LUCIANA

Knight in shining armor?

I take back everything I said about this man being the key to saving VRE. It's more accurate to describe him as a psychopath who thrives on other people's distress. Though, between making the wrong decisions for the company and falling in love with a jerk, is it astounding that my knight in not-so-shining armor turned out to be a migraine in disguise?

Why did I change my mind so fast, you may ask?

I've spent the better part of the last two hours showing him pictures of properties; not only does he keep rejecting all my suggestions with the strangest excuses, but he also doesn't want to tell me what he wants in a house either.

Not even the last few months could have prepared me for this.

“What do you mean the flowers aren't green enough? It's a garden, sir. You can plant whatever you want.” I'm on the verge of losing my patience.

His response isn't any less annoying than the previous ones. “And I don't want to have to plant anything.”

“You will not. Your garden will be primed according to your tastes before the purchase is complete,” I coax, only to receive a sly grin.

“Miss Vargas, I'm beginning to question your professionalism.”

I can't believe the nerve of this man. I take pride in my work ethic, and I will not let some infuriating silver spoon accuse me of being unprofessional, not even if he looks like a million bucks and an underwear ad model all at the same time. Six months ago, I would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don't shine.

But we need him. Quite honestly, I’m still surprised he chose VRE amid the pile of glamorous real estate companies. Luck doesn't shine on the same place twice—at least not on VRE.

I know that if I seal this great sale, it will revive us, and I will no longer have to deal with lawyers canceling contracts left and right, and my dad can finally have a good night's sleep.

The arrogant asshole on my couch probably thinks he has the world wrapped around his pinky finger just because he has the looks that make just about any woman willing to bend a knee for a mere word with him.

Admittedly, I was momentarily lost in his looks when he walked into my office about two hours ago.

Everything, including his height, is every girl's dream. The proverbial tall, handsome, with a charming smile to boot; all of which vanish out the window in a puff as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

Right now, he's merely the hell-sent asshole here to ruin my day.

When I look over at the couch, I find him fanning himself with one of the property magazines I gave him for reference. All he's done so far is scan the cover page for a second before casting them aside, making me wonder what magical mansion he wants and which fictional planet one can find it on.

This sounds like a trap, setting me up for failure before he gets his legion of friends and servants to one-star the hell out of VRE.

Fat chance. Between placating this bizarre client and taking Vicente’s deal, I’m not choosing the devil I know.

I will close this deal if it’s the last thing I do.

“Any more magazines for me?” He asks as though he were a petulant child demanding candy.

Would anyone notice if I went over to the couch and strangled the living daylights out of him?

“Miss Vargas, you seem to find me troublesome,” he drawls, shifting his position, so he’s finally sitting on the couch like a normal person.

No shit, Sherlock!

On the outside, I offer my sweetest smile—at least I hope I don’t look like a mad ghost on the verge of haunting his dreams. “Of course not, Mr. Morata. I’m only trying to figure out your perfect house.”

“Do your best, Miss Vargas. I will be waiting.” He resumes his previous position and starts whistling a tune. My ears threaten to bleed; I don’t know if that’s from the horrendous whistling coming from my new client or the exaggerated, sugary way he says my name.

Two minutes later, his attention is back on me. “Found it yet, Luciana?”

The way he drawls my name sounds like something out of a wet dream.

“Miss Vargas,” I correct him. It’s already bad enough that he’s making me start to hate my surname.

“But I like Luciana now,” he pouts.

Surely we're not here to discuss which name sounds better on his lips.

“You are in luck, Mr. Morata. Your future paradise awaits.” I click on a thumbnail to enlarge it. I am quite confident in my choice; humongous, extravagant, fitting for an arrogant asshole like him. However, I know what his answer will be, so I print out a questionnaire instead.

“Fill this in,” I place the sheet of paper on the visitor’s side of my desk and put a pen on it.

The man barely moves, merely blinking at me in confusion.

I forgot I was serving His Highness, Crown Prince of Psychoville. I take a deep breath and reluctantly deliver the questionnaire to the coffee table.

He glances down at the sheet of paper and raises a brow. “Why do I have to fill in a questionnaire? Do I remind you of a kindergartener?”

Actually, you do, I think, but I bite my tongue and give a more civil response. “I need to know your exact tastes.”

“My exact tastes…” he drawls in a way that makes me question if we’re on the same topic of discussion. “What's in it for me ?”

“The house of your dreams,” I state the obvious.

He hums, almost as if he’s considering it, but his answer makes me want to groan. “Not good enough.”

Who did I piss off in my past life?

