The weekend passed very quickly in a hazy blur. Lana had dragged me downtown to a bar for some much-needed relaxation after a stressful week at her department and the looming reality of my new job. Still, every spare moment, my mind faltered, circling continuously back to Jack. What was it about him that I couldn’t just resist?

His piercing blue eyes?

That impossibly handsome face?

The searing warmth of his touch? Or the way he made me quiver all over when we were in close proximity.

I was by and large slipping into a reverie about Jack in every fleeting moment. I was losing myself in want, and that wasn’t the plan. This job meant the world to me, the last thing I needed was to ruin it with an insatiable desire I had no right to feel. My first day at the confectionery was tranquil almost unreal. The grandeur of the factory was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, its interior nothing short of breath taking. I worked here now? At McCullen Confectionery? It felt incredible. I could never thank Lana or Mr Betton enough. Mr Betton was a financial magnate, an entrepreneur, and the CEO for Betton Conglomerate. His influence was boundless, his connections and networks amassed like trophies over decades of expertise. Turning him down for any favours whatsoever was unheard of and practically obscene – something that should never be done. When he called in a favour, you answered without questions or interrogations.

The day was mainly used for basic introductions and acquainting myself with the varying departments. McCullen Confectionery rose with a quiet confidence; dark glass, clean lines, and steel-grey panels framing wide windows that caught the light and gleamed. The smooth white curve of the glass-clad building softened the sharp edges, with a modern architectural theme. The imposing building didn’t demand attention. It commanded it.

The supervisor, Millicent, was a striking blonde in her mid-thirties with pouty lips and an air of authority. She oversaw the brief training, her sharp demeanour and precise explanations making her both intimidating and impressive. We toured the entire facility—a walk so long it felt like traversing a city. My awe was palpable. Millicent was the backbone of this place as rumoured, and it was quite obvious –her command of the production line was flawless, and for a moment, I aspired to be just like her.

Until lunch.

“Is this seat taken?” A voice stabbed at my back

I shook my head. “No, you can sit.”

“How are you liking it so far?” The voice said, circling beside me.

“Enormous,” I said honestly. “And a dream come true.”

“Right?” He grinned. “William. William Knight.”

“Robin.”

“No surname?” He winked at me as he sat, his face flashing with a loopy grin.

“Clay.”

“Beautiful name.” He leaned closer towards me. “You know, I heard the biggest news today.”

Despite myself, a sweet smile washed across my face, trying my best to look to sound intrigued. “What’s that?”

“Millicent and the big boss are an item.”

“The big boss?” As far as I was concerned, there were a ton of big bosses in this behemoth. Could he be more specific?

My eyebrows knitted together, a crease forming between them, urging him to let the big news out already.

“Mr McCullen.”

Something splintered inside my chest.

“Oh.”

That was all I could manage.

What had I expected? A man like Jack; successful, over confident and attractive… single?

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, at least for me. My heart quietly fracturing in my chest. I resolved to forget everything Jack McCullen and focus on my career…that would never not end in tears.

The weekly reports would end eventually. They had to. I would make sure of it.

To survive, I’d have to keep our encounters brief, minimal contact and professional distance.

Friday came sooner than I had anticipated. Lana was already at a bar waiting for me, by the content of the recent text that declared on my phone and I couldn’t keep her waiting. She’d made it her mission to sleuth around for new bars and explore only the best together every Friday, I liked the distraction. Though I was positively certain this ruse of an idea wouldn’t last for long. Lana was far too busy with her position as the laboratory assistant at the biology department at Oxford to be playing detective.

The journey from McCullen Confectionery Factory to McCullen Heights was exhausting on foot. I paused for a moment, letting my eyes roam over the building’s exterior. It was just as imposing as the factory its self. They both exuded the same character – majestic, commanding and alluring and I couldn’t suppress the flicker of admiration spreading across my face.

I glanced past the mountain of stairs and stepped into the elevator instead. Gosh, those stairs were as for cardio as a treadmill. My heart pounded rapidly against my chest in anticipation as I strode to his office. Get in, deliver and leave, get in, deliver and leave, get in, deliver and leave. I repeated the mantra like a catholic prayer, and boy did I need it. If I was to stay sane with him and not combust, I required every muscle and prayer. God help me.

