Page 1 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Avery

"Hey! Avery! Are you fucking blind or what? Can't even handle something this simple? You absolute moron!"

Jimmy's shrill voice cut through the hotel lobby like nails on a chalkboard, and my heart immediately plummeted into my stomach. God, not again.

I looked up to find our shift supervisor, Jimmy's, greasy, perpetually sneering face inches from mine.

Jimmy was the kind of guy who got off on making everyone else's life miserable—a petty little tyrant who loved wielding what little power he had over the newer staff.

Ever since I'd started working at this dump two weeks ago, I'd had the incredible misfortune of replacing Emily as his favorite punching bag.

His beady little eyes gleamed with barely concealed malice and disgust as he stood there, hands on his hips, his uniform stretched tight over his beer gut. He was pointing an accusatory finger at the front desk—a desk that was so clean you could probably perform surgery on it .

"S-sorry, sir," I whispered, my voice so small I could barely hear it myself. I quickly ducked my head, trying to look as humble and apologetic as possible.

I couldn't afford to lose this job. Mom's medical bills weren't going to pay themselves.

"Look at you, you pathetic little thing!" Jimmy let out a harsh laugh, spittle nearly flying in my face. "Moving around like a zombie, completely brain-dead! Tommy must've been out of his goddamn mind when he hired you!"

I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, using that tiny bit of pain to keep from completely losing it.

I could feel my face burning—not from shame, but from pure, unadulterated rage.

I wanted to scream back at him, tell him I wasn't some worthless piece of trash, that I never wanted to be here in the first place, that I had dreams and ambitions beyond being a fucking hotel maid!

But the stack of medical bills in my pocket was a constant, brutal reminder to keep my mouth shut. I bit down hard on my lower lip, swallowing every angry word that threatened to spill out, leaving only bitter compliance.

"Sorry, sir. I'll wipe it down again right away."

Jimmy clearly wasn't satisfied with my submission.

This was his favorite game—find any excuse, real or imagined, and then spend the next half hour tearing someone apart piece by piece.

I knew this nightmare was far from over.

All I could do was keep my head down and pray I didn't end up punching his pig-like face.

The sharp click-clack of heels echoed down the corridor, and a familiar figure with curly brown hair rounded the corner. Esther. She walked straight over and casually patted Jimmy on the shoulder like they were old friends.

"Hey, Jimmy! There you are. Tommy's been looking all over for you."

"Ugh, what does he want now?" Jimmy's frown deepened, clearly annoyed at being interrupted mid-tirade.

"He didn't say," Esther shrugged, running her fingers through her curls with practiced nonchalance. "But I'd get moving if I were you. He looked pretty pissed off."

Jimmy's gaze swept over me one last time like a cold blade before he dismissed me with a disgusted wave of his hand, like he was shooing away an annoying fly.

"Fine! Get back to work, you waste of space! The guest in the Presidential Suite 302 just checked out. You've got one hour to get that room spotless. If I find so much as a single hair or water stain, you can pack your shit and get the hell out! You hear me?"

Before I could even respond, he was already stomping off in the direction Esther had come from. The hallway fell silent except for the two of us, and Esther's indifferent mask immediately melted away. She gently patted my shoulder with genuine concern.

"Hey, Avery. Don't let that asshole get to you," she said softly, her voice taking on that gentle tone she only used with me.

Esther—this girl who used to roll around in the dirt with me in our old neighborhood—was like a big sister to me growing up.

Even though we lost touch for a few years after our families went separate ways, when we reconnected, it was like no time had passed.

She still looked out for me, just like always.

"Thanks, Esther," I hesitated for a moment before I couldn't help asking, "Is Tommy really looking for Jimmy?"

"Don't worry about it. Tommy will handle things." She emphasized the word 'handle' with a playful wink, loaded with unspoken meaning.

I nodded without pressing further. Of course Tommy would handle it. When it came to Esther, he'd move mountains—dealing with a small-time bully like Jimmy was nothing. Everyone at the hotel knew about Tommy's not-so-subtle crush on her.

"How are you holding up lately?" She studied my exhausted face carefully. "How's your mom doing?"

