Baby Trap Mr. Billionaire

"Goodbye, Sam," I waved to the manager as I hastily exited the bakery.

It was 18:30; I glanced at my watch. Just half an hour remained before my shift at the hotel commenced. Today's shift would end a bit later than usual due to a surge in orders.

Since it was my last day, having filled in for a friend, I found myself back on the job market. Hastening before I jeopardized my other job, I extended my hand, flagging down a departing bus.

"Hi, Chloe," greeted the bus driver, Brian, as I boarded, slightly out of breath.

Being accustomed to running late was my trademark.

The bus ride to the hotel, a mere block away, offered a view of the towering structure—the tallest building in the district, New Ravens Suites.

Observing the edifice, I sighed. The place was a paradox—a dream for guests, a challenge for employees. One individual owned this entire establishment, a top-tier hotel boasting a five-star restaurant on the first floor. Accessible only through connections, the rooms featured priceless artwork. A night's stay cost a fortune.

In my backpack, I found my uniform and proceeded to change swiftly upon reaching the locker rooms.

"Shot," I murmured, emerging from the locker rooms.

At this hour, everyone was typically gathered for a pep talk by Marcus, our manager, a routine I seamlessly slipped into.

"Maddison Riley," Marcus announced above the chatter. "That's who you'll be serving."

Whispers rippled through the crowd as names were exchanged. Maddison Riley, a celebrity, drew attention not only from a famous commercial but also from her family's considerable wealth—owners of a major construction company and a renowned boutique.

Locating my friend Elle in the room, I whispered a greeting.

"If you were any later, he might have fired you," she teased.

"He tends to exaggerate," I replied, dismissing Marcus's threats.

Marcus continued with his speech, emphasizing the significance of serving Maddison Riley.

Dismissed after the meeting, Elle and I lingered for Marcus's customary instructions.

"I need you two to take care of Maddison personally. She's a significant client, and rumors suggest she might be the future lady of this place. Don't do anything foolish; she's vital for business," Marcus cautioned.

"Sure, boss, we'll do it gladly, only because you asked so nicely," Elle retorted sarcastically.

Marcus sent us off, and as he passed me, he couldn't resist a final jibe. "If you were smarter, you'd be in a mansion with a rich husband."

Taking the elevator, Elle and I headed to Maddison's suite. As we entered, preparations were already underway, maids and staff bustling about.

"Alessio Montenegro, sexiest bachelor in New York," Elle remarked, captivated by a GQ magazine.

"He's also our boss," I reminded her, tearing my gaze away from his picture.

Handing Elle the broom, I commented on Alessio's rumored strictness, preventing employees from taking time off even during holidays.

"Do you know how many women would kill for a guy like that?" Elle remarked, defending his desirability.

Receiving a call from Waylen, my recent ex-boyfriend, I ignored it, growing tired of his incessant attempts to reconcile.

A woman delivering dresses for Maddison interrupted our work. The shimmer in Elle's eyes indicated impending trouble.

"I'm here to drop off these dresses for Ms. Maddison," the deliverywoman said.

As Elle and I assessed the situation, Elle couldn't resist the allure of a Dior dress, and before I knew it, she was wearing it, oblivious to the potential consequences.

"This isn't Maid in Manhattan; you'll get us caught," I warned, but the temptation was too much.

When Maddison and her entourage entered the room, Elle retreated to the bathroom, and I had to improvise to save us from trouble. Maddison's focus shifted from the missing dress to my unexpected fashion advice, unwittingly saving the day.

My shift eventually ended at nearly 5 a.m., my feet throbbing. Exhausted, I stumbled into the house to find my mom and Katy preparing to leave.

"Morning, Mom," I greeted, anticipating some much-needed rest.

"Are you getting ready for work today?" I inquired.

My mom was employed at a local shoe factory, and she had been with them for the past decade. Despite my persistent suggestions for her to seek a new job, it was particularly challenging, especially given her age.

She let out a sigh.

"Yesterday, on my way to work, someone pushed me on the subway, and I badly sprained my ankle," she explained, a hint of sadness in her voice. "The manager let me go, stating that I couldn't work anymore. And, considering my age, it didn't make things any better." Tears welled up in her eyes as she continued.

"It's okay, Mom. Everything will be alright," I reassured her, pulling her into a comforting hug.

"How? You're already working so hard. You should be studying and pursuing your dreams like others your age, but here I am, just a burden to you," she cried.

I held her even tighter. "You could never be a burden to me," I responded.

Katy joined in our embrace, and the three of us stayed like that for a while.

"I'm so sorry I can't give you two the life you deserve," Mom whispered.

"You've done your best," I replied.

Breaking away from the hug, Mom turned to Katy. "Katy, you need to get to school. I know you're only joining in to avoid going to school," she scolded, glancing at Katy.

I chuckled.

"Come on, you know I studied the whole year's work during my summer break. I already know everything they're teaching; school is a waste of my time," Katy retorted.

Katy, our little genius, was always ahead of her age in her reading.

Mom glared at her, not needing to say anything more for Katy to understand her seriousness.

"I'm going to go and lay down for a bit," I announced.

"I've prepared some food for you in the oven," Mom mentioned.

"I'll eat when I wake up," I replied, rubbing my eyes.

Climbing the stairs to my bedroom, I contemplated the challenges ahead. We were already a month behind on rent, but fortunately, our understanding landlord gave us some leeway.

I counted the last of my savings from restaurant tips – three hundred and fifty dollars. If things continued this way, perhaps I could avoid debt by the time I turned forty. Finding another part-time job was imperative to make ends meet.

I was determined to make this work; I had to.