As I approached Mr. McCullen’s door, I knocked once and twisted the door knob with confidence. This time, with no hesitations.

“Good evening, Mr. McCullen. I have your report.” I said, holding the report out to him.

He looked up, gazing at me with those blue eyes piercing straight through me.

Get a grip, Robin. He’s unavailable.

“Oh. Right. Have a seat.”

He returned to his computer.

“Give me a minute, will you.”

I nodded, my thoughts spiralling with an image of him and Millicent together.

I frowned.

“Done,” he declared, closing his laptop and rubbing the nape of his neck.

“You can leave it on the desk.”

I did, and stood up almost immediately… too quickly to leave, striding across the room to the door.

He crossed the room, just in time and caught my arm before I could make it out.

“Leaving so soon?” he purred, his voice raspy and sensual.

“Yes. I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Wait. Don’t leave.”

He traced his bottom lip with his tongue, sending tiny shivers of molten heat spread through my entire body. I turned my face away from him, flushed and throbbing at the right places. GET A GRIP!

“Look at me.” He held my chin and tilted it up, forcing my eyes to meet his. “You’ve been on my mind all week. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Robin—but I intend to find out.”

His hoarse voice was laced with a seduction I wasn’t prepared for and I wanted to moan in response.

Oh God!

This was sinful. I spent every day scorning Mason for his betrayal, yet here I was, my mind twisting against me and craving for another woman’s man in ways that made me shudder and ache all at once.

I pulled away from his touch. I couldn’t do this.

“Mr McCullen—”

“Jack. Just... call me Jack.”

He said, taking slow, cautious steps towards me.

“Jack,” I said evenly, backing away. “I don't know what you think is happening here, but I'd like to work away from drama.”

He strode forward, closing the gap, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lip. He thought this was funny?

God.

“I’m not imagining this, Robin. I know you feel this too.” His fingers brushed my lips slowly and I shut my eyes in anticipation. I was dead “I’ve thought about touching you and kissing you all week.”

“Please stop.” I whispered, my heart throbbing in my chest, his intense gaze doing nothing to soften my wrecking body. I needed to LEAVEEE!

“You want this.”

I stood helplessly staring into his blue eyes, unable to look away as he hypnotised me. He leaned in, lifting me effortlessly from the ground until we were eye to eye –his gaze devouring me. I was a finished woman.

“You’re too beautiful, Robin” he murmured into my ears, brushing his lips gently over my earlobe. “I don’t know how I controlled myself for this long.” A rush of shiver broke across my skin, every nerve ending prickling and standing at attending. He had so much effect on me, I felt weak.

He brought his face closer, pressing his forehead against mine –then at once every reason to end this madness escaped. The world narrowed to the space between us, leaving me motionless and drunk. I instinctively lifted my hand to his face, tracing the lines of his jaw with my fingers.

Everything shattered.

He pressed his lips against mine in a slow pace, my mind going delirious with all sort of emotions piercing through me at different angles. His lips were warm, soft and pillowy against mine, allowing my tongue to slip gently into his mouth – feeling the soft tickle of his breath beneath my nose, his fingers carding through my long thick hair as we breathed each other in. His intoxicating fresh water and mint scent with a hint of oud infiltrated my senses. My breathing hitched, our bodies pressing together against the wall, heat building between us as our lips moved in a slow, hungry rhythm. His tongue rolled over mine, tasting our shared breath and feeling the thud of our heartbeats as he gently set me down on my feet, our hands fumbling to peel each other’s clothes away.

God, I have to stop this, he has a girlfriend… Oh God.

I ran my fingers slowly through his curls—so soft, so silky. Nothing about this felt wrong; we both wanted this, we both needed this, and I was going crazy with want. Yet...

I needed him.

Stop. He’s taken...

God. This wasn’t right. I was defying my own rule—never to get involved with a man who was already committed. Yet every sensible thought was thrown out the window, and I was hopelessly undone by the pull of him.

He cupped my cheek and kissed every inch of my face, consuming me piece by piece, leaving no part of me untouched, no space for reason to survive.

My mind screamed restraint, but my body was overcome with desire, trembling under the towering weight of this man. Intoxicating me with a want I couldn’t name, yet couldn’t resist.

