“Peyton! Over here!”

“Peyton, is it true you partied at Mint for your 21^st last night? How was it?”

“Is it true you hooked up with Zach Marlowe?”

“Are you and Zach dating? What did he get you for your birthday?”

I tried to ignore the paparazzi as they banged on the café window, yelling all sorts of questions at me as I attempted to shake off my hangover with the aid of a green smoothie.

My friend Serena gave them a wave and a smile before tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and cocking her head to the side. “You have to give them credit for remembering your birthday. It’s kinda sweet,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “Sweet? More like certifiably insane. They stalked us to a café at seven-thirty in the morning.”

Serena shrugged and gave a half-hearted nod of agreement before digging into her egg-white omelet. A yawn escaped my mouth, and I signaled to the waitress to bring me a coffee. Screw this green smoothie; it wasn’t giving me any of its so-called natural health benefits. I still felt like I’d been hit by a freight train, and I needed a dose of caffeine to pick me up.

“Peyton, is it true you go to L’Shea to get your Brazilians?” another gossip journalist shouted, banging on the window again.

Serena and I looked at each other incredulously at that question, and it took a great deal of effort to not burst into peals of laughter or run out of the café and douse the paps with my unwanted smoothie. Either one worked for me.

“Seriously, now they want to know about my bikini waxes?” I said, shaking my head.

Serena grinned and took a sip of her mimosa before answering. I wasn’t sure how she could face drinking anything alcoholic after the wild night we had last night—bar-hopping and club-bouncing for my birthday—but hey, if the old ‘hair of the dog’ trick worked for her, then good for her.

“That reminds me,” she said, finally setting her glass down. “Where do you get your Brazilians done? I need a new place.”

I gave her a sheepish smile. “At L’Shea. The paparazzi actually did their research for once.”

She snickered. “Right. Well, Speaking of Brazilians, I’ve been thinking of moving to New York and doing Broadway. I’m getting kinda sick of doing all these lame soap operas.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What does Brazil have to do with Broadway?”

She lifted a brow. “Nothing. But remember that guy I hooked up with at the New Year’s party last year? He was a Broadway actor, and he was Brazilian, too.”

I smiled. Serena’s mind always went off on crazy tangents. It was no wonder she’d gone into acting—her brain was wired for creativity and drama.

Usually I could keep up with her wild trains of thought, but it was difficult with a fuzzy hungover brain and not enough sleep. In fact, neither of us had slept more than two hours the night before. We left the clubs before they closed and wound up back at Serena’s place in the hills, where we’d partied even more with some of her actor friends.

And yes, Zach Marlowe—showbiz’s latest hunky dreamboat—was there with us, but nothing happened between him and me, and I certainly wasn’t going to answer any questions about him to the paparazzi.

“Do you ever get sick of this?” I asked with a frown, giving the media parasites one last glance.

“Of what? Being famous?” Serena asked, flashing the waitress a toothy white smile as she finally delivered my coffee.

I thanked the waitress, then nodded at my friend. “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Why?”

I picked up my mug, letting the heat seep into my hands as I inhaled the delicious-scented steam. “I guess sometimes I think I should do something more… meaningful. I mean, at least you do something. You actually work. But me…”

My voice trailed off, and Serena leaned forward with a frown. “Peyton, you do work! You work harder than me, I think. You’re always helping your parents at the hotel, and being a socialite isn’t exactly easy. You have so many photo shoots, interviews and events to attend. I know you don’t even want to go to half of them, but they pay you. That’s a job, sweetie—doing shit you don’t really want to in return for cash.”

I sighed. “I guess so. But it doesn’t feel like a real job. And it just gets to me sometimes, you know? Like today for example. I just wanted to have a casual breakfast with my friend, and look what happened.” I waved toward the window, where I knew the paparazzi were still gathered. “Don’t you just want a normal life sometimes?”

Serena’s brows pinched together, and I could tell I was making her think. While I waited for her reply, my mind floated back to how all of this started. How I went from hotel heiress to popular social media starlet for seemingly no reason.

People in our city always had a vague idea of who I was, given my family name, but I guess my personal fame really started kicking off around four years ago, when someone posted a fairly scandalous bikini photo of me on Instagram that somehow obtained over a million likes.

When that photo blew up, people inevitably asked who I was, and when they realized I was an heiress, that got them interested in my life. They wanted to know everything beyond the girl in the skimpy bikini—where I shopped, who I hung out with, even my favorite herbal tea flavor.

Everything snowballed from there, and now I was famous for being famous, as was so typical nowadays. I had sponsorship deals with several upscale clothing, makeup and perfume brands, and I even got paid to attend certain events and simply be seen there, as Serena just mentioned.

