The Manhattan skyline glittered like a diamond-encrusted crown, its lights winking against the inky dusk.
From the 72nd floor of the Voss Tower, Elliot Voss surveyed his empire through floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection a sharp silhouette in a tailored navy suit.
The penthouse was a masterpiece of sleek minimalism—marble floors, chrome accents, and art that cost more than most people's homes.
But tonight, it felt like a cage.His phone buzzed on the glass desk, the screen flashing with another email from his board. Quarterly projections.
Merger updates. Shareholder demands.
He ignored it, rubbing the bridge of his nose. At thirty-two, he'd built VossTech into a billion-dollar AI empire, but the weight of it all was starting to feel like a noose.
He needed air. Or coffee. Or both.
"Lila!" he called, his voice echoing through the sprawling penthouse.
No answer.
He sighed, loosening his tie as he strode toward the kitchen.
The faint hum of a vacuum cleaner drifted from somewhere down the hall.
Of course. His new maid—Lila Harper—was probably tidying some corner of his absurdly large home.
She'd only been here a month, but her presence was already a quiet ripple in his routine.
Unlike Mrs. Delaney, his longtime housekeeper, Lila didn't hover or fuss.
She just… worked.
Efficiently. Silently. Almost invisibly.Except she wasn't invisible.
Not to him.
Not anymore.Elliot pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen, expecting to find it empty. Instead, there she was, perched on a stool at the island, her back to him.
Lila's dark hair was swept into a messy bun, a few curls escaping to brush her neck.
Her navy uniform—simple slacks and a crisp blouse—did nothing to hide the way she moved, all purpose and grace, as she scribbled in a worn notebook.
The air smelled faintly of lemons and something warm, like fresh bread.
His stomach growled, reminding him he'd skipped lunch.
Again."Lila," he said, softer this time.
She jolted, the notebook slamming shut as she spun around.
Her hazel eyes widened, catching the glow of the pendant lights.
"Mr. Voss! I—I didn't hear you." She hopped off the stool, smoothing her blouse with hands that looked slightly flour-dusted.
"I was just… taking a break. I'm sorry, I'll get back to—
""Relax," he said, raising a hand.
"I'm not here to fire you for sitting down." His lips twitched, a half-smile he hadn't meant to let slip.
"I just need coffee. Black, two sugars. Please."
She nodded, already moving toward the gleaming espresso machine that probably cost more than her monthly rent.
"Coming right up."
Her voice was warm, like honey stirred into tea, with a faint lilt that hinted at her Brooklyn roots.
She didn't look at him as she worked, her hands deftly measuring grounds, tamping them down with practiced ease.
He leaned against the counter, watching her. It was oddly soothing—the hum of the machine, the clink of porcelain, the way her brow furrowed in focus.
"You're good at that," he said, surprising himself.
He wasn't one for small talk, especially not with staff.
But there was something about Lila Harper that made silence feel… wasteful.
She glanced over her shoulder, a spark of amusement in her eyes.
"It's just coffee, Mr. Voss. Not rocket science." She paused, then added,
"Though I guess you'd know more about rockets than me, with all your tech stuff.
"He chuckled, a low sound that felt foreign in his throat. "AI, not rockets.
Though I could probably fund a moonshot if I wanted to."
He meant it as a joke, but it landed flat, a reminder of the chasm between their worlds. Billionaires didn't banter with maids.
Did they?Lila didn't seem fazed.
She slid the steaming mug across the counter, her fingers brushing the handle before letting go.
"Here you go. Black, two sugars. Careful, it's hot.
"He took the mug, their eyes meeting for a split second.
Hers were bright, unguarded, with a hint of mischief that made his pulse kick.
He cleared his throat, looking away. "Thanks. And, uh… what's that smell? It's good."
"Oh!" Her face lit up, transforming her from pretty to radiant in a heartbeat.
"I was testing a recipe. Rosemary focaccia. I hope you don't mind—I used the kitchen after cleaning. I can air it out if it's too much."
"No, don't," he said quickly.
"It's… nice." He took a sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding him.
"You bake a lot?""When I can." She hesitated, tucking a curl behind her ear.
"I'm saving up for culinary school. Cooking's kind of my thing.
Well, that and keeping your penthouse from looking like a tornado hit it.
"He raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Bold, considering you're on my payroll.
"Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't back down.
"You pay me to clean, not to flatter your ego, Mr. Voss."
The words were teasing, not sharp, and they hit him like a spark.
Most people tiptoed around him, all deference and fake smiles. Not her.
"Fair point," he said, setting the mug down. "So, this focaccia. Is it as good as it smells?"
"Better."
She grinned, then caught herself, as if remembering who he was.
"I mean, if you want to try it, I can cut you a piece.
It's just a test batch, though. No pressure.
"He should've said no.
He had emails to answer, a merger to prep for, a life that didn't include eating homemade bread with his maid.
But his mouth said,
"Sure. Why not?"Lila's smile faltered, like she hadn't expected him to agree.
She recovered quickly, grabbing a knife and slicing a square from a golden loaf on the counter.
She slid it onto a plate, drizzling it with olive oil from a bottle she'd clearly brought herself.
"Here.
Tell me what you think.
Be honest—I can take it.
"He took a bite, the bread warm and chewy, with a perfect hit of salt and rosemary.
It was better than anything he'd eaten at the overpriced restaurants he frequented. "Damn," he said, swallowing.
"This is… really good."Her laugh was soft, almost shy.
"Thanks. My mom's recipe, with a few tweaks.
She used to say food's the best way to say what words can't."
He nodded, taking another bite.
For a moment, the penthouse didn't feel so empty.
The city buzzed below, but here, in this kitchen, it was just them—him in his thousand-dollar suit, her in her flour-dusted uniform, sharing bread like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Then it happened. Lila reached for the coffee pot to refill his mug, her sleeve catching the edge of the counter.
The pot tipped, and before either of them could react, a stream of scalding coffee splashed across his shirt.
"Oh my God!" Lila gasped, slamming the pot down.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Voss! I didn't—here, let me—"
She grabbed a dish towel, dabbing at his chest before freezing, her hand inches from his soaked shirt.
Her face was scarlet, her eyes wide with horror.
"I'm such an idiot."
Elliot looked down at the spreading stain, then at her panicked expression.
He should've been annoyed—his shirt was custom-made, probably worth more than her weekly pay.
But all he could think about was the way her hand hovered, like she was afraid to touch him.
"It's fine," he said, his voice calmer than he felt.
"Accidents happen.""No, it's not fine!" She backed away, clutching the towel like a lifeline.
"I'll pay for the dry cleaning. Or a new shirt. Or—God, I'm so fired, aren't I?"He laughed, surprising them both.
"You're not fired, Lila. It's just coffee." He peeled off his jacket, the wet shirt clinging to his skin.
Her eyes flicked to his chest, then away, her blush deepening. Interesting.
"Let me at least get you a clean shirt," she said, already moving toward the door. "You've got, like, a million in your closet, right?"
"Something like that." He smirked, following her out of the kitchen.
"But I can handle it. You've got enough to clean up here."
She stopped, turning to face him.
"Mr. Voss, I'm really sorry. I swear I'm not usually this clumsy."
"Elliot," he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.
"Call me Elliot."Her lips parted, like she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "Okay… Elliot."
The way she said his name, soft and testing, sent a jolt through him.
"I'll stick to cleaning from now on. No more coffee disasters."
He nodded, but as he headed to his room to change, he couldn't shake the feeling that this disaster was the best thing that had happened to him all day.
Maybe all week. Lila Harper wasn't just a maid.
She was a spark—one he wasn't sure he could ignore.