“No—Jack,” I gasped, jerking away from him. Geeing myself up, I gingerly pulled my clothes back on, feeling ashamed— my thoughts far less composed.

“You’re not leaving, Robin,” he said, his hands inching to hold my waist. “Not now.”

“I can’t do this.”

I withdrew, my legs buckling uncontrollably beneath me, betraying every shred of control that remained. My purse and phone sat forgotten on his swivel chair.

Shit.

I fled—leaving my purse, my phone, and my dignity behind.

I couldn’t go back. I won’t be able to stop myself.

I was such a shameless tart.

I slammed into Lana’s car, yanked the door shut, and fired up the ignition. My hands shook violently on the stirring wheel, my chest feeling like it was being ripped apart, and the world tilted as I sped away. I looked and felt dreadful. My lips were swollen and checks flushed, how did I get here?

The memory of him clawed at my skin, searing through me, was impossible to escape. Every brush of his hands, every press of his lips, every controlled motion of him was all ingrained into my memory, pulsing through my veins, making restraint feel like a bad joke. I tried to focus on the road, but my body remembered what my mind refused to accept.

Holy shit… what just happened?

*******

I pulled into the bar’s parking lot and finally freed myself from the insufferable seatbelt that hugged tightly around my body. Stepping out beneath the harsh glow of the oversized exterior light, my silhouette stretched long across the concrete slab, forcing me to pause. I needed a minute—to breathe, to gather my thoughts, to process what the hell had just happened.

I must have lost my mind.

I exhaled sharply and headed inside.

Lana wouldn’t be hard to find and she wasn’t. I spotted her slouched against the bar counter, her fingers curled around what looked like either a martini or a Bloody Mary.

“Hey,” she said, leaning in to kiss my cheeks. “It took you long enough. I’ve been blowing up your phone. I got worried.”

“Is that so?” I replied, eyeing her drink pointedly.

“I needed company,” she said unapologetically. “You know how I get when I worry. What kept you so long? I thought you were just handing in a report and meeting me here.”

“We kissed,” I blurted, moving past her to place an order at the bar.

“I’m sorry…what?” Lana stuttered in disbelief, judgement flashing across her face, as she swirled to face me.

“You kissed him, Robin?” she asked, incredulous. “I thought you said he was seeing someone.”

“Well…he kissed me first. And I… I couldn’t resist.” My voice faltered. “I feel disgusted with myself.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Lana said gently, her tone softening. “I know you’re still hurt and confused after what that dimwit did. But don’t make another mistake by falling for someone who’s already taken.”

She tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear, grounding me the way she always did.

Lana had been my constant long before Mason…long before Jack McCullen complicated my life, long before loss taught me how quickly everything could fracture and change in seconds.

“I’m over Mason,” I insisted. “I swear. I just… I don’t know what happened. One minute I was handing in the report he’d requested, the next minute I was up against the wall. I couldn’t focus. I panicked and dashed out as soon as I could.”

My eyes burned as the tears started to pinched on them, threatening to pour over in defiance of my control.

“Nope,” she said firmly. “We’re not doing that.”

“What?”

“Wallow in self-pity and gloom.”

She brushed away a tear slipping down my cheek.

“Am I that gullible, Lana?” I asked, my voice breaking as the emotional floodgate burst open.

“No, baby,” she said. “You just attract cheats and unavailable men.”

She twisted her face into grimace, making me laugh.

“You’re intelligent, confident, strong and devastatingly alluring Robin. Gullible is not one of your flaws.”

I nodded, wiping my face with my index finger.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get drunk.”

She pulled me toward our table, and I followed, smiling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

******

An hour and a half later on endless gulps of margaritas and Bloody Marys, than Lana’s family chauffeur, Mike, gently hauled us to our feet. Lana never failed to warn him whenever our adventures involved alcohol, because on nights like this, a steady hand was paramount. He was the one who collected the mess and ensured we made it home with our dignities only slightly bruised. It had always been this way—since college. However, I was always the responsible one. The voice of reason, the one who never tipped over the line …but tonight, that voice had gone silent, drowned beneath several quaffs of Bloody Marys. I let myself sink into the drunken stupor because I needed to. Because Jack was still lodged far too deeply under my skin, and I was desperate to shake him loose.