I guess it was a job, and at least I was making my own money, which was more than I could say for a lot of other rich kids with trust funds. But at the same time, it left me feeling hollow and empty more often than not. It was so rare for me to make real friends in this line of work, because so many people were just along for the ride and only hoping to be seen with me to boost their own profiles. They didn’t really want to be my friend.

On top of that, the public never really got to know me either. Just because they knew what my favorite boutique was didn’t mean they knew my whole story, and every interview I’d ever done had stuck to the superficial stuff only.

No one had ever really asked about me. Who I was, deep down.

Serena finally blinked and yawned. “This is just who we are, Peyton. We were born to do this. What did you expect?”

She returned her attention to her omelet, and I nodded, my shoulders slumping dejectedly. It wasn’t that Serena wasn’t a good friend—she was actually one of the rare true friends I had. But she had always wanted this, always wanted to be famous, ever since we were kids attending the same junior school. She didn’t fall into it like I did. She worked her butt off to become an actress, and she knew the price she had to pay for fame—total lack of privacy.

I knew too, of course, but somehow I’d stupidly thought that it would be different for me. I thought I’d actually be able to maintain my own life outside of the flashing cameras and gossip columns, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon unless I ditched all my deals, hid out in a cave until everyone forgot about me and moved on, and then tried to start a new career from scratch.

I had no idea what I’d even do beyond this, to be honest. So many other people seemed to know their life’s calling from day one, and they dedicated all their time and energy to make it happen. Me? I was clueless about what my true passions were. There was a lot of stuff I liked doing, sure, but when it came to thinking of a career that I could truly fall in love with, I was lost.

Serena put her fork down and leaned forward again, obviously bothered by the look on my face. “Is it really that bad, Pey? Think about it. You’re self-reliant, so you don’t even need that big old inheritance of yours to live, and you’ve built this great public image for yourself… almost like your own brand. You can stay down in the dumps all you want, but you’ve gotta admit that anyone else would be proud of what you’ve managed to achieve.”

My face brightened a little at her optimism. She had a decent point. I had a job that most girls my age would kill for, so sitting around feeling sorry for myself was pretty ridiculous—a silly ‘poor little rich girl’ act. Trying to convince anyone else to feel sorry for me would only result in maniacal laughter, which I would wholly deserve. I was simply hungover right now, so that probably explained all the doom and gloom I felt.

“You’re right,” I said with a small smile. I checked my watch. “Didn’t you say you had a casting thing to go to at eight?”

She groaned. “Yes. We better go. I’ll drop you back at the hotel.”

“Thanks.”

I slid on a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide my tired, puffy eyes as we stepped outside and swept past the flashing cameras and blathering paparazzi without saying a word. Then we cruised down Azure Boulevard in Serena’s silver convertible, the sea breeze whipping our hair back. Ten minutes later we pulled up outside my family’s hotel.

Bathed in bright sunlight and the fragrant aroma of its lush surrounding flower gardens, the Mirabella sat right on the edge of the warm turquoise waters of Mirror Bay, which fed into the North Pacific. With cream-colored stucco walls, myriad terraces, a deep red tiled roof, and arched windows with wrought iron grilles and decorative keystones, the hotel was a classic Mediterranean Revival-style building which drew guests from all over the world.

Whether it was young trendsetters or older, snobbier WASP-types, everyone loved the Mirabella’s cool, exciting edge which stemmed from its mix of luxurious extravagance and charming rustic style. As such, it had a certain cachet that set it aside from our city’s typical buildings—all overly-modern with straight lines and too much black glass.

Overall, the hotel was truly somewhere people could come to relax, splash a lot of cash, and play, play, play…

It had also been my playground from the day I was born.

Long before I was ‘Peyton Cadwell, socialite’, I was ‘Peyton Cadwell, Mirabella heiress’. I’d grown up here, become a woman here, and I still lived here to this day in my own suite in the western wing of the tenth floor. Alone, for the most part. My parents had moved to a wing far away from mine after growing sick of my antics during my teen years, during which I’d nearly destroyed more than a few rooms with my raucous parties.

I still partied, but now I got paid to do it. On nights out, I still drank more than what was probably necessary, but hell… I had to enjoy life somehow, right?

After wishing Serena good luck with her newest project, I took off my sunglasses and stepped into the hotel lobby with a yawn, glad that no one aside from the staff seemed to have noticed me. I was in desperate need of a shower, hairbrush, and an outfit change, so the last thing I needed was a guest snapping candid shots of me on my way to the elevators.

I was crossing over the mosaic-tiled center of the lobby when I slipped on a wet patch on the floor, snapping not one but both of my stiletto heels. So much for designer quality. I yelped as I fell backwards and dropped my handbag, my pulse immediately racing, but a pair of strong arms caught me and held me tight until I regained my balance and righted myself.

