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.

McCullen Confectionary was an enormous, towering building—so vast that even after a couple of weeks on the job, its scale remained unfathomable. The factory’s conveyor belts extended far beyond what the eyes could see, flanked by expositors, extruders and enrobing machines. The hissing and clanking of the machinery were so loud it was impossible to hear clearly. Tens of thousands of workers moved in precise choreography around me, going about their duties. Gummies, candies, pastries, cakes, chocolates and cupcakes in every imaginable form streamed past me in gleaming trays. The aroma of sugar and cocoa hung heavily in the air, overwhelming my senses, I could now understand why people called this the most colossal factory in the world.

McCullen Confectionery was founded by Maxwell McCullen, the company had grown into a mammoth, constantly innovating with plant-based and reduced-sugar confections to keep up with evolving preferences. According to the McCullen tabloid, the company employed tens of thousands of workers across dozens of plants, generating billions in revenue, annually. Walking through the production floor, I didn’t need numbers to comprehend just how gigantic this place was— it announced itself in every sight, sound and scent.

The induction had been intense and momentous for me. The company’s overview wasn’t just trivia, it was essential for the beginner’s assessment, which I had succeeded easily at, looking at how obsessed I’d been with the company since college. The heads of the various departments had been impressed—or so Nate claimed, and I was placed almost immediately right in the risk management section, where I monitored microbiological, chemical and physical hazards.

“Robin!” Nate’s voice cut through my concentration, as he waved me out of the microbiology lab. I was in the middle of setting up for my routine analysis of raw cocoa beans.

I slipped out of my personal protection equipment, then followed him, irritation spreading across my face. What could be so urgent?

“Yes, Nate?” I asked, forcing calm into my voice.

“What are you doing in there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

I chuckled. “Nate, I’ve been doing this for some time now” I began, but he still had a puzzled look on his face. “I’m testing the raw cocoa beans for indicator organisms and pathogens, starting with the total viable—”

“Robin, I know exactly what you’re doing. I’m the laboratory technician, hello?” He rolled his eyes at me.

Did he just roll his… I’d let that pass.

“Okay…what’s going on?”

“Did you read your emails?”

Shit. My phone.

“Emails?” I asked, blinking at him.

“Robin, did you check your emails or not? I don’t have all day!”

“I did…n’t. I mean, I don’t have my phone,” I stammered, my brain scrambling for something convincing to tell him.

He looked at me, completely baffled. “You’re telling me you don’t have a phone?”

How the hell do I explain that my phone was with Jack?

I forced a chuckle. “Of course, I do—who doesn’t? I just…don’t have it with me right now.”

He sighed, rushing through the next part of his tirade. “Your duties have been changed unexpectedly. Millicent wants you working closely with her in the chemical lab.”

Why?

I stared at him momentarily lost and confused.

“Can I ask why? I was really enjoying this side,” I said, my brows knitting together.

“She specifically picked you. Her assistant is indisposed, so in the meantime, you’re with her.”

How many positions does she hold? She’s seems to be everywhere!

“And who will cover this section if I leave?” I asked, worried. I’d spent two exhilarating weeks getting accustomed to this enormous lab, and grown confident in manoeuvring through varying tests. Now I had to start over, elsewhere?

“Darling, there was an army of people here long before you joined us!” Nate said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

I swallowed, forcing down the bile of irritation clawing up in my throat.

“Then why does she need me? There’s clearly a horde she could work with.”

“Because, Robin, you’re a prodigy and she’s probably dying to work with you. Now save those unwarranted questions for her and get a phone.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving me staring at him in disbelief and apprehension.

Before it dawned on me… Oh my God, had Millicent found out about Jack and I?

Working with Millicent had been surprisingly pleasant. I had been apprehensive about assisting at first because of my lewd attraction to her boyfriend. Nonetheless, our conversations never revolved around him and for that I was thankful. She had no clue about Jack and me, and I wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible. Besides, I was on a deliberate journey to forget him entirely. Her directions and explanations of how things were run in the chemical lab were exceptional. With Claire still away and Millicent sporadically around after I’d adjusted to the lab’s operations, I carried the workload of two people. It left me mostly exhausted—which was a much-needed distraction, one that is helping expunge Jack from my senses.

