“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” — the sharp question cracked through the silence of the luxurious Chicago penthouse like a gunshot.
Clara froze by the elevator doors. For almost a year, she had worked as a maid for the billionaire Adrian Blackwell. All that time, she had been nothing but a convenient, invisible woman in a gray uniform. But not tonight.
This evening, she was wearing a stunning red off-the-shoulder dress bought with her last savings, and her hair fell in thick waves down her back. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed for a date while her boss was locked in his office. But Adrian blocked her path. His gaze, always so cold and detached, was now slowly and hungrily sliding over her figure.
“Who is he?” his voice dropped frighteningly low as he stepped into the hallway.
“It’s Saturday, Mr. Blackwell. It’s my day off,” Clara dared to lift her chin for the first time. “I have a date. And that is absolutely none of your business.”
His jaw tightened. The air between them instantly electrified.
“I have a right to know, as long as you live under my roof.”
“I work under your roof,” Clara corrected him firmly. “And that’s a big difference.”
Adrian took a decisive step forward, pressing her against the cool wall. His hand rested possessively but gently on her waist, wrapped in delicate red silk.
“Then you’re fired, Clara,” he whispered hoarsely, staring straight into her wide, shocked eyes. “Because I can no longer look at you as a servant. And there is no way I am letting another man touch you in that dress.”
That night, Clara never went on her date. And the cold billionaire finally realized that the only woman he truly needed had been right in front of his eyes all along.