My heart was in my mouth as I kicked off my stupid broken shoes and turned around to see who’d grabbed me. There was nothing more nerve-wracking than the feeling of falling backwards… that is, until I saw the face of my dark-haired rescuer. Looking directly at him while standing barefoot in a wet patch might’ve actually been the most nerve-wracking thing I’d ever done.

The man was stunning. Total perfection.

His eyes were deep blue with a glint of humor flashing in them, and his features could very well have been carved by Michelangelo himself. Chiseled nose, square chin, and strong, authoritative jawline. With a face like that, I was willing to bet women dropped to their knees around him all the time.

Literally and figuratively.

His body was another thing entirely. He was tall without being lanky, and his black T-shirt was just tight enough to display the contours and ripples of his sinewy, muscular form as he lowered his arms from holding me up straight. He looked as if he’d just walked directly out of my imagination, and I gulped as I tried to choke out a ‘thank you’.

Unfortunately, the words dried up on my lips, and I was left standing there in the wet spot in silence with my mouth gaping open, looking like a complete and utter fool as the gorgeous man raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, baby. What’s your sign?” he said, cocking his head to the side.

I furrowed my brows. Was this guy seriously using an outdated pickup line like that on me at eight in the morning?

I was about to reply when I saw that he was motioning toward a sign which sat only two feet away, cautioning people that the floor was wet. A staff member had obviously just mopped in this area.

“I… I didn’t see it,” I finally managed to mumble, tearing my eyes away from his lips as I imagined what it would be like to kiss such a man.

He picked up my now-damp handbag and then stepped a little closer, his brow still raised. “Caution: slippery when wet,” he said, slowly enunciating every word as his powerful gaze roamed the curves of my body, finally settling right on the area directly between my thighs.

Then he looked back up, and I gritted my teeth and took the bag as he held it out to me. Obviously this guy knew exactly what sort of effect he had on women, and he knew that I was most definitely slippery and wet right now due to his presence. And I wasn’t talking about my feet.

Cocky ass.

“Thanks, but I can read,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “I just didn’t see it.”

“Well, you better watch where you’re going from now on. I won’t always be here to catch you,” he replied, his perfect lips spreading into a grin. “As much as I enjoyed it.”

He winked, and my eyes widened. He was very forward, but I guess a hottie like him could afford to be. After all, the chances of someone saying no to him were slim to none.

I opened my mouth to reply, and it was only then that I noticed he was wearing a small employee badge. There was no name; it simply said Mirabella Hotel. He must’ve been one of the new trainees that HR was showing around today.

My god, the nerve of him! His first day, and he was talking to the owner’s daughter like I was just some girl he was trying to chat up in a nightclub. Maybe he didn’t know who I was, but I had the power to get him fired if I thought he was going to be a problem employee.

But instead of saying anything, I simply shook my head and began to giggle. As much as I usually couldn’t stand cockiness in a man, this guy was disarmingly funny with his corny lines and silly winks. The way he looked at me made butterflies flit around my stomach, and it reminded me of the way I used to feel when I was noticed in the street or photographed, before I grew so jaded with my life and career.

It made me feel special, as silly as that sounded, and it was nice to have that feeling return, even if it was just for a moment. On top of that, the man had just rescued me. I could’ve broken my neck from that fall if he hadn’t caught me, so a little gratitude and humility would go a long way right now.

The guy’s smile grew wider as he saw my reaction. It looked like he was about to say something when a familiar voice called out to me, interrupting us. “Peyton! Can you come to my office, please?”

My mood soured again as I looked over and saw my father standing by a hallway entrance just beyond the elevators. Great. No doubt he wanted to berate me about one thing or the other. We hadn’t gotten along with each other in years now. Not since….

My train of thought was cut off by the hot new staff member gently patting me on the shoulder. His touch was electric, and tingles shot up and down my spine as he spoke. “Looks like you have to go. I better get back to work too.”

“Sure,” I replied, my voice nearly breathless. “Thanks for catching me.”

“No problem. Guess I’ll see you around… Peyton.”

With that, he stepped away before I could even ask his name. I watched him head over to a big group of new employees, and I sighed and picked up my broken shoes before stepping toward the hall which led to Dad’s office, my damp toes squelching on the floor. Whatever it was my father wanted to discuss, he’d sounded pretty impatient, so I couldn’t hang around in the lobby staring at a hottie all day, as much as I wanted to.

I turned my head over my shoulder and gave the gorgeous dark-haired guy one last glance before stepping into the hall. I had a feeling that our little wet-floor encounter wasn’t going to be the last one we shared.

I also had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time I got wet around him….