I had been successful in my quest to avoid Jack for three full weeks, no matter what it took, and it seemed to be working. My consolation was geography. McCullen Heights and the confectionery factory were far apart—not an impossible distance, but distant enough that I didn’t have to fear running into him unexpectedly.

The first few days were torture. He had stopped by the apartment on countless occasions to see me, but Lana offered a succession of excuses to cover for me and get him off my back. Jack had been relentless, and I was petrified that seeing him would undo every ounce of willpower I’d mustered and leave me at his mercy. I wouldn’t survive.

Avoidance seemed to be the logical solution, and it was working. I didn’t know how long the subterfuge would last, but however long it took, I was hell-bent on staying away from the Adonis—until he was completely out of my system.

If only it was that simple.

Lana was meeting me in half an hour for lunch just across the street from McCullen Confectionery. I wouldn’t know when she arrived until the lab intercom buzzed.

God, I needed my phone.

The intercom chimed just after I finalized my last chemical test. I stood up, straightening my stiff and aching body. Numbness had settled into my nerves, their signals dulled by stillness, leaving my limbs strangely vacant of sensation. I massaged them until the feeling slowly returned. I shrugged out of my lab coat, responded to the intercom, and met Lana downstairs.

Moments later, we were seated in an open spot outside the restaurant. We ordered BLT sandwiches with fries, and an orange juice on the side.

“Jack called me today at school,” Lana said. “When I was preparing for a lab with my students.”

“What did he want?” I inquired, surprised by his persistence.

“You, Robin. And I don’t know how long we can keep up this ruse.”

“He’ll get exhausted and cease pursuing me. I assure you.” I said.

“I doubt he’s the type to concede, Robin. He said your running only delays the inevitable.”

“It’s strange, you know …he’s never been to the confectionery.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to encourage an office romance,” Lana said with a wink.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding to the waiter as he gingerly set our plates down.

“I mean…I don’t get it.”

“Millicent?” A faint crease appeared between Lana’s brows.

“Oh,” I muttered, realization plummeting hard in my stomach. I dropped my gaze, shoulders slumping against my seat. “I mean, it made all the sense—”

“Holy crap!” Lana exclaimed, chuckling as she spotted a tall man approaching our table.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Jack!”

Holy fuck.

“Did you tell him we’d be here?”

“I didn’t. He practically owns the entire domain, Robin.”

Shit.

I felt him getting closer, because Lana’s gaze shifted upward, to accommodate his height.

“Good day, ladies,” he said.

I felt the heat creeping through my body, settling on my cheeks, burning like crimson-hot metal pressed against my skin. I picked up a stray piece of lettuce, nibbling on the edges to steady myself.

“Lana,” Jack murmured, nodding at her. Then he crouched beside me, his hand settling firmly on my thigh.

A sharp throb pulsed in my groin.

“Escape is often an illusion,” he whispered, a smug smile playing on his lips. His fingers ran slowly through my hair, each touch leaving me a tangled mess of desire. He reached for the nape of my neck and pulled me closer.

“How loud will you beg when I fuck you?” he asked, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. My face instantly flared crimson.

“Grace period’s over, Robin,” he purred. “You won’t run from me anymore.”

He squeezed my thigh one more time before releasing his grip. I gasped, my knees buckling under the table.

“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” he said, straightening his suit. “Enjoy.”

He turned sharply, clearly satisfied he’d made his claim unmistakably clear.

I downed a large gulp of juice, trying to calm my disoriented state. I hated how easily he affected me.

“You’re burning up,” Lana said with a sly smile. “The sexual tension is off the roof with you two.”

“He’s not going to have me Lana” I said, popping a fry in my mouth.

“I sure hope so,” she teased.

As I sat across the table staring at my best friend, I knew for a fact that Jack McCullen would be the end of me.