“Three hundred million?”

Eliana nearly gasped. The weight of that number felt like a physical burden on her shoulders.

“You should feel lucky that Mr. Moran is giving you a chance to make amends through manual labor instead of a lawsuit,” Gabrielle scoffed. There was a flicker of genuine envy in her eyes; despite years of service, Gabrielle had never been permitted to enter the CEO’s private office.

Eliana caught the look and didn't miss a beat. “Are you jealous, Miss Aston? If you like the idea so much, perhaps we should trade roles. I think this blue jumpsuit would look quite striking on you.”

Gabrielle’s nostrils flared, her hand tightening on her designer handbag, but she forced herself to step aside. She knew better than to interfere with an order that came directly from the top floor. “Go on then. And try not to break anything else.”

Eliana ignored her and headed for the executive elevator. What a strange punishment, she thought. Usually, a loss that size results in a firing, not a cleaning assignment. Is Maurice Moran as eccentric as the rumors suggest?

The CEO’s office was massive, decorated in minimalist tones of slate and obsidian. It was silent and empty. Eliana spent hours meticulously dusting the mahogany shelves and polishing the floor-to-ceiling windows. By the time she finished, her back ached and her hair was beginning to frizz.

Exhausted, she leaned against a section of the paneled wall to catch her breath. Suddenly, a soft click echoed through the room.

The wall behind her didn't hold. It swung inward, and Eliana fell backward into the void.

“Ah!”

Before she could hit the floor, a strong arm caught her by the waist, pulling her into a steady, firm embrace. Eliana looked up, her breath hitching as she met a pair of deep-set, piercing eyes.

“Mr. Moran?” she blurted out.

This was the closest she had ever been to him in the light of day. He looked impeccably handsome—dark eyes, sharp features, and a cold, commanding aura. He was wearing a dark silk robe, his hair slightly damp from a recent shower.

Maurice looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her face. Even in a janitor’s uniform and without a trace of makeup, her features were delicate and striking. He noted the way she trembled under his touch, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and defiance.

Eliana quickly pushed herself away, her palms inadvertently brushing against the firm muscles of his chest. She scrambled to her feet, her face flushing crimson as she realized she had stumbled into his private lounge through a hidden door.

“I—I apologize, Mr. Moran. I didn't know the wall was a door,” she stammered, focusing her gaze strictly on his shoes.

Maurice calmly adjusted the collar of his robe, his movements slow and deliberate. He stepped toward her, his presence filling the space. Eliana retreated until the edge of his massive oak desk pressed against her back.

He leaned in, trapping her between his arms as he placed his hands on the desk behind her. The subtle scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the lingering smell of her cleaning supplies.

“You have a habit of showing up in places you aren't invited, Miss Pierce,” he said, his voice a low, raspy velvet. “First at the hotel, and now in my private quarters.”

“It was an accident!” Eliana insisted, trying to maintain her professional composure despite her heart hammering against her ribs. “I was assigned to clean your office.”

Maurice studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. To anyone else, she looked like a flustered employee, but he saw the spark of the woman who had ‘performed’ so brilliantly at the hotel.

Just as he was about to speak, the main office door swung open.

A secretary stood there, clutching a stack of files. She froze at the sight: the CEO in a bathrobe, leaning over a disheveled woman in a janitor’s uniform.

“I—I am so sorry! I’ll come back later!” The secretary turned on her heel and slammed the door shut.

Eliana felt like her soul had left her body. “She totally misunderstood!”

Maurice stepped back, his expression returning to its usual icy mask. He cleared his throat. “You missed a spot in the inner bathroom.”

Eliana glared at him, irritated by his sudden shift in tone. “Is that all? And regarding the project loss... am I really expected to pay back three hundred million?”

Maurice cast her a sideways glance. “Do you have three hundred million?”

“Of course not!”

He smiled, a faint, dangerous curve of his lips. “Then perhaps we can discuss alternative ways for you to settle your debt to the Moran Group. I have a position in mind that requires someone with your... unique talents.”

“If it involves more cleaning, I’ll pass,” Eliana retorted, picking up her mop and heading for the bathroom with her chin held high. “I’m a designer, Mr. Moran, not your personal maid.”

Maurice watched her leave, a flicker of amusement crossing his dark eyes.

Two hours later, Eliana finally made it back to the design department, her muscles screaming in protest. Just as she sat down at her desk, her phone vibrated.