls, I'm actually here to ruin someone's life, and my target was Lucian Cross. 

I hate them. I hate them all. Billionaire’s guts just make my stomach churn.

I scanned the crowd frantically, almost tripping on a waiter. I can't be here for long.

Then bam, I saw him. Lucían Cross. 

He moved through the room like a panther. Every head turned in his direction. Every conversation stuttered. The man radiated power in a way that made my skin prickle.  

Target acquired.  

I adjusted my camera and began weaving through the crowd, keeping him in my sights. The plan was simple, get close enough for some incriminating photos, maybe catch him saying something awful to a waiter, standard rich asshole behavior.  

Then disaster struck.  

My stupid thrift-store heel caught on the marble. I pitched forward, right into a wall of expensive suit.  

Strong hands caught my waist, steadying me. The scent of bergamot and something woodsy filled my nose.  

Oh. My. God.

I looked up into the most unfairly handsome face I'd ever seen. Lucian Cross's blue eyes burned into mine, his lips quirking in amusement.  

“You're not very subtle, Miss Carter.” He said, plucking the camera from my hand like I was holding a forbidden toy.

My heart hammered against my ribs. 

How does he know my name?!

I tried my best to bring myself back. 

“And you're not very honest,” I forced a smirk, ignoring the way my skin burned where his fingers had brushed mine. “What are you hiding, Mr. Cross?” 

His smirk deepened. “Tell you what. You want a real story? I’ll give you one,” he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “But you’ll write what I say.” 

I scoffed. “Dream on. I only write the truth. I am not someone you can buy over with your money.” 

He arched a brow. “I’ll give you exclusive access to my world?”

The room erupted into gasps. They have been watching from the beginning when I collided with him. 

I swallowed hard. This is a trap.

I should have suspected something was off when he didn't call the cops on me from the start.

But my rent was due. My father's debt collectors were breathing down on my neck, and Frank would fire me if I came back empty-handed. 

I raised my chin as though I was about to reject the offer. “Fine. But I don't take orders well.”

Lucian grinned. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Before I could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his expression hardening. He slipped a business card into my clutch. “The contract will be ready by eleven.”

Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd.  

I stood there, stunned, until Mia's text buzzed in my pocket.    

“So... did you get arrested or laid?”

I looked down at the embossed card in my hand, Lucian Cross, CEO written in sleek black lettering, and the champagne flute I didn't remember picking up.  

“Neither,” I texted back. “Worse. I think he just offered me a job.”

“What?!  “ Mia exclaimed.