“What else do you want, sir?” I try my luck.

“I only answer questionnaires over coffee. So have it with me, Luciana, and I will fill in everything you want me to fill.”

My skin burns up from the way he’s looking at me, but I shake my head to clear my mind.

You are not getting anywhere with those seductive eyes, sir. “No can do.”

“Well then.” He smiles and picks up the questionnaire, ripping it in half.

He might as well have ripped my brain into shreds while at it because I’m one second away from grabbing a broom and shooing him out.

“I have to say, Luciana,” he drawls, “I may not like your way of doing business, but I appreciate the view.”

It’s a relief when the telephone on my desk rings. I know it’s from Sofia.

“There’s a delivery that needs your immediate attention,” she reports.

“I’ll be right there,” I say and end the call.

There is no delivery—it’s a code Sofia created to give me breaks if I need them. I’m often dealing with perpetual assholes, and she’s such a lifesaver. Needless to say, I need to be away from this one for an entire year if possible.

I shut my devices down in case he thinks of trying something he shouldn’t, then I point to the discreet surveillance camera in the corner of the roof. “I’ll be right back.”

I let out a huge sigh when I’m at Sofia’s desk.

“Is Mr. Hottie Pants too much to handle?” She winks.

She has no idea.

“I need a break. Keep him company while I’m out, will you? Maybe get him a cup of coffee. Don’t forget to add enough sugar to send him into a coma—or rat poison, I’m not picky.”

“Okay?”

I leave before Sofia can ask any questions.

I’ve just managed to catch a waft of fresh air when I notice a familiar frame at the end of the hallway.

No way that idiot is still here.

When I walk over to check, I find Vicente flirting with the pretty girl from IT. Emma is her name, if I remember correctly.

At least it looks like they’re flirting until I hear her hissing, “I told you I have work to do!”

I see red. “She asked you to leave.”

I cross my arms. When Vicente turns to face me, I have the strongest urge to slap the teeth out of his mouth. It’s already bad enough to pester me relentlessly. What gives him the right to make my employees uncomfortable?

“You may leave, Emma,” I tell the pretty girl, who looks at me like I’m her savior before scurrying away.

“What the hell?” I frown at my ex.

“Someone’s still got her claws out,” he imitates a scratching motion, and I do want to claw his eyes out.

“I told you to leave.” I point to the elevators.

“I stayed around in case things didn’t go well with the new client and you needed me. Looks like I made the right call.”

“Leave before I call security,” I threaten.

He raises his hands as he grins… “Remember, you know where to find me.”

In your damn dreams.

If I was on the verge of giving up, meeting Vicente has fueled my resolve. I make a quick trip to the bathroom and splash water on my face, leaving me so invigorated that I can fight a bear, leave alone wrangle an infuriating silver-spoon.

When I return to my office, however, I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe.

Sofia and the new client are engrossed in conversation. Sofia is laughing her butt off as the man tells an elaborate story about his trip to Vietnam.

So, I’m the only one he’s an asshole to.

“You’re back,” he smiles as soon as he notices me.

“You’re hilarious, Mr. Morata.” Sofia wipes a tear of laughter from her eye as she stands. “I’ll be on my way.”

My secretary winks at me on her way out. I don’t think I want to know what that’s about, so I sit at my desk.

The gloom has returned to my office, the previously joyous man now sitting with his arms folded. I print several questionnaires and deliver them before him. “Don’t waste your time ripping them. I could print a thousand.”

“Then you will have an entire confetti to clean up, Miss Vargas,” he says with a dimpled smile. “Are we having this dance again? I already gave you a solution—go out for coffee with me.”

LUCIANA

I lean over the table to take back my questionnaires, and he moves so we're face to face. His breath is close to me, and I can feel it. He's looking into my eyes as though he can see through them right into my soul.

In those few seconds, with our eyes locked, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. My heart is beating at a dizzying speed, nearly making me think I’m having a heart attack.

I clear my throat. “You speak of professionalism, yet you invade my personal space within the same hour. How noble of you, Mr. Morata.”

His resulting chuckle feels like a rumble through my bones. “You are the one in my personal space, Luciana. Make no mistake, though, I’m not complaining.”

I will myself to straighten up, and it feels like I have returned to the normal world after being stuck in whatever universe that was. Why am I behaving like he's the first man on earth I am encountering?

Besides, he's an asshole. That alone should be enough reason to stay as far from him as physically possible.

As I walk back to my desk, I feel his eyes glued to my backside. I should be offended, but somehow, I’m not. I may have slowed down for a few seconds, too, which makes me scold myself as soon as my brain is back to its normal functionality.

