Peyton Cadwell was starting to get under my skin.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. And the fact that I kept running into her wasn't helping matters much.

If I were a smart guy, I'd make myself stop this... whatever it was… in its tracks. There was no future for Peyton and me, and that was painfully obvious—maybe not to her, but definitely to me. My parents would probably threaten to murder me if they knew I was making eyes at their nemesis' daughter. They would never have it, and I assumed Peyton's folks would be none too pleased about it either.

I’d done my very best to stop thinking about her and pretend she was just a girl I saw occasionally at work. Of course, it worked for all of five minutes, until I saw her again the other day, crying in the hall when I went to sneak information out of the offices...

I was caught in her web, and the worst part was, I didn't even want to get out of it. 

There was also the fact that I was pretending to be someone else. I knew Peyton would inevitably find out who I really was, and the later it happened, the worse it would be. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth. Not yet. I wanted a chance before she wrote me off completely, as bad of an idea as it was, and I knew she would as soon as my true identity was revealed.

A few days had passed now, and I was working again, this time in the hotel lobby. Before my shifts started each day, I had a ritual. I’d sneak into empty hotel staff offices to get my hands on whatever paperwork I could, taking discreet snaps with the camera on my cell phone. Early morning shifts were the best for this, because none of the office staff were in first thing, giving me more time to spy without the possibility of being caught.

I needed all the information I could get—Dad was already breathing down my neck with every step I took, demanding I give them more.

I'd started feeling slightly guiltier about feeding my parents all this information, though. I was betraying Peyton, and now that I'd gotten to meet her mom as well, I felt even worse. The Cadwells weren't some fire-breathing dragons out to get my family. They came from a different background, sure, but they clearly still worked hard and did everything in their power for the Mirabella. Francine and Vincent Cadwell were more like my parents than either of them would've cared to admit.

Pushing around carts with luggage was good, though. It made me focus on the physical aspect of my work and forget all the things I was worrying about.

"Kaden, man? Is that you?"

I froze on the spot. I knew that voice all too well. Tristan Buckley... Probably the last person I wanted to see right now.

I turned around slowly, my shoulders nervously pulled up as I offered my old friend a big smile.

"Hey, dude," I said with a nervous grin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This had the potential to be disastrous for me. I needed to get away from Tristan and do it as fast as possible, too. "What are you doing here?"

I rounded the corner, and as soon as I did, I fucking regretted it.

Tristan wasn't alone. He was at the Mirabella with about a dozen guys I knew very well, and once they all saw me—in my uniform, no less—I knew I was in deep shit.

"Guys!" Tristan called out, nearly choking on his own laughter. "Look who's here."

"Shut up." I tried to shush him, but it was already too late. Most of the party he'd arrived with had noticed me standing here.

"Kaden-fucking-Pier—" Tristan began, but I cut in as fast as I possibly could.

"Good to see you," I said. "It's been fucking ages, hasn't it?"

Tristan gave me a confused look just as the rest of my old friends gathered around us. In seconds I was surrounded by loud, raucous laughter, being slapped on the back, my hair ruffled, my name being shouted across the damn lobby. Fuck, this was bad.

I looked around to make sure Peyton wasn’t around before returning my friends' good-natured greetings.

"Haven't seen you in ages," Tristan said, looking over my bellboy outfit with a raised brow. "What the fuck is going on here, anyway? Costume party?"

"Something like that," I replied with a nervous smile. "Nothing for you to worry about. What are you doing here?"

"George's bachelor party," Tristan replied, and my eyes found my former friend standing a few feet away. George looked away guiltily, unable to meet my eyes.

We'd been friends once upon a time. Really close friends, too. We went out at least a few times a week, if not every night. We partied, we laughed, and we were fast friends for at least three years. And now he was getting fucking married, and he hadn't even invited me to the bachelor party. I was well and truly out of their gang now, or so it seemed.

"Thanks for inviting me," I said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in my voice. It fucking pissed me off to be excluded in this way.

"Come on, man," George said. "It's not like you really give a shit, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been blowing us all off for months," Tristan said, and from his frosty tone, I could tell this was personal, and had been discussed in the group before. "You never want to hang out anymore. Like you're too fucking good to be seen with us anymore, man. It doesn't exactly feel great."

