Dinner?

~Elena~

I violently choke on my hot coffee, coughing as the scalding liquid viciously burns its way down my throat. Honestly, after explicitly seeing him with Veronica earlier, the scandalous news truly shouldn't have surprised me at all. Rafael chuckles darkly from across the room, endlessly teasing me about being the one who will now have to cover up such explicit, messy situations. He crosses his muscular arms, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eye. "Come on, Elena. Are you absolutely sure you are truly in for the wild ride known as Declan Montiero?"

Declan huffs in sheer annoyance, downing the rest of his amber alcohol in one swift motion. His prominent Adam's apple bobs smoothly as he glares at his business partner. I quickly compose myself, forcing my spine completely straight against the expensive leather couch, and boldly meet Declan’s cool, calculating blue eyes.

"I have successfully worked with extensively complex clients in the past," I confidently assert, my voice steadying. "And I assure you both that I did a pretty damn good job at entirely rebuilding their public image by pushing forward their passions instead of focusing on their endless list of 'fuck ups.'"

A faint, elusive ghost of a smile briefly crosses Declan’s handsome lips, vanishing so quickly I can hardly tell if it was born of appreciation or sheer annoyance. "Well said," Rafael comments casually, tucking his hands into his tailored pockets. He peers intently at the silver clock mounted on the far wall, frowning slightly. "Declan."

Declan sets his heavy crystal glass down onto the frosted wood table with a decisive clink. He stands up to his full, intimidating height, effortlessly dominating the expansive office space. "Dinner at eight," he commands with absolute authority. "I'll pick you up."

I immediately scramble to my feet in sheer shock, my knees suddenly feeling like absolute jelly beneath my tight pencil skirt. My fingers grip the edge of my portfolio tightly just to steady my trembling hands. "What?" I manage to choke out, rapidly gathering my belongings as my brain entirely short-circuits.

"You and I, dinner," he reiterates firmly, leaving zero room for argument.

*Is he seriously asking me out?* A sudden, violent flashback hits me like crashing ocean waves, momentarily drowning out the sleek corporate reality of his office. Declan was my older brother Gavin’s absolute best friend, and I had foolishly harbored a massive, deeply secret crush on him ever since I was twelve years old. I vividly remember the confusing pain blooming in my chest the first time I caught him making out with some high school girl in our driveway. Watching his endless, rotating list of gorgeous girlfriends over the years had always violently crushed my chest, serving as a constant, bitter reminder that I was far too young for him. Yet, despite the painful reality, I still foolishly, privately fantasized about a fairytale happily ever after—a wedding, kids, the absolute absurdity of him noticing me and asking me out on a proper date.

"D... dinner?" I stammer pathetically, my heart violently skipping beats in my chest. *Am I dreaming? Will I just wake up back in my tiny Boston apartment?*

"Yes?" Declan replies, entirely cool and unaffected. "To talk business. I have somewhere else to be right now. Sorry to cut our meeting short, Elena." The blunt clarification forcefully pops my embarrassing fantasy, grounding me strictly back into professional reality.

Hours later, Ruben, another company driver for Montiero Holdings, drops me off directly at the ultra-luxury penthouse where I will be staying for the next six months. Unlike Rafael, Ruben is a man of incredibly few words. He silently hauls my heavy luggage inside the massive entryway, hands me the sleek keycard, murmurs a polite farewell in Spanish, and departs back into the quiet hallway.

The exact moment the heavy front door clicks shut behind me, the immense, crushing exhaustion of the entire day completely crashes onto my tense shoulders. I drop my messenger bag and take my first real look at my temporary home. The expansive, breathtaking space smells sharply of five-star leather and fresh roses. The entire penthouse is meticulously decorated in sleek, modern shades of pristine white, cool gray, and sharp black. A massive glass wall fully opens up the living room to an extravagant balcony overlooking the beautiful city of Miami as it slowly comes to vibrant life beneath the setting sun.

I sink heavily into the nearest plush couch, the premium leather softly protesting under my weight. My gaze wanders past a massive dining table explicitly meant to comfortably seat twelve, noting a pristine grand piano casually tucked into the far corner. Beautiful abstract artwork perfectly breaks up the strict white, black, and gray aesthetic. This place literally looks like a brilliant cutout from a high-end magazine.

Pushing myself back up, I grab the extended handle of my suitcase. Rolling my heavy luggage across the pristine marble floor, I thoroughly explore the cutout-from-a-magazine lodging. The hallway reveals four distinct rooms. The first door reveals a fully equipped, state-of-the-art gym. I let out a low whistle, completely blown away by the heavy free weights and high-end cardio machines. *Just how astronomically rich is Declan Montiero?*

Right next door is a massive home office heavily lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It looks exactly like a prestigious private library, and my fingers literally itch to explore the heavy spines, but I force myself to keep moving. I pass a locked room before finally pushing open the door to the absolute breathtaking master bedroom.

Leaving my suitcase by the edge of the incredibly soft king-sized bed, I walk straight toward the sliding glass doors. I step out onto the bedroom's private balcony, tightly clutching the cool metal railings with both hands. I tip my head back, closing my eyes to deeply soak in the warm, salty breeze blowing in from the twentieth floor. I can see the chaotic clutter and vibrant buzz of the city far below me, but I desperately want to just stay right there, letting the soothing Miami wind entirely wash away my lingering anxiety.

But I can't. The looming, nerve-wracking reality of my impending dinner with Declan in just three short hours heavily hangs over my head like a massive storm cloud. Sitting down heavily on the edge of the incredibly soft bed, I rub my temples, completely dreading the final, inevitable task remaining on my massive to-do list. I reach into my discarded bag and hesitantly power on my dead phone and laptop.

Instantly, an absolute storm of frantic notifications from the Boston office mercilessly pelts my bright screen like heavy pellets of rain. Emails, rapid-fire text messages, missed calls from furious colleagues—all piling up in a chaotic frenzy of digital noise. As if she intuitively knew the exact second I finally came online, my fiercely protective best friend’s name flashes aggressively across the bright display.

I know exactly what is coming. Fleeing Boston without a proper heads-up was an absolute death sentence in her book. I take a deep, bracing breath, mentally preparing myself to face the absolute hurricane heading my way, and swipe to answer the video call.

"Hey, Gem!" I say softly, trying desperately to sound as casual and entirely innocent as humanly possible.

"Elena Juliette Kaelen!" she shrieks at the absolute top of her lungs. Her fiercely enraged tone completely shatters the quiet tranquility of the luxurious bedroom, forcing me to aggressively yank the phone at an arm's length just to save my bleeding eardrums from rupturing completely.