Hard to Handle

~Declan~

“Declan…”

The moment her rich, incredibly sweet vibrato breathes my name, the heavy realization crashes straight into my gut, completely confirming my shock. My lungs actually seize for a split second. That voice still carries the exact same underlying cadence I remember from a decade ago, but it has undeniably matured. She sounds like a full-grown woman now, not the annoying, tag-along little teenager who used to shadow my every move.

My gaze ruthlessly rakes over her, and holy fuck. She is absolutely no teenager anymore.

She stands right in front of me, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, but my eyes are glued entirely to her outfit. She is wearing a pair of striking, blood-red heels—the kind of dangerous fuck-me stilettos designed specifically to make a man drop to his knees. They elongate her already mile-long legs to absolute perfection. My stare travels upward, tracing the sharp, sleek lines of a dangerously tight pencil skirt that hugs her slender hips and the curve of her ass like a second skin. She has undeniably grown into a breathtakingly gorgeous woman. A woman I would not hesitate to drag home, throw onto my mattress, and fuck relentlessly into next week.

My body instantly, instinctively reacts to the deeply inappropriate thought. A surge of heavy heat rushes straight to my groin. My cock violently jerks against the fabric of my tailored gray pants, springing to life and demanding immediate attention. It throbs heavily, completely agreeing with my deprived, dirty mind.

I desperately need to mask this internal chaos before I lose my mind. I clench my hands into tight fists at my sides, forcing my jaw to lock hard.

“What are you doing in my office?” I demand. The words punch out of my throat, coming out firm, cold, and incredibly harsh.

Elena blinks, her wide eyes momentarily taken aback by my hostile tone. But then, to my utter surprise, she squares her slender shoulders. A surprisingly massive amount of newfound, defiant confidence straightens her spine.

“I’m your new publicist,” she boldly declares, holding her ground without backing down an inch.

My eyes immediately dart toward the doorway. Rafa stands there, leaning casually against the frame with a smug, knowing smirk plastered across his face. A low groan vibrates in the back of my throat. I would give absolutely anything to march over there and punch that irritating, mocking look right off his smiling face.

“Wait…” Rafa draws out the word, feigning complete, utter innocence as he looks back and forth between us like he is watching a damn tennis match. “Do you two know each other?”

He knows damn well exactly who she is to me. He knows our history. Yet he plays dumb just to thoroughly irritate me.

“It’s a long story,” I snap, forcefully cutting him off before he can spin the situation any further. Dragging my suddenly lead-heavy feet, I step away from my desk and skirt past Elena.

As I move, her scent hits me right in the chest. Peaches. A sweet, mouth-watering wave of ripe peaches laced with a sharp, intoxicating bite of cinnamon spice. It wraps tightly around my senses, making my jaw clench even tighter. I force myself to walk to the gray leather couch, putting necessary physical distance between my raging erection and her incredible body.

“Let’s hear this plan out,” I state, gesturing toward the seating area.

I watch intently as Elena sinks gracefully onto the cushions opposite me, her elegant hands smoothing down her floral top and that impossibly tight skirt. Every tiny movement she makes sends a fresh wave of buried memories flooding into my brain, fiercely clashing with the raw sexual tension burning in my veins.

“Elena,” Rafa smoothly interrupts my thoughts, turning on his signature Latin charm as he steps fully into the room. “Can I get you something to drink? Tea, water, coffee… or whiskey?”

Elena giggles. The sound is bright and entirely genuine as she pulls a sleek leather portfolio from her messenger bag. “Whiskey? Seriously?”

Rafa nods, flashing her a blinding, toothpaste-commercial-worthy smile.

My teeth grind together. The longer he stands there blatantly flirting with her, soaking up her undivided attention, the stronger my violent urge to deck him becomes. It is completely irrational. Obviously, he finds her beautiful—any man with a working pair of eyes would. But I fucking hate the way he looks at her. And I hate the dark, possessive twist of jealousy tightening my chest even more.

“Whiskey,” I loudly order my usual, my firm voice cleanly slicing through their playful banter. I slowly turn my attention back to Elena, meticulously constructing a passive, unbothered facade to hide the raging mess inside my head. “And Elena will have a cappuccino.”

I pause, looking dead into her wide eyes.

“With exactly two centimeters of foam on top.”

The room goes entirely still. Rafa smirks, highly amused, while Elena’s mouth actually falls open. She gapes at me in open shock, clearly stunned by my precise, flawless recollection of her highly specific taste in coffee from a decade ago. Honestly, I am slightly shocked at myself for remembering it so easily.

“Elena?” Rafa prompts, waiting for her confirmation.

Elena bravely keeps her beautiful eyes locked onto mine. She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling. “Coffee, thanks.”

Rafa finally excuses himself to get the drinks, closing the heavy office door behind him.

The exact second we are completely alone, the air inside my vast office instantly thickens with our unresolved history. The heavy weight of it presses down on me, making it incredibly hard to breathe.

“How have you been?” Her rich voice cleanly slices through the heavy, suffocating silence. She shifts slightly on the leather couch. “How long has it been, Declan?”