“I guess we're having that coffee after all,” he says.

I bite back a retort. What choice do I have? I’m the one with everything to lose. If I blow up this deal, I don’t know how long it would take before another valuable client magically appears. I swear this one magically appeared, and I don’t give a fuck which cauldron he came from, but he’s my ticket, no matter how frustrating he is.

A few minutes later, I have resigned to my fate. No matter how much I fight it, the only way to get him to sign the deal is to have coffee with him.

To be fair, I may not have said no to him if we met under different circumstances and he asked me out. I just hate being trapped. “I think this meeting is over,” I say.

“But I don't want to leave,” he makes himself more comfortable by crossing his legs and grabbing a magazine to read.

Is this man's sole purpose to torment me?

“Is there anything else you want to discuss with me?'' I frown, hoping he isn't going to give me another bullshit answer.

“Not that I can think of,” he answers.

I raise my brows in question.

Then what do you want?

“I just feel comfortable on this couch. Besides, it was a two-hour meeting and…” he raises his hand to glance at his red-faced, diamond watch that has to be one of those fancy Rolexes with ridiculous price tags. “I still have thirty minutes.”

If we have nothing to discuss, am I going to have to look after him while he does annoying things? No one said anything about me being a babysitter.

“Mr Morata...” I start, only to get interrupted by him.

He raises his head, his expression playful. “The sound of my name on your lips is quite sexy.”

I let out an angry breath for the umpteenth time.

This man is going to be the end of me. If this is some kind of punishment for something, then I'd rather die.

Luckily, he changes the topic immediately. “I'm the biggest, newest client in town. Companies are competing for me. You see? I’m a hot commodity in demand. Actually, everyone wants me, but I chose you.”

My mind is still stuck on hot commodity. I bite my lower lip, giving him another round of scrutiny. Indeed, a hot commodity.

I shift on my seat when I catch myself in the act.

That was so unprofessional, Luciana. I scold myself.

“You already said that,” I answer him.

“Good,” he says, finding a comfortable position on the couch. He must think my office is his personal lounge. He looks so cozy that I picture a big bucket of popcorn and he will be ready to watch a movie.

In comparison, I’m fidgeting in my chair because life has yet to bestow me with the same amount of luck. Part of my duties is being interfered with by him.

Half an hour later, I'm still trying to get a crazy panda out of my office. Why am I even using this analogy? They may be the goofiest animals, but I love them. I've always wanted to hug a panda, actually. They look so fluffy and comfortable to cuddle with.

I've been unknowingly staring at the man on the couch when our eyes meet.

I quickly look away.

Nope, I will never hug this particular panda.

I've endured thirty more minutes of torture with my new client.

When he leaves, I almost expect him to pop back in just to mess with me.

__________

“Luciana, I’m about to go home. Are you staying?”

Sofia's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I didn't realize it was already so late.

I nod listlessly. “I still have a few things to take care of. Can you get me some Advil before you leave?”

She gives me the kind of look that reminds me of my mother. “If you are unwell, you should go home and rest.”

I laugh. “It’s just a headache, Sofia. I will be fine.”

She begrudgingly brings the medicine, grumbling something about her life ending prematurely because her boss won't take care of herself. I ignore her rant and return to work.

Soon after she leaves, my phone rings. As soon as I see “Claudia” on the caller name, I know Sofia told my best friend something.

“I’m outside VRE. Get your ass down here or I will call 911 and report a fire,” she threatens and ends the call.

I shake my head. My best friend is a little crazy, but I know she would take a bullet for me. I pack up and leave the office since I do need the distraction after the kind of day I’ve had. Besides, I know when Claudia is serious about doing something insane to get her way.

She’s parked in front of the building, leaning against her car.

“So, who am I killing today?” She asks.

One would think I’m in a group of assassins, but it's just Claudia being overly concerned and protective, as usual.

“What makes you think I have a client for you today?” I ask jokingly as we enter her car.

“Oh, come on, I didn't know you yesterday. You look like you barely managed to escape from hell with your life intact. Who pissed you off?'' She doesn't start the car, waiting for me to respond.

Though, to be fair, she's the only one I can complain to. “I had the worst client in the world,” I grit my teeth. Just thinking about it annoys me to the core.

“What's his name, and did you get his address?”

It’s almost amusing that her brain always jumps to the same place. “Don't even think about it. He's a tycoon.”

“Wouldn't be my first rodeo with those,” she shrugs.

Of course, I know she's joking.

“You know we can't afford to lose clients now, especially not to your blade.” I play along with her joke as she pulls the car out of the parking lot.