This wasn’t recklessness. It was primal.

And yet, even in my haze, I knew it for what it was...

Pure insanity.

Voices filtered through the fog in my head, dragging me awake. I puffed, the sound sharpening into Lana and Mike’s low murmurs drifting from the kitchen.

I groaned and pushed myself upright, my head already protesting with a stab of pain. I sauntered down the hallway, cradling my skull in one hand.

It hurt like a bitch.

“I’ll take my leave now, Miss Robin,” Mike said softly when he spotted me. He gave a small nod and exited through the kitchen door.

Mike was a man of few words—one of the longest-serving chauffeurs in the Betton family. Lana swore she didn’t need the security or the entourage chasing her about, but she never hesitated to enjoy the perks and highs of her privilege when it suited her, like Mike being at her beck and call.

“Sleep good?” Lana asked, sliding a mug of coffee into my hands.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “My head is killing me. Remind me why I agreed to get wasted?”

I pressed my fingers against my temples, massaging slowly, willing the ache to ease. “I’m never doing this ever again.”

She chuckled. “There’s always a first time. Ever heard of that?”

She opened her MacBook, turned her head back to me and flashed a little smug smile.

She was insufferable sometimes.

I loved her, nonetheless.

“Take these,” she said, placing two tablets on the counter. “They’ll help.”

Of course, they would. Lana never suffered from a hangover after drinking—somehow immune to the consequences the rest of us paid dearly for. I had never heard her complain once of a headache or seen her sick after she mostly got wasted in college, getting away with overindulgence.

“Thanks very much,” I muttered, rolling my eyes on a scowl as I swallowed them –hungover and defeated, while she looked irritatingly fresh.

“You look energetic this morning,” I said dryly. “And did Mike spend the night?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee while scrolling through emails like it was any other morning.

I eased myself into one of the kitchen stools, and rested my hands on the worktop while cradling the mug. The warmth helped –a bit.

A knock echoed at the front door. Sending Lana’s head snapping up. “Can you check that? Might be Mike. You know how we do Saturdays.” She winked at me, mischief lighting her eyes.

What was she on about? “No way,” I protested, adjusting my wobbly footing. “We are not going anywhere today. I’m still recovering from yesterday’s disaster. No. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun, Robin.”

“I beg to differ.” I shot back, my voice lacking the conviction I aimed to send across. I was fun!

I buried my face in my hands and drooped my head as I shuffled nosily towards the door, each step, a painful reminder of why I rarely drank this much.

Never again.

Definitely never again.

As I opened the door, a stab of cold morning air—mingled with the remnants of alcohol—hit me, strong and hard on the face, making my head spin and the world tilt just enough to steal my balance. I swayed, from side to side, dizzy and overwhelmed by the chaos rumbling in my head—and then, suddenly, I wasn’t falling anymore.

Strong arms wrapped my waist, steadying me.

“Oh”

I swallowed hard, the air catching in my throat.

Was it the alcohol? It had to be, except we’re too close—dangerously close. His arms were firm around my waist, grounding me, and when I lifted my eyes up, they fall straight into blues—deep, piercing, and devastatingly familiar.

Eyes that rendered me useless, and miserably quaking.

“Are you okay?”

His low and croaky voice has me quivering all over. It did things to my body it had no right to do.

Stop.

“Um… I’m fine,” I murmured, backing up from his embrace as though it scorched me. How the hell did he even know where I lived?

Oh, my damn CV.

“W…what are you doing here?” I stammered, flushing bright red and mortified by how my tongue failed me whenever he stood uncomfortably close.

I needed Lana.

Immediately.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. He just stood there, his head slightly lowered, staring up at me through thick, long lashes. His eyes were piercing. His face, a perfect God, too calm and composed set my nerves on edge. He remained still, watching me with quiet lingering stare. I took a deep breath, melting and frantically searching my mind for a instructions, but found nothing.

I was a useless mess

I stood motionless, my chest rising and falling too fast to contain the pleasure surging through my languid body.

What does he want?

