The Client

I settled into the plush, immaculate leather backseat of the luxury town car as Rafael navigated away from the sun-drenched tarmac. The cool air conditioning was a welcome reprieve from the stifling Florida humidity, but my mind was already shifting into overdrive. Pulling my messenger bag onto my lap, I finally dragged out the thick stack of Montiero client files Orson had practically shoved into my hands. Flipping past the initial non-disclosure agreements and corporate jargon, I reviewed the daunting assignment that lay ahead of me.

My new mission: completely overhaul the notorious, deeply entrenched playboy image of Declan Montiero, the thirty-two-year-old CEO of Montiero Holdings. And I had a strict, non-negotiable six-month timeframe to pull off a miracle.

Flipping to his personal profile, I realized he maintained absolutely zero social media presence. No Instagram, no Twitter, nothing. But a quick internet search on my phone yielded an endless, exhaustive supply of scandalous paparazzi photos. In nearly every stolen, blurry shot taken outside exclusive nightclubs or lavish yacht parties, he was draped over various beautiful women. He always seemed to be looking away from the camera, a phantom in custom tailoring. I zoomed in on one particularly clear photo highlighting his impressive, broad-shouldered, GQ-model physique. His hair was dark—a deep shade that hovered somewhere between rich brown and pitch black—but it was his eyes that made my thumb freeze over the glowing screen. As I stared at the pixelated image, I was suddenly caught completely off guard by a strange, haunting familiarity hidden deep within his gaze. It was a phantom tug at my memory, a sharp whisper that I had seen those eyes somewhere before.

"We're here," my driver, Rafael, announced smoothly, instantly pulling me from my intense thoughts.

I glanced out the tinted window. We were parked outside a towering, thirty-story corporate building made of sleek, curved glass and polished steel. The words MONTIERO HOLDINGS were discreetly etched above the massive frosted-glass front doors.

"Thank you..." I trailed off, hastily gathering my heavy files and shoving them back into my bag.

"It's Rafael," he reminded me effortlessly, already sliding out of the driver's seat. To my immense surprise, Rafael operated as far more than just a standard chauffeur. He opened my door, casually tossed the car keys to a waiting valet in a sharp black-and-white uniform, and gestured toward the entrance. "Come on."

He personally guided me inside the sleek, modern lobby. Behind a massive sandstone reception desk, a woman in a tailored blue suit greeted him with a familiar nod. Rafael simply pressed a warm hand to my lower back, steering me directly into the private VIP elevator without so much as signing me in. I was seriously beginning to wonder what his actual job title was.

The quiet ride ended smoothly on the towering twenty-eighth floor. Rafael led me down a pristine hallway, finally coming to a halt outside an imposing set of heavy wooden double doors with my client's name etched into the frosted-glass panels. He knocked firmly. Silence answered.

"He's probably on the rooftop," Rafael sighed, casually checking his expensive wristwatch. He stepped back, gesturing to the heavy door. "You can wait inside. I'll just go fetch the boss."

Before I could protest or ask a single question, Rafael turned on his heel and disappeared down the opposite end of the hallway, leaving me completely to my own devices.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out, tentatively pushing open the heavy office door.

I instantaneously regretted it.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, the muffled sounds of the city were completely replaced by the wet, slapping sounds of flesh and heavy, breathless groans. The pair didn't even realize they had an audience. Right up against the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the sprawling Miami skyline, a woman was completely on her knees. The man facing her had his tailored gray suit pants and boxers pooled entirely at his feet, leaving his muscular thighs and taut, hot ass completely bare. He had one large hand planted flat against the glass for leverage, while his other hand fiercely gripped the back of the woman's blonde head.

His bare hips were moving with relentless, aggressive force, pounding his rigid cock directly into her face. Her white top was split wide open down the middle, her large, supple breasts bouncing wildly with every brutal thrust. The room echoed with the wet sounds of her gagging and his guttural, primal growls as his hips swung in a violent, pendulum-like motion.

"Look at me," the man groaned loudly, his deep, commanding voice heavily layered with a raw, intoxicating cross between pain and intense pleasure.

She immediately obeyed, tilting her head and looking up at him with watery, utterly submissive eyes.

"Fuck, fuck!" he cursed sharply. His hips accelerated into a furious, frantic rhythm, slamming his cock into her mouth faster and deeper, as if he were desperately chasing a fading high.

I stood completely paralyzed, my feet glued to the floorboards. Suddenly, he pulled back. He gripped his thick, hard cock in his fist, his body jerking as he violently finished, ejaculating thick, heavy ropes of semen straight across the woman's face and lips.

Completely frozen in absolute, unadulterated horror, my brain finally short-circuited. I scrambled backward in a blind panic, my hands violently yanking the heavy office door shut just as the man’s heavy breaths echoed through the room.

"Why are you still out here?"

I physically jumped, letting out a sharp gasp at the sound of Rafael’s voice right behind me in the quiet hallway. My heart was hammering relentlessly against my ribs. I spun around, clutching my leather messenger bag against my chest like a shield.