“And what does Vicente have to say about that?” She asks, peeking at me briefly.

Don't say it. I try to convince myself.

She catches my expression and drawls, “Luciana…”

“Vicente offered me a way out,” I tell her, knowing this conversation will never end otherwise.

“What did he want?” She asks nonchalantly, but her knuckles are nearly white from the force she's using to grip the steering wheel.

“Easy, girl.” I try to calm her down.

"There's nothing easy about Vicente Hidalgo."

Okay, she's not calming down anytime soon.

“He was offering a way out. And honestly, it's a good plan.”

She shoots me yet another “Mom” look. “Luciana Vargas!”

“It's a deal that could revive the company. The new client isn't any better anyway. He could walk out any minute, and the hours of stress will be for naught.”

Especially since he knows he’s a hot commodity in demand. My brain lapses for a few seconds as I recall how devastatingly hot he looked.

“So you're considering Vicente's deal?” she asks, her eyes turning menacing.

“Of course not, silly, I'm going to do the best I can with my new client.”

She turns to flash me a light-bulb smile. “I know just what you need.”

A night of clubbing—she doesn't need to say it out loud.

____________

It's only seven in the evening by the time we get to Delta. While that may be early for other clubs, there's no such thing as too early to party at Delta.

The music is already booming, people dancing and grinding against each other under the multicolored lights. It’s the perfect place to distract me from the kind of day I’ve just had.

Claudia is already on her fourth shot of tequila by the time I’ve had my second. I want to snatch that one from her, but she's no lightweight.

I don't have to worry about dragging her drunk ass out of here.

“Let me get this straight. You're going out with someone tomorrow,” she says after slamming the glass on the table.

Yeah, that's what I just told her.

Except, this is not the reaction I was expecting from her.

Apparently, my best friend has long forgotten about the part where I've just narrated how Dario Morata has been an asshole in an entire meeting.

Now she's more interested in the part where I agreed to go out with him.

"What happened to you wanting to kill the asshole?” I ask.

“Well, taking you out happened. At least you'll remember what it feels like to be with a man,” she says.

I groan. Not again.

“Are you even my friend?”

“Come on, when was the last time those lips were invaded?”

“I'm not going to kiss him!” I exclaim since it seems she's not getting the point.

She orders another round of shots and wiggles her brows at me. “Those aren't the lips I was talking about, but that too.”

My jaw drops, and she points at my open mouth.

“You haven't done that in a while either.”

Before I can answer that, a waiter approaches our table with cocktails in two inverted-cone glasses; the perfect combination of blue, pink, and purple drinks that somehow didn't mix, topped with lemon slices on the edges.

“We didn't order those,” I tell him.

“I know, ma'am,” he answers politely. “They are from him.” He points to his left, and my eyes follow in the direction of a man waving at me.

Is that…Dario Morata?

LUCIANA

I may not have a very high alcohol tolerance, but I’m lucid enough to know I’m not dreaming. That’s Dario Morata.

What are the odds that the most annoying client I have ever dealt with just happens to come to the club Claudia and I frequent, on the very day we met?

It is not a coincidence—doesn’t take a genius.

Would it really be surprising that, on top of his colorful personality, he is a stalker? It doesn’t seem likely; why would he stalk me when we didn’t know each other before today?

I try to make sense of the situation, but no matter how I explain it in my head, it boils down to only one possibility, as insane as it sounds.

I glare in his direction. The prince of Annoyingville is not sitting in an overpriced booth with bartenders at his beck and call—how surprising.

He is sitting at a regular table, flanked by two men. The one on his left looks almost twice his age, and nearly as intimidating as Dario himself.

When my gaze returns to Dario, the asshole has the guts to wink at me.

“Oh, my goodness!” Claudia screeches. I almost forgot that we were at the same table.

“He's so hot! Wait…is that Dario Morata, and did he just wink?” She grabs my arm excitedly. She is never going to let me hear the end of this.

I ignore her excitement, my mind preoccupied with plotting a secret way to make that man’s life miserable since I cannot end it.

My fried brain can’t come up with any, so I turn to the waiter who’s laying the glamorous drinks out in front of us. “Take them back to him and tell him to shove them where the sun don’t shine.”

“Luciana!” Claudia glares at me like I've uttered a profanity.

“What?” I raise my shoulders.

“That's no way to treat a hot guy.”

The waiter looks between us, confused as to whose order to follow.

Claudia takes a sip of one of the drinks through the colorful, crazy straw and pushes the other to me as she tells the waiter, “Can you be a darling and tell the hot gentleman we appreciate it?”