Time seemed to slow around him, every second taut with erratic, undignified want. My eyes trailed down to his dark denim, worn low on his hips, revealing nothing, yet concealing everything. My imagination ran wild, spiralling into a vivid recall of our steamy escapade in his office. His trousers sat perfectly on his hips, tailored with precision and utmost care. They skimmed his thighs, hinting at the massive erection pressing beneath as he pinned me desperately to the wall in a breathless kiss.

The memory burned, turning my face crimson, a subtle ache growing at my groin.

I’m a shameless wanton.

He had to leave. Now!

My pulse thumped, every breath a struggle beneath his searing gaze. I felt undone by it—by him—my body was reacting with daring desire, drowning out reason and leaving me exposed, heated, and madly aware of how desperately I wanted him.

I growled softly, desperate to break the moment. To end this.

“You left your purse and phone in my office,” he murmured, calmly. “I thought it was prudent to return them.”

His lips moved, but his eyes never left my face. He didn’t bother to hand anything over.

What in God’s name?

“I appreciate the effort,” I said flatly, “but you didn’t have to. I planned to collect them on Monday.”

I didn’t even miss my phone. I had Lana and my laptop…more than enough.

“Please,” I said, stretching my hand toward him.

He didn’t budge.

Did he even bring them along? I see nothing in his hands.

My hand draped to my side.

“Mr. McCullen…”

“Jack,” he corrected sharply. “And aren’t you going to invite me in?”

No. Absolutely not.

I couldn’t deal with you. You’re a self-assured, arrogant man.

“I can’t. I’m not alone.”

“Robin?” Lana called from the kitchen. “You’re taking forever? Why won’t you let Mike in?”

I sighed, defeated.

Jack’s jaw clenched tightly together. “Who the hell is Mike?” He asked, probing me for an answer.

Why did he care?

I ignored.

“Purse. Please,” I repeated, willing the nightmare to end while I still had some dignity intact.

“Why did you leave?” His voice was low and controlled. “We’re attracted to each other. So why run?”

My stomach dropped.

I fought the urge to relive the encounter again, the memory already clawing its way back, vivid and dangerous. Don’t go there please!

Did he say attracted to me?

While he was taken?

The realization settled heavily in my chest, which only reinforced what I already suspected.

Jack McCullen was a calculated player, an effortless charmer.

The ultimate Casanova…and a terribly wrong choice to get attracted to.

“I’m not attracted to you” I said, the lie scraping my throat raw. I swallowed.

“Mr. McCullen You need to give me my things and leave.”

I clamped down on my voice, forcing it steady and clinging to anger—the only emotion keeping me upright…keeping me shrewd.

“Call me Jack,” he snapped. “How old do you think I am?”

It’s something I’d like to know.

Before I could counter, Lana appeared, flinging the door wide open.

“Oh.”

Of course.

Jack turned smoothly, charm ably sliding into place with infuriating ease. “Jack McCullen.” He said, extending a hand. “Robin’s boss. You must be Lana.”

She froze, wide-eyed. Mesmerized.

Does he have this effect on every woman?

I jabbed her side sharply.

“Sorry,” she smiled awkwardly, shaking hands briefly with him “Come in.”

I scowled flippantly at her as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving us alone in the living room. The air tightening instantly around us.

“She seems rather polite” Jack retorted, his lips lifting on a smirk. “Why are you here Jack” I said, irritated, much to my dismay, my voice was calm…way too calm.

His gaze met mine and we locked eyes, strength leaving my poor legs as I folded my arms around my body to steady me. What was he doing to me?

“I want you.”

Three words, utterly destructive words spoken casually by Mr Hot McCullen.

He leaned forward, his thumb stroking my cheeks in measured strokes, racing a tremor from the nape of my neck down my spine, with a wave of molten heat surging through my groin threatening a reckless pulsation. I gulped.

“I’ve never felt a pull like this,” he added, his eyes rendering my body useless. “You derail me, Robin. I don’t like being distracted, yet here you are.”

He still had his hand caressing my face.

Oh God. Where was Lana?

I shuddered beneath his touch, my body overwhelmed with lust. I was helpless—completely undone by this man. I barely managed to pull away before his strong arms locked around my waist, preventing any escape.

A soft moan escaped my lips.

Keep it together

“I don’t want you,” I lied. His grip compelling me to further cling to the solid curve of his biceps.

