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.

DARIO MORATA

Making plans is a walk in the park, but the same cannot be said about executing them. I’ve planned my moves for years, making sure every pawn glides into its spot at the exact right moment, down to the last second.

Needless to say, getting close to the Vargas princess was nowhere on my packed itinerary—yet here I am. I don’t know if it’s the clarity in her eyes or the annoyance in them when she looks at me, but something keeps me glued to her side like a moth to a flame.

When I sat on that couch in her office earlier, I didn’t want to move an inch. A fire could have broken out, and escaping would have had to wait until I had my fill of staring at Luciana, which, I soon realized, might have resulted in a charred meal of grilled Dario Morata marinated with Luciana’s glare.

It’s a good thing, then, that I am not afraid of death. I have cheated it more times than I can count, starting from my childhood. The last thing that could kill me is her.

Her parents, on the other hand, wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through my skull if they found out about my existence, but that’s not keeping me away.

VRE is on the edge of bankruptcy (thanks to me), and the only way out is to sell a property costing a dime—which is exactly what I am here to do. Am I turning into Santa Claus? Hell no. Like I said, chessboard. It’s all part of a plan, and it seems all the stars are in my favor. I wouldn’t be surprised. The Vargas family deserves everything coming their way.

I was joking—mostly—about her going out with me in exchange for answers, but I can’t complain about her compliance. Who would reject the company of such a beauty?

It’s not what she wants; she would prefer to throw the damn coffee in my face, but I’m too selfish to let her out of the deal. Besides, why let her off when my quest is not over yet? I am here to stay.

Speaking of lucky stars and whatnot, I’m thrilled to learn that the club she frequents is my latest property. I learned of the ‘coincidence’ this morning as I signed the property ownership papers, successfully purchasing yet another way of bumping into her.

In my defense, getting close to her is not the only reason I bought the club. It may have been the catalyst, but I am technically a businessman. Why would I say no to another cash cow?

Needless to say, Luciana is not in the slightest bit happy about finding me here. Her nostrils are flaring when she confronts me to give me that speech about affording her own drinks, which my men watch in silence. I catch them snickering discreetly, but I know Fidel will rim into me about it all night.

That’s not any of my concern right now. My focus is on the furious princess shoving money into my pockets because I won’t accept it. She has no clue what she might find in a man’s pockets, does she? Her hand brushes against my cock before she can move any further, letting her know exactly what can be felt from her angle.

Her eyes widen, her cheeks instantly flushing red. It’s so beautiful that I want to bite her cheek—I don’t know when I turned into a cannibal, either. The woman’s getting me all sorts of disoriented.

“What do you think you're doing?” Her tone is sharp and stern as she retracts her hand.

I don’t know whether she’s still talking about the drinks, or my getting hard at her simple touch. I pull her closer and whisper, “You were curious. I could show you more, in private.”

She glares at me, snarling for me to let go of her hand, but her flush deepens, and I catch a brief glimpse of reluctance in her eyes when I do as she says. She wasn’t opposed to touching me, was she?

Before she can stomp away, I grab her wrist again, trying to rein in the dirty thoughts. I battle against all the naughty thoughts, but as soon as those dazzling eyes meet mine, I lose the battle, and I know she sees it in my face.

“I could file charges,” she threatens, but her tone tells me it’s the roar of a paper tiger. She doesn’t want me to let go. I’m gripping her wrist, and I can feel her pulse accelerate. The goosebumps on her skin make me wish I could read her mind.

I summon a waiter and tell him to send more drinks to her previous table, where her friend will want to enjoy more drinks. Luciana is staying with me.

“Don’t you dare.” She tells the waiter, then turns to me with a glare. “I can pay for my own drinks, and so can my friend.”

The waiter, however, knows who calls the shots here. No one wants to offend the man whose name will be on their next paycheck. He takes my order, making Luciana gasp in shock.

“Why do they listen to you?”

“Because they still want their jobs,” I muse.

“If they want their job that badly, they should know better than to ignore a patron’s orders. I could file a complaint to his boss.”

Fidel, who has been quiet for all of two minutes, lets out a laugh that sounds almost like a snort.

“What’s funny?” she asks Fidel. I shoot him a warning look, and he, in turn, makes a show of pulling an imaginary zipper over his lips.

Luciana switches targets and returns her gaze to me with the kind of look that tells me if I don’t answer her, she will go sniffing for answers like a bloodhound. “Explain.”

I let go of her wrist as I say, “I happen to own this place. Sounds silly, right?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but changes her mind, replacing what I know was a round of scolding with “Asshole.”

In the next moment, she struts away, her hips swaying with every move. I may be barreling headfirst towards insanity, but I will certainly not complain about that phenomenal view.

When she’s out of sight, I glance back at my men to catch Rex with his jaw dropped open. My glare pulls him out of his stupor.

“Isn’t that Luciana Vargas?” He asks as a way of saving himself from my wrath.

I still want to kill him, but who would blame him? With a face and figure like that, it would be more surprising if men didn’t want to stare at her all day—that doesn’t mean I’m letting him off.

“That one is going to drive you nuts,” Fidel quips. “I just know it.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice, old man.” I tease. Fidel may only be two decades older than me, but you’d think he’s in his eighties with all his experience with women.

“Are you planning on telling her the truth?” asks Rex.

“And why on earth would I do that?” I glare at the brain-dead idiot. I still haven’t punished him for staring at Luciana like that.

Fidel rubs his chin, deep in thought, as he mumbles, “This is going to be fun.”

I picture the sight of Luciana walking out of the booth a moment ago, and I have to agree with the old fart. I down a shot of tequila at the thought. My quest for revenge just got interesting.