The Wife Situation (Billionaire Situation #1)

Chapter 1

LEXI

“ H ousekeeping.” I lightly tap my knuckles against the door and wait for movement on the other side.

When I receive no response, I hold my key card above the reader and push it open while balancing a stack of towels with one hand. Who says I’m not talented?

I flick on the light and am startled by an older man wrapped in a towel.

As I begin my apology, he chuckles and reveals his Tootsie Roll as if it were a magic trick.

All that is missing is a voilà . Shock takes over, and I gasp, drop the clean towels onto the floor, and rush out of the room.

It’s the second time this has happened today.

“ Shit ,” I whisper with my hand over my heart.

New York is nothing like my hometown that’s located in western Texas. But the city isn’t new for me either. It’s where I called home while attending New York University. A lifetime has passed since then.

Two months ago, when my life spiraled out of control, I packed a suitcase and returned to this concrete jungle. Needless to say, I’m still adjusting.

“Lexi,” Carlee says as the service elevator doors open behind me. Her dark hair is twisted into a neat bun, and her uniform is pristine.

I stalk toward my best friend and temporary roommate. We can add coworkers to that list too.

Her mouth transforms into a smile. “Let me guess … you saw another dick?”

“Yes! It was tiny, and his balls looked like … raisins.”

“The visual you created in my brain—disgusting.” She fishes her phone from her pocket and unlocks it. “Did you see this audition?”

I lean over, knowing we’re not supposed to have our devices out, and speed-read the listing.

Carlee stays informed with theater news and celebrity gossip. She even has a blog where she posts about it, hoping to one day become a journalist. If I need to know anything, she’s my go-to.

“ A lead ,” I whisper, meeting her eyes.

It’s only a preview, but it could be significant if the show does well. Broadway huge.

It’s the type of role that could change my life, something I dreamed of landing before I moved back to Texas eight years ago to be with Beau, my ex. So much has happened, but it’s like nothing has changed.

Carlee playfully elbows me as I get lost in my thoughts. “Anyway, it’s tonight, and you have to go. You’re exactly what they’re looking for.”

“I have to work until seven,” I remind her, my hands moving down the crisp apron tied around my waist. “And I need this job, remember? Mr. Martin will fire me if I leave early.”

I’m still in my ninety-day probation period at the W, one of the most elite hotels in the city. It’s so luxurious that the name is one letter. No others are needed.

Celebrities, royalty, and even billionaires frequent these walls, and if I have one slip-up or missed shift, I’ll be terminated with no questions asked.

So, until I find my dream job, this one will have to do.

Other than the romance books I consume, working here is the only form of entertainment I have.

Often, my shifts are the only reason I leave our tiny apartment.

“You once told me the risk is worth the reward,” she reminds me.

I meet her brown eyes. “Sometimes, it is. And when it came to you starting your blog, I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” she says.

“But this?” I hesitate, glancing down at her phone. I read the requirements again. I’m indifferent, but lately, I’ve felt that way about life in general, so maybe it’s a me problem. “I dunno.”

“Look, I got approval to stay over to cover for you. Before you decline the offer, it’s a selfish request. There are a lot of suits here because of the diamond convention tomorrow, and you know how I feel about a well-dressed man.

Staying over gives me more time to admire, listen for hot new gossip, or find a weekend fling. ” She gives me a mischievous smirk.

Gorgeous men in thousand-dollar suits frequent the W, and while they’re Carlee’s type, none ever fraternize with hired help. We’re invisible to the rich, so it’s a lost cause. She’s being kind.

“You’re sure?”

“Fuck yes.”

I smile and wrap my arms around her. Since my return, she’s taken on the role of a mother bird, trying to shoo me out of my nest. Carlee wants to see me fly. Hell, I do too.

Recently, I’ve asked myself why I should even bother anymore. I’m tired of auditioning and not getting callbacks, but quitting isn’t an option. The truth is, I have too much to prove, so I’ll keep going. I’m either resilient or stubborn. However you’d like to spin it.

“Thank you,” I tell her, wanting to be excited.

“Remember, when you’re rich and fam?—”

“I know; I know. Private jet to Paris with expensive champagne and strawberries.”

“Damn straight. Something good is coming,” she says, waggling her brows. “Hopefully, it will be me.”

I snort. “For your sake, I hope so too.”