“Stop deceiving yourself,” he whispered, calmly. “I see it, Robin. I feel it.”

I leaned closer to him, his arms pushing me against his chest. His scent, fresh water with a mix of oud…clean, masculine, intoxicating wrapped around me, I closed my eyes and drank him in. Our hearts pounding in sync, as we stared in each other’s eyes.

“Last night, you were willing me on, you craved me.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against mine. I shoved him away, my miniature hands pushing as far as they could.

“Stop.” His face hardened instantly.

“I don’t want you. I don’t want this—whatever this is,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “Can I have my purse now?”

“Come pick it up on Monday.”

I stared at him, bewildered. Petty much?

“You can’t be serious.”

My hands flew up, frustrated and in shock by his impudence. I felt like punching his perfect face.

“You heard me.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, utterly unmoved.

“Argh! you’re unbelievable, Jack!” I raked my hand through my hair, boiling with irritation.

His head moved in an almost imperceptible nod, as if to relish in my frustration. He closed the distance between us in a long stride, leaning in, his voice was dark, unhurried, and sensual. His hot breath stabbed against my skin, bristling in his wake. He nuzzled my hair with purpose and whispered into my ear.

“You’re going to want me, Robin.”

It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.

“You’re going to scream,” he added softly, each word deliberately layered. “You’re going to beg me as I fuck you. Hard. I will make sure of it.” A sharp rush of fire crashed low in my groin.

He softly kissed my cheek, sending shivers down my spine –settling down in my tensed groin. I felt my legs going weak as a pulse throbbed painfully between my thighs. He stepped back slowly, satisfaction curling into a smug smile. He enjoyed torturing me.

“And I’m never leaving you alone. Have a good day, Ms. Clay, I’ll be expecting you in my office on Monday”.

And then he was gone.

I collapsed onto the couch, my legs apparently unable to hold my entire body steady. I wouldn’t survive being alone with him.

And that terrified me.

******

Lana stomped into the room…I hadn’t even heard her walk in.

“Ugh… Daddy sent another email reminder about our periodic family dinner.”

How on earth was I going to keep my job and keep him at arm’s length?

“Robin?”

Should I just quit? Ask Mr. Betton to pull strings one more time? somewhere safer, one that won’t leave me quivering all over like a leaf?

“Robin!”

Lana’s voice cut through my spiralling thoughts, I snapped my head up and looked at her, puzzled.

I blinked.

“Sorry, what?

“Are you okay? You seemed… lost in thought. Where’s Jack? I didn’t hear him leave.”

“He left. I’m fine. What did you say, Lana?”

“We have dinner with my parents tomorrow. You up for it?”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “Not missing it.”

Betton weekend dinners were a tradition. Weekly meetings with Lana’s parents were non-negotiable—a way to strengthen the bond they shared with their only child. Back in college, it had been easy and fun. Now? Not so much. The meetings had grown redundant and eventually stopped months ago. Apparently, Mr. Betton was determined to revive them.

‘Quality time with family is necessary. Because family is everything.’

I’d remember that mantra any day. It was Mr. Betton’s little obsession with family values. Lana, of course, had spent years resisting them, proving her independence tooth and nail. I wonder what had changed.

“Why are we going this time?” I asked, my voice piqued with curiosity. “You’ve been avoiding them for a while now.”

“I know.” She sighed and sank beside me on the couch.

“All he wants is to continue the relationship you two have. You can have a relationship with your dad and be your own person, Lana.”

“You know that’s not true, Robin! He wants to control everything – my career, my relationships. I can’t let him have that much power over me. And he uses these meetings as an excuse to remind me of it.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said softly. “But I also see a father who loves his child to the bone who would do anything for you. Please don’t let pride or this obsession with independence make you lose that.” I wish I still had my parents around.

We sat in silence.

I wondered if my little sermon had even made a dent. Lana had a way of listening intently… and taking nothing from it.

“Is it something you’d consider?” I asked, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“For you… I’ll try.” She leaned in and gave me a warm hug.

“So… what happened with Jack?” she asked in my hair, instantly releasing me.

I shrugged, unwilling to speak.

“What do you mean by that? What did he want?”

“Me!”