“Ten years,” I reply flatly.

My stomach violently turns, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me as a torrential flood of buried memories aggressively attacks my brain. Nostalgia is a dangerous, twisted thing. It is nice seeing her, sure, but her mere presence forcefully drags out a past I would rather leave firmly locked away.

“Wow,” she breathes out, a soft puff of air escaping her lips. “Seeing you now... it feels like it was only yesterday when you patiently sat with me and taught me how to play the guitar.”

Her words reach right into my chest and pluck at the memories. Before I can stop myself, a low, genuine chuckle rumbles out of my throat.

“Yeah,” I reply, the corner of my mouth twitching up. “And absolutely every single girl in our college was fiercely envious of you because you had twenty-four-seven VIP access to my dorm room.”

An incredibly adorable, bright red blush heavily blankets her cheeks at the memory. It is a stark contrast to the sophisticated woman sitting before me. Fucking adorable.

She nervously gnaws on her plush lower lip, unconsciously sucking the soft flesh between her white teeth. The innocent little movement sends a massive, electric shock straight down to my groin. My tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of my mouth as my cock pulses hard again. My completely dirty, deprived mind goes absolutely wild. I want to lean across this damn table, grab her face, and bite that exact lip myself.

Fucking hell.

Desperately hoping to establish a strict, impenetrable professional boundary before I do something completely reckless, I lean forward.

“Publicist, huh?” I ask, extending my hand.

She nods quickly, her elegant fingers tightening their grip on her portfolio before she hands it over. “Yes. I’ve been with WPPR since I graduated. Here are my credentials.”

I take the leather folder from her, flipping it open. As I stare at the pages, she eagerly dives into narrating her various PR accomplishments and upcoming media campaigns. She clearly loves this job; the passion shines brightly in her eyes. She smiles in between sentences, flashing perfect teeth.

I don't understand a single fucking word she is saying.

I am far too completely captivated by her perfect, bright smile, the way she breathes, and the appraising, intelligent gaze she sweeps over me. I can literally feel her eyes traveling down my face to my chest. My mind completely derails. I instantly picture her doing that exact same sweep with her hands, or her wet lips.

I know for an absolute fact that if these deeply inappropriate, raging sexual thoughts continue, I will be in massive, deep trouble working in such close proximity to her. Honestly, I am already walking on dangerously thin ice with the Chairman regarding my scandalous reputation. If I had any other choice, I would never have accepted her as my PR rep. It is professional suicide. But my hands are completely tied.

She finishes her pitch and blinks, patiently waiting for my response.

I lean back on the couch, closing the portfolio with a soft snap.

“You're hired, Elena,” I finally announce, cleanly cutting through her pitch.

“Y-yeah?” Her beautiful eyes widen in massive shock. She stammers out the word, clearly not expecting me to agree so fast.

I nod firmly. She beams, her face lighting up as she bites down on that lower lip again. My fingernails scrape harshly against the edge of the leather portfolio to keep myself grounded. She clears her throat, straightening her back and tipping her chin up.

“Thank you. I promise you won’t regret hiring me.”

Inside my head, a cynical voice aggressively sneers. *I’m gonna fucking regret this.*

The heavy office door swings open, and Rafa returns, breaking the thick tension. He carries my whiskey and Elena’s cappuccino.

“You hired her, boss?” Rafa deadpans, already knowing the answer. He knows damn well I had zero choice but to accept the next publicist who walked in.

“I got the job!” Elena proudly announces, beating me to the punch.

She beams at Rafa, eagerly taking the hot cup of coffee with both hands. “Congratulations,” Rafa chuckles warmly, shaking his head as he walks over to the mini-bar.

Elena brings the rim to her lips and takes a slow sip. When she pulls the cup away, a thick white line of foam is left perfectly clinging to her upper lip. Without thinking, her pink tongue darts out and she immediately licks the foam completely off her skin.

It is a deeply innocent, old childhood habit, but seeing it now absolutely destroys my self-control. The sight instantaneously, violently jerks my cock to life beneath the fabric of my tailored pants. I am rock hard, throbbing so fiercely it actually aches.

“Thank you,” she says shyly as Rafa hands over my heavy crystal glass of whiskey.

Then, her curiosity clearly gets the better of her. She holds her coffee cup, politely asking, “So… may I ask what exactly happened with the last publicist before me? I read she didn't even last two days.” She lets out a nervous little giggle, completely unaware of the minefield she is walking into.

“Are you truly that hard to handle?” she asks innocently, her wide eyes filled with genuine wonder.

Rafa lets out a loud, obnoxious snort. He folds his muscular arms tightly across his chest, leaning in with a massive, cheeky grin. He deliberately locks eyes with Elena and smoothly confirms her question.

“Hard? Yeah... Fucking hard.”

Elena instantly, violently chokes on her hot coffee. She coughs, quickly pulling the cup away as her cheeks flush a brilliant crimson. Her eyes dart frantically around the room. She whispers, “No way…” as she clearly catches the incredibly dirty, double-meaning innuendo seamlessly woven right into Rafa's bold statement.