"It's not like that," I replied. "You know it's not."

"Actions speak louder than words." Tristan shrugged.

"Who are you marrying?" I turned my attention to George, feeling too guilty to keep talking to Tristan. My former best friend just smirked in response. "Is it Tricia?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. I laughed bitterly.

I wasn't trying to be a jerk, but Tricia and George had been dating for six years. I'd known them both for ages, since they were in the same social circles as me. I also knew George had been cheating on Tricia, a vapid blonde socialite who’d made passes at me for the past five years, almost on a weekly basis. It was one of the many things that made me stop hanging out with them. The fact that our group thought nothing of our friend cheating on a girl, and now proposing to her and getting married as if those vows meant nothing, was exactly why I’d stopped calling them as much as I used to.

"Just so you know, I'm done sleeping around," George said. Was I imagining it or was his tone a little sheepish?

"You don't have to explain anything to me," I told him. "Maybe your fiancée is the one you should be doing that with, man."

If I didn't know any better, I could swear George blushed at that. But before he could respond, Tristan pulled me aside from the rest of the guys and glared at me.

"Hey, man, just because you're apparently so fucking high and mighty now doesn't mean you have to bring everyone else down," he said heatedly.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. I was already feeling tired from our unnecessary fight. I was also worried Peyton or someone else I worked with would walk in on the scene and see me fighting with a paying customer. That would not go down well with the head of staffing. Nadia would bite my head off—she was sweet on the outside, but I'd seen her lose her temper with some of my coworkers, and more than once, too.

"I'm sorry," I finally replied. "I'm stressed as shit. My parents have me working this job..."

"A job?" Tristan laughed, taking in my outfit again. "Is that why you've been playing hooky on us?"

I hesitated. For a second, I almost wanted to blame my parents for letting our friendship slide, but in the end, I had to be honest. Tristan deserved that much, at least.

"No. I just can't keep up,” I muttered. "The drinking, partying. It's not what I want anymore. You know what I mean, right?"

For a second, I thought I saw a flash of understanding in Tristan's eyes. But then he just chuckled dismissively and shook his head at me. "We have it all, man," he said. "You could have anything in the world. But you choose to run fucking errands for your parents? Don't tell me someone else couldn't have done this whole...thing. Whatever it is."

I furrowed my brows, unable to think of a decent response. He was right—my parents could've found someone else to fish for the information they needed. In the end, it was my decision to come to the Mirabella, and I was only now beginning to understand why I'd done it.

I felt lost, so fucking lost in the life I'd been living before this new job. I was bored. I had no idea what to do with myself, what my ambitions were, what my future held. Even though I had plenty of advice to dole out to others on this subject, like Peyton, I didn’t seem to be capable of applying any of it to my own life. All I knew for sure was that I didn't want to go back to the life I'd lived with Tristan, George and the rest of their crew.

"Listen, don't blow my cover," I told Tristan. "This is important."

"Important?" Tristan raised his eyebrows. "Why the fuck is it—"

My eyes lost their focus as I saw Peyton walk into the lobby. She looked as stunning as ever, and try as I might, I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. It seemed as if every time she was in the same space as me, sparks flew between us. She looked so fucking beautiful that I wanted to stare at her just to rest my damn eyes.

"Ohhh," Tristan said meaningfully. I shot him a warning look while he grinned at me. "I don't think you've changed at all. You might think you have, but at the end of the day, this is all about a girl, isn't it? Peyton Cadwell, no less. Bet your parents would love that."

I didn't answer, but my whole body stiffened when Peyton and a female coworker of mine, Bianca, approached us.

"Hey, Cade," Bianca said. I smiled in response. We were on friendly terms, though I didn't know much about her besides what she'd told us at orientation. My focus was on Peyton, anyway. She was looking at me with slightly-raised brows, unspoken questions in her eyes.

"Hi. I was just helping Mr. Buckley with his luggage," I said.

Tristan laughed and clapped me on the back. "Yeah, he's my bitch for the day," he said.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I could feel Peyton still staring at me but I didn't mention it, or the way Tristan was acting. Instead, I just loaded up the trolley with his suitcases and gave them all a bright smile. Peyton didn't say a thing, and neither did the other two.

