Lila Harper was not supposed to be here. Not in a sleek black dress borrowed from Mateo's sister, not balancing a tray of prosciutto-wrapped figs in a ballroom dripping with chandeliers, and definitely not surrounded by Manhattan's elite, who sipped champagne like it was water.
The Voss Foundation's charity gala was a far cry from her usual Saturday nights at the food truck, and yet here she was, roped into catering after Mateo's crew got slammed with last-minute orders.
"Kill me now," she muttered under her breath, dodging a woman in a sequined gown who was gesturing wildly with her flute.
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel was a sea of wealth—diamonds sparkling, tuxedos crisp, laughter polished to a sheen. Lila felt like an imposter, her borrowed heels pinching her toes and her heart thudding with the fear of dropping her tray.
Or worse, running into him.Elliot Voss. Her boss.
The billionaire who'd eaten her pancakes that morning, who'd looked at her like she was more than the maid who'd spilled coffee on him.
She hadn't seen him since Cassandra Leigh—blonde, perfect, and reeking of entitlement—had swept into the penthouse like she owned it.
Lila had slipped out the back, her stomach twisting with something she refused to name.
Jealousy? No way.
She had no claim on Elliot.
He was a job, a paycheck, a means to her culinary school dream.
Nothing more.
"Lila, focus!" Mateo hissed, appearing at her side with a tray of mini quiches.
His apron was gone, replaced by a black vest that made him look almost respectable. "You're staring into space like you're plotting an escape. Which, fair, but we're getting paid double for this."
"I'm fine," she lied, adjusting her grip on the tray.
"Just… not used to this crowd. They're like aliens in designer clothes."
He snorted, scanning the room.
"Tell me about it. That guy over there just asked if the quiches are gluten-free, vegan, and keto. I'm like, dude, it's cheese and pastry. Pick a struggle."
Lila laughed, some of the tension easing. "You owe me for this, Mateo. I could be home, practicing my beurre blanc."
"You'll thank me when you cash the check," he said, nudging her toward the crowd. "Now go. Circulate. Charm the rich people. Maybe one'll fund your café."
She rolled her eyes but wove through the guests, offering figs with a smile she hoped looked natural.
The room buzzed with conversation—talk of stock markets, vacation homes, and some tech deal she vaguely recognized as VossTech-related.
She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact.
The last thing she needed was to bump into—"Lila?"Her heart stopped.
Elliot stood a few feet away, a vision in a tailored black tuxedo, his dark hair slightly tousled, like he'd run a hand through it.
His storm-gray eyes locked onto hers, surprise giving way to something warmer, something that made her knees wobble.
He held a glass of whiskey, but he set it on a passing waiter's tray without looking away.
"Mr. Voss," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Hi. I'm just… helping out."
She lifted the tray slightly, as if it explained everything.
"Elliot," he corrected, stepping closer.
The crowd seemed to fade, the chatter dimming to a hum.
"What are you doing here? I thought you had your interview today."
She blinked, caught off guard that he remembered.
"It was this afternoon. Went okay, I think. But Mateo needed extra hands, so…"
She shrugged, the figs wobbling on her tray. "Here I am, serving fancy snacks to fancier people."
His lips twitched, a half-smile that did dangerous things to her pulse.
"You look…"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over her dress, lingering just long enough to make her cheeks burn.
"You look good. Not that you don't always, but—this is different."
She swallowed, clutching the tray like a shield.
"Thanks. It's borrowed. I'm not exactly a gala regular."
She glanced around, hyper-aware of the eyes on them.
A woman in a red gown whispered to her companion, their gazes flicking to Lila.
She felt the weight of her borrowed dress, her scuffed heels, her place in this world.
Elliot didn't seem to notice.
"You don't need to be a regular. You're—" He stopped, like he'd caught himself.
"The figs. Are they yours?"
"Nah, Mateo's recipe. I just wrapped them." She offered the tray, grateful for the distraction.
"Want one? They're pretty great."
He took one, his fingers brushing hers for a split second.
The contact sent a jolt through her, and she prayed he didn't notice her shiver.
He popped the fig in his mouth, nodding. "Not bad. But I'm still thinking about those pancakes."
Her laugh slipped out before she could stop it.
"You're obsessed. I'm gonna have to start charging you rent for living in my food's fan club."
"Name your price," he said, echoing his words from that morning.
His voice was low, teasing, but his eyes held hers with an intensity that made the room feel too warm.
Before she could respond, a hand grazed Elliot's arm, and Cassandra Leigh appeared like a storm cloud in a silver gown.
Her blonde hair was swept up, her smile sharp as a blade.
"Elliot, darling, you're neglecting our guests."
Her gaze slid to Lila, cool and assessing. "Oh. The maid, right? How… quaint, seeing you here."
Lila's spine stiffened, but she forced a smile. "Just helping with catering, Ms. Leigh. Can I offer you a fig?"
She held out the tray, her tone polite but edged with steel.
Cassandra's nose wrinkled, like the idea of eating from Lila's tray was beneath her.
"No, thank you. I'm watching my figure." She turned to Elliot, her hand lingering on his arm.
"We need to talk about the board's proposal. Privately."
Elliot's jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away. "Later, Cassandra. I'm in the middle of something."
Cassandra's smile didn't waver, but her eyes flicked to Lila, sharp enough to cut.
"Of course. Don't let me interrupt your… chat."
She glided away, her heels clicking like a warning shot.Lila exhaled, her grip on the tray loosening.
"She's… intense."
"That's one word for it," Elliot muttered, his gaze following Cassandra for a moment before returning to Lila.
"Ignore her. She's just—"
"Your ex?" Lila blurted, then winced.
"Sorry. None of my business."
He raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Mrs. Delaney's been talking, hasn't she?"
"Maybe."
Lila bit her lip, fighting a smile.
"She said something about a 'gold-digging harpy' who broke your heart.Her words, not mine."
Elliot laughed, a low, rich sound that made her stomach flip.
"Sounds like Mrs. Delaney. And yeah, Cassandra and I were engaged. Past tense. Very past."
Lila nodded, unsure what to say. The idea of Elliot with someone like Cassandra—polished, poised, born for this world—made her feel small.
She was just a maid, a girl with flour on her hands and a dream she could barely afford. "Well," she said, forcing lightness into her voice,
"she seems… nice."
He snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
"Part of my charm," she shot back, and his grin widened, warm and unguarded.
"Lila!" Mateo's voice cut through the crowd. He waved frantically from the catering table, where a line of guests was forming.
"We're drowning over here!"
"Duty calls," she said, stepping back.
"Enjoy the gala, Elliot. Try not to bid a million dollars on a painting or something."
"No promises," he said, his eyes holding hers a moment too long.
"Good luck with the interview. You've got this."
She nodded, her throat tight, and turned away before she could do something stupid—like drop her tray or, worse, keep staring at him.
As she rejoined Mateo, her heart was racing, and not just from the chaos of the catering table.
Elliot Voss was trouble, the kind that could upend her carefully planned life.
But as she handed out figs and forced a smile for the next guest, she couldn't shake the feeling that trouble had never felt so good.