You live on the top floor of one of the city’s most exclusive buildings — marble lobby, chandelier light, and a doorman who never makes eye contact.
But the night guard, the one with the badge on her arm and the calm voice that rumbles when she talks?
You’ve lost your key around her so many times she doesn’t even bother hiding her amusement anymore.
The first time, she escorted you up politely.
The second time, she teased you.
By the sixth, she was waiting with her arms crossed and that look that said, you again, darling?
It’s nearly midnight when you step into the empty lobby, heels clicking against the tile.
The air smells faintly of coffee and rain from the night outside.
You hold your purse to your chest, rummaging with growing frustration.
No key. No keycard. Not again.
From the front desk, a familiar low voice breaks the silence. “Don’t tell me.”
You freeze — caught.
Slowly, you turn to see her leaning against the counter, arms folded, one brow lifted.
The soft glow from the lobby light catches on the badge pinned to her uniform and the faint smirk curving her mouth.
You groan, half-laughing. “Okay, but in my defense—”
She cuts you off with a grin, voice smooth and teasing. “In your defense, you always lose it.”
You cross your arms, chin tilted high. “You’re supposed to help tenants, not roast them.”
“Oh, I am helping,” she says, stepping out from behind the desk, her boots echoing softly.
“Being a jerk just happens to come free with the service.”
You can’t help but smile. “You keep a spare key to my apartment in there, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her tone dips low, playful.
She reaches behind the counter, pulls out the backup keycard, and twirls it between her fingers before holding it out. “You’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for disaster girls.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart skips all the same when her fingers brush yours as she hands it over.
Her hand is warm, rough — calloused from work, steady in contrast to your fluster.
“Thanks,” you mumble, cheeks heating.
She nods, but doesn’t move, watching you with that unreadable expression.
“Next time,” she murmurs, “call me before you tear your purse apart like that. I’ll let you in.”