“What are you doing?” I ask, too late to stop her.

My night is going to be just as colorful as my day.

"Don't give me that look, Missy. Who rejects drinks from a hot guy?” She scolds me, taking another long sip.

“Someone who prefers not to get roofied?”

“Oh, shush. As if THE Dario would do such a thing. I wonder how…”

“Don’t say it,” I cut her short, because we both know the kind of dirty crap that was about to leave those lips.

I’m not going to let him pay for my drinks, even if doing it myself will put a dent in my wallet.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Claudia waves a hand at Dario's table.

“You two deserve each other.” I offer her the sweet smile that lets her know I’m going to kill her later, to which she drunkenly giggles and snorts.

Where’s the random bolt of lightning that strikes down movie characters out of the blue? I need one of those for Dario.

A few minutes later, Dario and his men disappear to the upper floor of the club. I’m relieved, until the waiter from earlier informs us that the gentleman would appreciate our company if we would like to join him.

“Of course we’re going!” Claudia answers and shoos the waiter off before I can get a single word in.

"Are you out of your mind? How many glasses of those have you had?'' I ask.

“I'm not light-headed, silly. I’m just glad that finally some light is going to brighten your path,” she says.

I have no damn clue about what she's talking about.

I blame the cocktails.

“I know what you're thinking,” she wags her finger at me, as if reading what just crossed my mind. She takes a long drag of her drink. “The only thing wrong with these cocktails is that there’s only one flute of each. These are heavenly.”

With two long drags, she empties her glass and turns to me. “As I was saying…”

I was avoiding this topic.

She taps my cheek when she notices my sulk. “Sweetheart, you've had the worst breakup. That asshole Vicente didn't deserve you. You can't spend your entire life hating men because you made a mistake trusting the wrong one.”

“Hate men? The alcohol is dominating your head, ma’am.”

I don't want to talk about my love life, and I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed.

She’s saying something about the perks of being with Dario. In the middle of it, she stops, snapping her fingers frantically. “What if eager girls followed him to his private booth? I noticed some flipping their hair at him earlier.”

“None of our business,” I say.

“Yet he ignored them and asked for us to join him—though we both know you’re the one he meant.” She bats her eyes at me as if cracking the world’s most hidden mystery.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, Claudia. Don’t give me those eyes.”

“It means he only has eyes for you, silly.”

“Are you going to spend the entire night calling me silly because of an asshole?” I ask. Earning a warning glare from her, like I've broken the law.

“Careful with how you talk about a hot guy who's ignoring other girls for you.”

When I stand, she grabs my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you want to join them at the booth? Come on.” I entice. She looks confused, but I drag her along.

I expect the two beefy security guards standing at the end of the hallway to stop us shy of the private booths, but instead, one extends a hand. “This way, Miss Vargas.”

His certainty that I would come makes me bite my tongue. We follow the security guard to the ornate booth at the end of the hallway, where Dario and his friends are laughing at something.

“Stalking is a crime,” I cross my arms, looking down at the man who's made my day a living hell.”

He looks at me with a grin. “Miss Vargas, how nice of you to join us. Have a seat.”

I ignore the comfortable-looking red couch.

His friends have stopped speaking and are looking at me.

“Aren't you going to say hi to my friends?” Dario asks.

“Not interested,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be so rude if I were you,” he smirks.

I have to play my cards right. These are not work hours. But I still need him.

This guy is influential, and if he gave a bad review about a drowning company, who wouldn't believe that? Still, I'm not going to cower in his presence.

Not when he's taking advantage of my situation.

“Threat is an overstatement. Oh, but I just remembered we have a date. So why don't we talk about it tomorrow? For now, I can buy you more drinks.”

“That’s what I came to talk about.” I take out a few twenty-dollar bills from my purse. “I can buy my own drinks, Mister.”

He smiles at the bills I place on the table. “You think I would buy such cheap drinks? Luciana, I almost feel offended.”

I knew the damn cocktails would cost a dime. I grit my teeth as I take out a few hundred-dollar bills and slam them on the table before him.

“She thinks that’s good enough,” he says to no one in particular and laughs.

Actually, you know what?

I turn and take the money from the table and shove it into his pants pockets, making him wince.

“Careful, miss, you might not be able to handle what else is in there.”

This man never stops, does he?

I must have had too much to drink as well, because I lower my voice and inch even closer to him to say, “How can you be so certain?”

When I push the notes deeper into his pockets, my eyes widen when I touch something hard.

That’s a gun, right? If it isn’t, there’s only one other thing it could be.