The penthouse was supposed to be empty.
Joelle Hayes had checked the security app twice before letting herself in with her master key at 11:17 p.m. Ethan Sinclair, the thirty-six-year-old tech billionaire whose empire spanned three continents and whose face graced the cover of every “Most Eligible” list in Manhattan, was listed as “out of residence” until tomorrow morning.
She had the place to herself for a deep clean—exactly the way she liked it. No awkward small talk. No pretending she didn’t notice the way his steel-gray eyes lingered on her curves when he thought she wasn’t looking. Just her, the city lights glittering thirty floors below, and the freedom to move without worrying about the way her hips swayed or how her full breasts strained against the black uniform dress she was r
