The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding. I straightened instinctively, expecting maybe another guest or staff mber—soone in a suit, maybe, soone polished and forgettable.
The doors opened... and the universe laughed at .
It was him.
Of all the floors, all the rooms, all the people in this giant glass tower—it had to be him.
VIP Line Guy.
The smug one with the man-bun arrogance and insults wrapped in charm. The cocky jerk who thought he owned velvet ropes and oxygen. The arrogant jerk who’d decided it was his personal mission to get under my skin the last ti we’d crossed paths. Leaning against the doorway like he was waiting for a fan club. That sa annoyingly perfect face, annoying expression locked in place the second his eyes landed on .
He stepped into the elevator like he’d ordered it just for himself, with the air of soone who owned the damn building, with all the over-bearing grace of soone who didn’t just walk into rooms—they claid them. His hair was slicked back, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and he slled expensive—like arrogance bottled and sold by a luxury brand. Well─ he is definitely taking forever to press the dang elevator button.
I could already feel the familiar heat rising in my chest as he stepped inside, his gaze shifting over from head to toe. He didn’t say anything at first—just gave a long look. Our eyes locked.
One brow rose. "Hmm."
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
His lips twitched as if he was suppressing a laugh, and then, like he couldn’t resist, he looked over again and said with mock sweetness, "Cute."
I raised an eyebrow, not sure if I should be insulted or confused. "What’s cute?"
He gestured vaguely to my hoodie, jeans, and well... the fact that I was probably covered in a mix of flour and buttercream. "The whole... flour chic vibe you’ve got going on."
My jaw tightened. "I’m a bakery worker," I snapped, suddenly defensive. "This is exactly what I wear when I’m not playing dress-up for VIPs."
Let guess—cake girl by day, feisty party crasher by night?"
I glared at him. "Let guess—entitled brat all hours of the day?"
He laughed again. And God help , it was a nice laugh. Like the kind you hate yourself for noticing.
"Well, this is fun," he said lightly, glancing at the floor number.
"Are you always this annoying?" I muttered.
"Only when I’m intrigued."
I turned away, rolling my eyes so hard it gave a headache.
"You’re mouthier than I rember." He suddenly said
"What is that supposed to an?" I snapped, not even sure why I felt like I was missing sothing.
He smirked—and turned to face the door.
But then he glanced sideways at again, his tone mysterious and low. "If it isn’t the little bunny who ran away."
I blinked. "What?". is he alright upstairs?
He didn’t answer. He just kept his pompous smile.
"Relax, sweetheart," he said, stepping slightly closer, his face few inches from mine. "I’m sure it’ll co back to you eventually."
The elevator dinged, and I glanced at the floor indicator.
Thirty-fifth floor.
My stomach dropped. The timing... it felt too much like he was heading to the sa party I was. I glanced at him quickly, wondering if he was attending the elite event too.
Was he going to the thirty-fifth floor for the party?
I forced myself to look away before he noticed the shift in my expression.
The doors opened, and he moved to step out, glancing back over his shoulder with a wicked smile. "Don’t go getting lost, cupcake."
I had half a mind to let out a sarcastic retort, but the last thing I needed was to get sucked into another one of his stupid gas.
As the doors closed , I let out a long breath. I had to find Aria, change, and not think about the fact that that guy might be at the sa party.
No way would I let him ruin my night. Not a chance.
The elevator doors slid open on the thirty-fourth floor, and I stepped out, still fuming from my unexpected encounter with Mr. fancy Suit.
I walked down the hallway, scanning the suite numbers until I found Aria’’s. I knocked once, and the door flung open almost imdiately.
"There you are!" Aria pulled in with a grin. "Took you long enough."
"Elevator drama," I muttered, stepping inside. "You’ll never guess who I ran into."
Aria paused, mid-swipe of her lipstick. "Ooh, is it soone cute?"
"Try soone annoying," I grumbled, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Rember that VIP line-cutter from the club?"
Aria’s brows shot up. "That guy? Wait—he’s here?"
"Yup," I said, tugging at the sleeves of my hoodie. "Got into the elevator looking like he was born in Armani. Took one look at and called cute."
Aria laughed. "Well, you do look like a cross between a baker and a sleep-deprived college student."
"Thanks," I said expressionless. "Very comforting."
She tossed a dress at —sothing slinky and elegant with soft gold accents. "Here. Put this on. Forget him. He’s probably so rich man-child with too much cologne and not enough brain cells."
I caught the dress and sighed. "Do I have to wear heels?"
"No, you have to look hot," Aria said with a smirk. "The heels are just part of the package."
I slipped into the bathroom to change, still thinking about that darn grin and the way he said cupcake. I hated how he got under my skin—how he always did.
By the ti I erged, Aria had already changed into a sleek black dress and was fixing her earrings. She looked over and gave a satisfied nod. "Damn. If that line-cutter sees you now, he’s going to wish he hadn’t smirked."
"Good," I said, grabbing my bag. "Because I’ve got zero interest in feeding his ego."
She slung an arm around my shoulder as we headed out. "Let’s go crash this party like the classy queens we are."
I smiled, letting the tension lt away as we stepped into the hallway.
The doors to the thirty-fifth floor ballroom swung open, and the scent of expensive perfu, polished wood, and overpriced champagne instantly hit . Everything glittered. Crystal chandeliers spilled light onto gold-trimd tables. Elegant people in sleek gowns and sharp suits mingled with practiced grace, laughter echoing under the soft music.
I barely had ti to soak it in before Aria tugged by the arm. "Food first. Mingling never."
"An," I muttered, letting her lead the way through the crowd.
We walked past silk-clad won and n with perfectly tailored blazers, ignoring the polished smiles and curious glances. The buffet seed endless—smoked salmon canapés, miniature hamburgers on gold-tipped skewers, intricately arranged fruits, and, of course, a lavish cake display.
Aria handed a plate. "Load up. Eat like you haven’t spent the day elbow-deep in frosting."
"Don’t mind if I do," I said, piling on a dangerously stacked bite of mini desserts.
As we filled our plates, Aria leaned over and whispered, "I hate how good this all looks. I almost feel guilty for being here."
I took a bite of macaroon. "Almost."
Aria glanced around the room, her gaze landing on a secluded table near the far wall. "Over there," she murmured, pointing. "Looks like no one’s using it." I followed her gaze and found the table she was referring to. Sure enough, it was currently vacant. "Looks like a good spot," I agreed, nodding.
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