Rafael glanced at the closed office door, then looked back at my flushed, panicked face. He tilted his head to the side. A deeply knowing, amused smile slowly stretched across his handsome lips.

"What?" I stammered, staring desperately down at the tips of my shoes, feeling my cheeks burning with a heat so intense I swore I was about to spontaneously combust.

Rafael chuckled, a low, rumbling sound of pure entertainment. "You saw for yourself, didn't you?"

My entire body burned with immense, inescapable mortification. I chewed on my bottom lip so hard I tasted copper, completely unable to form a coherent sentence.

Before I could figure out how to dig a hole and bury myself in the sandstone floor, the office door swung open again. I quickly stepped aside as a stunning, heavily disheveled blonde woman stepped out into the hallway. It was the woman from the window. Her blonde hair was a chaotic, tangled mess, and her white top was hastily buttoned, though her clothes were entirely unkempt. Her makeup was slightly smeared, a glaring testament to the explicit, aggressive encounter I had just witnessed.

"Hola, Rafa," she smiled sweetly, running a manicured hand through her messy hair.

"Veronica," Rafael acknowledged with a polite, casual nod.

Veronica turned her head, and her bright blue eyes snapped directly onto me. Her sweet smile instantaneously morphed into a sharp grimace. Her gaze seared with pure, unfiltered annoyance as she looked down her nose at me. With a dramatic, exaggerated roll of her eyes, she flipped her messy hair over her shoulder and sashayed away down the hall, the sharp clack of her heels echoing loudly until she disappeared around the corner.

Rafael merely shook his head in amusement. He stepped forward and pushed the office door wide open for me, standing to the side like a dutiful guard.

I hesitated, my heels rooted to the floor. My cheeks were blazing with hot, humiliating embarrassment. My mind raced, agonizing over how I was possibly going to walk in there and face this man without vividly picturing what I had just witnessed. How was I supposed to look him in the eye without thinking of his taut, bare ass, his thrusting hips, and those incredibly deep, sexy, primal growls echoing off the glass?

*Down, Elena! He is your client. You have to remember that!*

I desperately reminded myself that I absolutely could not turn around and run back to Boston. If I fled now, I would have to face the humiliating, disastrous situation with Thatcher, and I simply couldn't stomach that. I had to force myself to maintain strict, unflinching professionalism.

I took a sharp, trembling breath, gripped the strap of my messenger bag, and stepped inside the lion's den.

The vast, modern office was immaculate, far too massive for just one man. Right up against the floor-to-ceiling window—the exact spot where I had just watched him pounding into Veronica's face—sat a sleek, modern dark wood desk large enough to comfortably seat six people. I violently shook my head, desperately shoving the explicit, mortifying memory aside. The rest of the office was decorated in stark, minimalist shades of black, white, and gray.

A concealed side door quietly clicked open, and a man emerged into the main office.

It was undeniably him. Yet, he looked completely composed and meticulously put together, as if the wild, carnal act from two minutes ago had never happened. He was dressed flawlessly in a fine, tailored gray suit, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a stark black tie. His dark blond hair was slightly unruly, adding a dangerous edge to his sharp features. He sported perfectly well-trimmed facial hair that framed a strong, masculine jaw and a straight, aristocratic nose.

And then, there were those eyes. Incredibly deep, piercing blue eyes that locked onto mine, instantly and violently sparking that undeniable, shocking sense of recognition within my chest once again.

His dark, thick lashes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized me with a shrewd, calculating intensity. The sheer weight of his stare was suffocating. I nervously averted my gaze, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the sleek frosted-glass nameplate resting on his desk. But even looking away, I could literally feel his heavy, intense gaze thoroughly sweeping over my face, traveling slowly down my body and back up again.

It left me shivering in my heels, cold sweat forming at the base of my spine. I was wildly wondering if he was fully aware that I had just barged in on his highly private, explicit sexual encounter. Was he going to throw me out of the building on my very first day?

"Sunshine?"

My heart skipped several violent beats.

My entire world slowed to a sickening crawl. I slowly lifted my head, looking back at the man standing a mere four feet away from me.

"You know her?" Rafael asked from the doorway, but his voice completely faded into distant background white noise, entirely drowned out by the roaring blood rushing in my ears.

Only one single person on this earth had ever called me Sunshine.

He was my absolute first love.

My vision severely tunneled, the edges of the expansive office blurring into darkness. My throat went bone dry, my tongue sticking uselessly to the roof of my mouth. I pressed my palm flat against my chest, feeling my heart beating wildly, desperately against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Declan?" I whispered out into the heavy silence.

Staring at his intense blue eyes and the firm set of his lips, the staggering, breathless realization crashed into me. He had changed so drastically. He was entirely unrecognizable from the memories I held. The absolute last time I had laid eyes on him, he was just a boy. And I was a silly, naive little girl, hopelessly dreaming of a fairytale happily ever after with my older brother’s best friend.