Lana’s brow shot up. “He wants you??”

I nodded.

“And of course, he lied about bringing over my purse. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to bend to his whims!” I felt a surge of anger at the audacity.

He had no respect for his girlfriend or me.

“He has a girl, doesn’t he?”

“Does being committed stop men from taking what they want? Definitely not Jack. He thinks he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. He’s so arrogant.”

Lana scoffed. “With a face that perfect? I bet he usually does.”

“Well, not with me,” I said firmly. “He’s not going to have me.”

Lana chuckled. “Robin, the sexual tension between you two is crazy. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Don’t be absurd, Lana…you shouldn’t be encouraging this.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So…what the fuck are you going to do about ‘he not having you’?” she asked, quoting me.

“Make sure I’m never alone with him. I can’t frolic around with him. He’s not going to take me seriously; he just wants to assert control and take me because he could… and I’m repulsed with myself for being attracted to him.”

“That’s progress…admitting you’re attracted to him!”

“I never said he would have me, though!”

“I sure hope so, Robin. Just don’t be in denial.”

I wasn’t. Was I?

“Get me another mug of coffee.” I said to Lana. “Ugh… when does this end?”

I felt a pinch of mild headache kicking back in.

I got up, following her to the kitchen.

She was going to suffer the repercussions of my hangover with me—oh, she would.

“You know what they say about first times.”

“What do they say?”

“It’s always the hardest.”

“Fuck you.”

She laughed hard, a rich teasing sound and winked at me while collecting the mug from the coffee machine.

“Here.” Lana said, placing the coffee gently in my hand.

“I’m never doing this again with you.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust me. Lay down a bit… and let yourself drift, imagining a strikingly tall, flawless, chiselled Adonis.”

Lana left the kitchen with her MacBook in tow, leaving me fuming on the kitchen stool.

“I’m very much done with you!” I yelled after her.

I gulped my coffee and swivelled to grab a towel for the little spill at the corners of my mouth.

Alone, with my spiralling thoughts, flashbacks of Jack’s words rushed back to me.

I needed to stay away. I had to.

But all I wanted… was him.

I wanted him…with every fibre of my being

The restaurant opened up like a cathedral, it was an embodiment of modern luxury and effortless elegance. The space was defined by the sheer, breath-taking volume of airy grandeur, softened by the plush expanse of cream leather and the dizzying height of the ceiling above. Gosh it was so high. To the left, a towering wall stretched two storeys high, its glass panes turning into vast, obsidian mirrors and suspending from the distant ceiling on impossibly thin wires was a constellation of massive glass spheres hovering over the centre of the room. They burned with molten intensity, their irregular, organic textures catching the light like embers trapped in ice. Hung at staggering heights, they cascaded downward like a waterfall of illuminated glass, breaking the vast emptiness of the atrium. There were long, theatrical shadows stretched across the stone walls as a soft, amber luminance rained down upon the diners below. Walking on the impeccably polished marble floor resembled a dark lake, rippling with golden reflections from the orbs above and beneath this celestial display, the dining area was arranged with geometric precision. The tables gleamed like dark islands of polished lacquer, each set with silverware that caught the flicker of the overhead orbs. The curved armchairs, were upholstered in the colour of heavy cream, designed with a rounded back to embrace the diners as they sank into their seats. The air carried the faint scent of expensive coffee, starched linen and opulence. To the very right stood a mezzanine, an upper level suggesting the restaurant was part of a larger atrium. The private dining space hovered like a sanctuary, reserved only for intimate dinners and discreet meetings.

I glanced at my watch.

Twenty minutes late.

Lana and I moved swiftly toward the elevator that climbed to the upper level. Mr. Betton loved his privacy; this elevated section, just to the right of the restaurant, was his personal retreat—leased exclusively for him and renewed yearly.

Tonight, however, it was set for a family dinner. As we stepped into the space, the Betton table came into view. I offered Mr. Betton a welcoming smile, hoping to ease some of the irritation I sensed simmering behind his eyes. It didn’t work.

He despised lateness.

“You’re late,” Mrs. Betton offered, her words softened by a coy smile.

“It’s my fault, Mom. I had to finish some paperwork for tomorrow’s laboratory practical,” Lana replied, lowering herself onto her seat and draping the tablecloth over her lap.