The mention of my mother made me clutch the hospital bill in my pocket tighter. "She's having another setback," my voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "The doctor says she needs better treatment, but the cost..." I shook my head, the rest of the words stuck in my throat like fishbones .

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" Esther's voice grew even softer as she carefully changed the subject. "What about you? Are you still writing?"

That question was like a tiny ray of warm light, briefly illuminating the dark cloud that had settled over my heart. She still remembered that weird kid who used to scribble in notebooks all the time.

I forced what had to be the world's most pathetic smile—probably looked worse than crying. "Writing? I haven't even thought about it since Mom got sick. I can barely afford to breathe these days. The medical bills are like a fucking bottomless pit."

Esther's eyes filled with sympathy and worry. "Listen, Avery. If you need help—any kind of help—don't try to handle everything alone, okay? Promise me you'll tell me."

"You've already done so much for me," I said sincerely, trying to give her a more genuine smile. "If you hadn't gotten me this job, I wouldn't even have this much..." The rest was swallowed by a heavy sigh.

I glanced at my watch. "I should go. If I'm not back on time, Jimmy will skin me alive."

"Go on, be careful." Esther nodded understandingly, watching as I dragged my lead-heavy legs toward the elevator, one painful step at a time.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and I stepped inside, hitting the button for the 30th floor.

I leaned against the cold metal wall and closed my eyes.

In those few seconds, my mind flashed to Mom lying in that hospital bed, her face pale but still managing to smile for my sake. I couldn't give up. Not now.

When I opened my eyes, the elevator's mirror showed my reflection—utterly exhausted, with dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, and hollow, lifeless eyes.

Constantly running between the hospital, our shitty rental, and the hotel had worn me down to nothing.

I sighed and tried to smooth out my wrinkled uniform, attempting to look at least somewhat presentable. 9

Standing in front of the luxurious Presidential Suite, I took a deep breath, mustering every ounce of energy I had left, and pushed open the heavy door of room 302.

A wave of opulence hit me immediately, instantly washing away the musty, oppressive smell of the employee corridors.

Massive floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the entire city's glittering skyline, while sunlight filtered through expensive, gossamer curtains, casting gentle patterns on the plush carpet.

The air still carried traces of high-end perfume, silently announcing that this was a world I'd never belong to.

I wheeled the cleaning cart inside and began the tedious, soul-crushing routine. Wiping down marble surfaces so polished you could see your reflection, cleaning a bathroom with a gold-rimmed jacuzzi tub big enough to swim in.

Every detail in this place reminded me exactly who I was and where I belonged. Nowhere near here.

The last task was that ridiculously oversized luxury bed, covered in sheets that felt like silk ice against my fingers. I struggled to strip off the used bedding and replace it with a fresh, pristine white set.

I couldn't help wondering what kind of life the people who slept here lived. Did they ever worry about tomorrow's medical bills? Could they chase their dreams without a care in the world? Were they like Priscilla, the beloved protagonist from my old notebooks—someone fate actually smiled upon?

"Snap out of it, this isn't the time for daydreaming!" I shook my head hard, trying to clear the chaotic thoughts. Right now, I needed to focus on getting this damn room perfect so Jimmy couldn't find a single thing to bitch about.

My eyes mechanically scanned the areas that needed cleaning when something caught my peripheral vision—a flash of deep black tucked between the bed frame and the carpet. What the hell? I bent down curiously and carefully fished it out with my fingers.

It was a nightgown.

My breath caught in my throat.

I recognized that label! It was from that dog-eared fashion magazine I kept hidden under my pillow.

This brand occupied the most prominent pages—the absolute epitome of luxury and sensuality.

I'd spent countless hours staring at models wearing similar pieces, imagining my character Priscilla receiving something like this as a coming-of-age gift.

Priscilla. When was the last time I'd even thought about her? Ever since Mom got sick, I hadn't had time to pick up a pen and continue her story. All those words that used to fill me with hope and dreams now felt like sharp knives, cutting me apart from the inside.

I glanced at the price tag on the nightgown—a number that made me dizzy, enough to cover Mom's medical expenses for a year with change left over.

And now it was just lying there in my sweaty palm.