Carlee can find the bright side in anything. It’s something we had in common before the shit with my ex changed me. Now, I’m more of a realist and no longer see the world through rose-colored glasses. When someone shows me who they are, I believe them.

She pushes the cart forward. “How was your date last night?”

“Awful.” I follow beside her. “He talked about Bitcoin for three hours straight. I barely said a word.”

She makes a face. “Oh, Bitcoin bros are the worst. They love the sound of their own voice.”

“Yeah, and he asked the server to split the bill to show how alpha he was.”

“Eww,” Carlee says with a snicker.

Since I’ve forced myself back into the dating scene, not one of the thirty-seven men I’ve gone on a first date with has gotten a kiss good night or a second chance. Everyone is so … boring or self-centered or has too much baggage for me to handle.

“I’m officially giving up. I’m broken. The hopeless romantic who’s anti-love. Ironic, isn’t it?”

She snickers. “You just haven’t found the perfect man yet.”

“Oh, I have, but he only exists between the pages.”

“Maybe the books you’ve been reading are creating unrealistic expectations?”

Laughter bursts out of me. “Maybe men should do better.”

“Okay, you have a point.” She shoots me a wink.

When we reach the end of the hall, I realize how much we have to do, especially if I’m leaving early. “Want to divide and conquer?”

“Let’s do it.”

She wheels the cart out of the way, and we get to it. I handle the beds and restock everything while she wipes flat surfaces and vacuums. We might talk a lot, but we’re efficient, so our boss pairs us together often. I’m lucky to have her as a friend.

I snatch the dirty towels from the bathroom floor and remove the linens, wondering how I missed that open-call notice. But after I learned Beau is now public with his side chick, my head has been in the clouds. Oh, and she’s pregnant. Forgot about that one. The big one.

I let the intrusive thoughts settle deep inside me, allowing them to fuel my determination.

When Carlee enters behind me and sprays the mirrors, I move to the next suite, trashed with wine bottles and takeout containers from the five-star restaurant downstairs. Empty oyster shells and caviar spoons are scattered across the table, along with shards of broken glass. I shake my head.

“Rich people,” I mutter.

After two hours, we ride the elevator to the Tower Penthouse, and excitement rushes through me.

It’s twenty thousand dollars a night; it spans over two stories, four thousand square feet, and has two private bedrooms, an office, and a bathroom with a waterfall shower and Jacuzzi tub.

This place for a weekend costs more than I get paid to scrub the porcelain sides of the golden-handled toilets for a year.

“One last spot check before Mr. Calloway arrives later today,” Carlee says, grabbing a rag and a bottle of cleaner.

She said his name like he’s important because those who stay at the Tower Penthouse are.

It’s not only their ego that tells them that though; it’s reality.

I couldn’t pick out one of them from a lineup and explain what they do.

That’s how much I don’t care about their lives. I’ve got my own problems.

“So, what makes Mr. Calloway so special?” I glance at her.

“Oh, he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Total asshole . Serial dater. Hates everyone . Never smiles.”

I turn to her.

“But you didn’t ask that. He’s a nepo baby. Billionaire, generational wealth out the ass. His family owns diamond mines and jewelry stores.”

“Impressive,” I say, rolling my eyes.

We arrive at the dark oak doorway that towers over us. The anticipation nearly takes over as I slide my key card across the scanner and push open the heavy door.

The place smells like lavender and luxury with fresh, colorful flowers in vases on every flat surface. The sun shines through the windows. The only thing that would make it better was if it were closer to Central Park.

“Can you imagine staying here?” Carlee asks.

“No,” I tell her with a laugh. “It’s beautiful but a waste of money.”

“But if you’ve got it to spend, why the hell not?” She looks up at the tall ceiling.

When high-profile clients rent the Penthouse, immaculacy is required. If anything is out of place, it could hurt the W’s prestige. The customer is always right because most have enough liquid assets to buy the business outright.

Carlee follows behind me, and when her cell buzzes in her pocket, she stops walking.

“I gotta take this,” she says.

If I had to guess by her tone shift, I’d say it’s the bartender she called it off with last weekend.

“No personal phone calls,” I say, mocking our boss’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll check the kitchen and dining room while I chat. Focus on flecks of dust or fingerprints on the windows and mirrors. That’s what Mr. Calloway complained about previously.”

“I’ll start on the top floor and meet you back here.” I keep my tone low.