“You know you don’t have to work there, right, darling?” Mr. Betton interjected.

“Here we go again. Dad, I love my job. I like being a laboratory assistant. You’re not going to shame me for that,” Lana said, her tone dry and clipped.

The air tightened as tension coiled in the air between father and daughter, and I felt the need to intervene. Fast. Mr. Betton had always struggled with Lana’s career choice. “It cannot build generational wealth.” he’d argued, his worry threaded through the stress he imagined she would endure—and the modest income he deemed unworthy of a billionaire’s daughter. He couldn’t fathom why she would resist a life of luxury when he could provide it, why she refused to join the family business. Every attempt to sway her had failed, leaving him frustrated, nearly at wit’s end.

“I appreciate you setting up the interview at McCullen Heights, Mr. Betton,” I said, offering a broad smile.

“That’s the least I could do Robin, seeing as you’ve stubbornly rejected all plans to entice you too into the real estate market.”

“Dad, people have passions and ambitions in various fields,” Lana said. “You can’t convince everyone to venture into real estate.”

Uh-oh. Did this intervention just backfire?

“You want to be your own boss, not be bossed around. What have I told you about entrepreneurship?” Mr. Betton countered.

“You’ve made that clear, Dad. Entrepreneurship is one way to build generational wealth—but maybe some people genuinely love having regular jobs. Perhaps some of us—even your daughters fall into that category.”

“That’s enough, both of you. Choose what you want from the menu.” Mrs. Betton huffed, glancing between Lana and I, restoring a fragile calm to the room.

Did it just get worse?

The room fell into a quiet rhythm, interrupted only by the clinking of cutlery and the servers moving between courses. The silence was unsettling.

Lana and I were both satisfied with our lives, our careers…

Or maybe that was only half true.

“How’s the place treating you, Robin? You have what you want there?” Mr. Betton asked, spooning a heap of Eton mess into his mouth.

“Um… it’s great, Mr. Betton. I really appreciate your recommendation,” I said, my voice flat.

Would Lana feel betrayed if I accepted a job in the family business? Working with Jack was already proving… complicated.

“You don’t seem particularly elated, my girl,” he observed.

I forced a smile. “I am, actually. I just… wasn’t expecting a young CEO.” I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. I needed to get an idea of this man’s age.

Did I just say young? Try a devastatingly perfect man—one my body reacts to without warning.

“I wouldn’t call almost forty young,” Mr. Betton chuckled, “but he does carry it well. Took over operations at a tender age with his cousin. Hardworking, dedicated. Just as I was.” He leaned back, smug with pride.

Almost Forty? He looked too perfect for almost forty!

“You know,” he continued, “the business is open to you if you ever decide to join. I’ll teach you the ropes.”

Mr. Betton smiled warmly at me. He and Lindsey had never treated me as less than Lana, following the death of my parents. Their affection was evident in everything they did. Still, I shifted uneasily in my seat. No matter the bond I shared with Lana, I didn’t want her to think I sought to usurp her place as the heiress.

“Robin, you could consider it if you’re uncomfortable at McCullen Confectionery.” Lana blurted out, oblivious to our company.

What is she thinking?

I shot her a pointed look; she returned it with a quick murmur beneath her breath.

“You’re not comfortable at your job, darling?” Lindsey asked. Her expression tightened, concern settling deep in her eyes.

“No… well, I mean… no job is easy, Lindsey. But I’ll adapt soon enough,” I offered hastily, spinning a plausible story.

They couldn’t know about the sinful desire already taking root inside me. Or the dangerous tension simmering between the boss and me.

What the hell, Lana?

“There’s always a place for you whenever you decide to join us, Robin. No pressure,” Mr. Betton added, his expression easing into a reassuring smile.

What was happening between Jack and me was nothing more than a minor emotional snag.

Or so I told myself...

Besides, I’d only been there a week. I could do this—with or without this relentless need for Jack. I accepted my virgin Margarita as the waiter served it around our table. I sipped slowly, silently hoping Jack wouldn’t come up again in the conversation. This dinner was about Lana and her parents. I wasn’t going to steal the limelight with my unresolved desire for a matured unavailable man.