A Woman Cleans Up After A Gala, Never Knowing The Billionaire Host There Would Soon Fall For Her
The Midnight Ballroom
Nora Lanes didn’t believe in fairy tales, especially not when she was elbow-deep in champagne-soaked linens at four in the morning. She was scrubbing the marble floor of the O’Conor Estate ballroom while her sneakers squeaked across spilled caviar.
She paused only to push a loose strand of hair behind her ear, glancing around the towering room. Crystal chandeliers still sparkled from the ceiling like nothing had happened, even though the guests were long gone. The glamour had slipped off like a discarded gown.
The gala had been for some tech billionaire—Zaden O’Conor or something. Not that she’d seen him. People like him didn’t notice people like her. She was just the cleanup crew called in last minute when the regular staff bailed. One night, one paycheck; that was all she needed.
She bent to pick up a shattered glass flute when a voice behind her said,
“You missed a spot.”
She jumped, spinning around, her heart thudding. A man stood near the open double doors, his tuxedo jacket slung over one shoulder, tie undone, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it one too many times.
He looked like he belonged in a GQ spread, except he was barefoot.
“Sorry,” she said, gripping the cleaning rag like a weapon. “I didn’t think anyone was still here.”
“I live here,” he said casually, stepping further into the room. “And I wasn’t criticizing. You just looked focused.”
She frowned. “Are you Zaden?”
He gave a half-grin. “Guilty?”
She immediately straightened up, suddenly aware of how ridiculous she must look. Her hair was in a messy knot, her sweatshirt was bleach-stained, and the knees of her jeans were wet.
“I… I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was told this would be empty.”
“You’re not disturbing me,” he said, waving a hand. “Honestly, I couldn’t sleep. These things always make me feel like a stranger in my own house.”
Nora blinked. “You throw a party and then regret it?”
“I throw a party and then realize I hate ninety percent of the people I invited.”
He walked closer, eyeing the rag in her hand. “And I definitely don’t deserve anyone cleaning up after me.”
She let out a laugh. “That’s a first—a rich guy feeling guilty.”
Zaden raised an eyebrow. “You always this blunt?”
“Only when I’m sleep-deprived and covered in shrimp tail juice.”
He laughed—actually laughed—and then looked at her for a beat longer than she expected.
“What’s your name?”
“Nora Lanes.”
“Well, Nora Lanes,” he said, folding his arms. “You’ve officially made my night less miserable.”
She wiped her hands on her jeans. “Do you usually linger in empty ballrooms talking to strangers?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
He nodded toward the table she was cleaning. “That’s at least a ten-thousand-dollar tablecloth you’re kneeling on.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He chuckled. “Relax. You’re not the first to spill wine on it. My assistant went through two of them last week when she tried to open a bottle of champagne with a sword.”
Nora blinked. “That’s not something I hear every day.”
“That’s kind of the theme around here,” he said, gesturing to the room. “Lots of things nobody says in real life, but somehow I live in it.”
She stood awkwardly, unsure what to say. “Well, I should get back to work.”
“You could take a break,” he offered. “There’s leftover cake in the kitchen. I think it’s illegal to throw out a four-tiered hazelnut truffle.”
She hesitated. “You want me to have cake in your kitchen?”
“Why not?”
His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.
“Because I’ve seen horror movies start this way,” she deadpanned.
Zaden laughed again, shaking his head. “Fair. But I promise I’m not a serial killer. Just a guy who’s tired of being surrounded by people who only care about my money.”
Something about the way he said it made her pause. She nodded slowly.
“All right. One slice.”