"Here you go," Tristan said, pressing a wad of cash to my palm. "You look like you need it. Now I’m going to go watch my favorite movie. Sleeping With The Enemy,” he added pointedly, just to get under my skin one last time.

He strolled away, leaving me fuming with a trolley full of his suitcases. If I had it my way, I'd cut them all open and shred his expensive shit for humiliating me like that. But of course, I had a role to play, and I couldn't risk exposing myself. So instead I just pocketed the money, winked at Peyton and laughed at Bianca's shocked expression.

"What a douche," she said, shaking her head. Then as if she'd just remembered we had company, she looked guiltily at Peyton. "Sorry, but he really was."

"No argument there," Peyton said, giving Bianca a meaningful look. The girl cleared her throat and left in a hurry. So then it was just me, Peyton, and the trolley full of Louis Vuitton luggage.

We looked at each other awkwardly, neither of us saying a thing. Finally, I had enough of the uncomfortable silence, and I laughed. Peyton's sweet giggle followed, and I looked into her pretty eyes as some strange emotion bloomed in my chest.

She was fucking adorable, but at the same time, so sexy I could barely keep my hands to myself. I wanted to touch her. Properly this time, not just a few lingering hand-squeezes and light strokes over her arm, like I did the other day in that vacant room when I was comforting her. No, I wanted to feel her under me, feel the sensation of her velvety lips crashing against mine.

"What are you thinking about?" Peyton asked me in a low, sexy voice. I had to force myself to snap out of the mood I was in and smile at her.

"That I should be doing my job," I replied.

She laughed again. "Talk to me for a second?" she asked. I couldn't resist that sweet voice. God, I wanted to hear her beg some more, in other ways. Far dirtier ways. 

"Sure," I replied. "What's up?"

Her smile faded along with the laughter, and she sighed. "Oh, you know… I'm just feeling a bit shitty again," she said. "And we keep running into each other. Maybe you’re destined to be my therapist?"

"Yeah. Must be fate," I teased her.

"Either that or you're a creepy stalker.” She laughed.

"Speak for yourself." I winked at her and her smile lingered. It transformed her face, made it look even more beautiful. She worried too much.

"Hey, so," I said, knowing I was about to break every single rule there was. "I was wondering if you'd like to—"

"Peyton!"

An authoritative voice called out for her, and we both turned in the direction of it. A broad-shouldered, short-haired man in an expensive suit stood a little way off in the lobby, glaring in our direction. Vincent Cadwell. And just like that, the mood between us was broken. Peyton looked at the floor, blushing as she mumbled something at me.

"Sorry?" I asked.

"I have to go," she repeated a little louder, and without giving me another look, she rushed off in the direction of her father.

I stared after her, and even though they were standing a little way off, I could still hear her conversation with him.

"Who is that you’re chatting to? And why?" he asked her.

"Nobody," she muttered in response. "Just some bellboy who started talking to me."

Vincent glared at me. I busied myself by rearranging the luggage on the cart, but I kept looking at them with my peripheral vision. "I can fire him if he’s harassing you," he said coolly. "So if he's bothering you, just say the word. In fact, I should just—"

"No, please, Dad." Peyton grabbed his shirt sleeve. "He didn't mean anything. He was just saying hi.”

"Right. Well, one more strike and he's out," her father muttered before motioning for Peyton to follow him.

She fell into step behind him, throwing one last glance in my direction. I watched her leave, the guilty expression on her face coloring her cheeks bright red.

So she was ashamed of me; the way she knew me. Peyton Cadwell didn't want to be seen with someone as common as a bellboy.

I didn't like that one bit.

I didn't take people who acted all high-and-mighty lightly, and it completely changed my opinion of Peyton in a matter of seconds. Despite the softer side of her that I’d come to know over the last few days when we had our little chats, that obviously didn’t change who she was deep down. She really was just the spoiled little rich girl the media painted her as.

On the spot, I decided I was going to get back at her for that snobbiness. Not in a mean way. Just something that would embarrass her a little. Maybe make her feel a little humility and make her laugh when we...

When we what? I asked myself. There was no future there. No Kaden and Peyton, happily ever after. I needed to get her out of my head.

But first, I had a trick to play on the sexy little heiress...