Rawrrr

***Maeve Thorne***

The seventh-floor conference room resembles an aircraft hangar more than a standard corporate meeting space. The massive layout easily swallows the loud chatter echoing off the high ceilings. Reporters swarm the floor like a frantic hive of hornets, hauling heavy cameras, boom microphones, and glaring spotlight rigs. Blinding flashes pop in every direction, illuminating the sheer scale of this corporate media circus. Today marks my first official day at the Blackwood Group, and I have zero intention of getting caught in the mess. I make a strategic choice, slipping quietly into the last row of chairs situated near the back exit doors. My goal is to avoid unwanted attention. I mentally prepare myself to sink into the shadows, watch the show in peace, and protect Maddox’s stolen identity.

My peaceful isolation lasts all of two minutes.

"Is this seat taken?"

I drag my gaze up to find the source of the voice. It is the ground-floor receptionist. Her thick lipstick is painted past her natural lip line, creating a messy red halo around her mouth.

Adopting my gracious Maddox persona, I gesture toward the empty chair beside me. "Please, be my neighbor."

Internally, I roll my eyes. The second she slides into the seat, she begins batting her long, tarantula-like fake eyelashes in a blatant display of flirtation.

"You are very sweet, Maddox," she purrs, leaning close. "By the way, my name is Tessa."

I deploy a defensive tactic. *Yes! Friendzone her right now.* I force a charming smirk and politely reply, "Tessa, I think we will be good friends."

Unfortunately, the strategy backfires. Instead of taking the hint, Tessa signals with her hand. Her friend Mandy, along with another female coworker, migrate to our row. They surround me like a pack of hungry wolves, passing continuous flirtatious smiles in my direction. I am boxed in. I feel physically allergic to their advances, my skin crawling under the predatory gazes. I brace myself for a miserable morning of dodging their desperate hints.

Before I suffer any further, the hall erupts into pure chaos.

The annoying buzz turns into a frenzy. Reporters rush the entrance gates, trampling over each other with desperate greed. The heavy doors swing wide open.

Cutting through the manic crowd like an Egyptian God is a towering, broad-shouldered man dressed in a tailored black suit. He does not walk; he strides forward with terrifying authority. The desperate press chants his name in a breathless chorus.

"Victor, one pic. Victor!"

He does not give a single flying fuck. He ignores the blinding flashes and the shoving microphones. I observe the way he moves—like a dangerous apex hunter stalking through his own territory. His physical presence is deadly. He fills the room with a dark, suffocating entity that forces the oxygen out of my chest.

Suddenly, the chaotic chanting ceases.

Victor stops dead in his tracks. He turns around, the heavy fabric of his suit shifting across his broad chest. His gaze cuts through the sea of bodies and locks onto me.

The intensity of the moment causes my lungs to stall. My breath hitches. My internal monologue screams, *Beautiful fuck!* as I analyze his flawless features. His jawline is sharp enough to cut glass, carved with ruthless precision. Dominant eyebrows frame his gaze, adding a lethal edge to his face. And his lips—full, luscious lips that I find irresistible. My mouth waters.

The hypnotic trance shatters when Tessa and her friends begin screaming in shrill voices right in my ear.

"Oh my god, he is looking at me!" Tessa shrieks, vibrating in her seat.

Panic hits my chest. I remind myself to look away. I enforce the harsh reality that I cannot stare at a man with raw hunger in my eyes, because I am currently portraying Maddox, a heterosexual male.

Beside me, Tessa blushes furiously. She turns to Mandy, delusionally claiming, "Did you see? He smiled at me! Yesterday he called me twice just to bring him coffee."

Mandy retorts, her voice dripping with competitive venom. "Please. I rode the elevator with him for two days straight, and we shared eye contact thrice."

I ignore their pathetic bickering. I know deep down he was looking at me—or, I attempt to rationalize, perhaps he was glaring at the aggressive photographers stationed behind my row. I can no longer think straight. My brain short-circuits. My attention locks onto the studly CEO as he ascends the stage steps.

He faces the massive crowd. His broad shoulders dominate the wooden podium, making it look fragile under his grip. His penetrating, heavily hooded eyes scan the room with cold precision. He looks animalistic, a beast operating in untamed predator mode.

He leans into the microphone.

"Good morning people of Blackwood Group."

The resonance of his hoarse, deep voice roars through the hall. An intense shudder cascades down my spine, flaring visible goosebumps over both of my arms. The sound vibrates deep in my chest. In this moment, I realize I can barely maintain my manly act around him. My mind, my beating heart, and my physical body are overwhelmed by this man who looks like an underworld mafia king.

My suppressed female voice screams for him to take my virginity right there on the public stage. I want him to rip apart my disguise. I sit paralyzed in my chair, a hostage to my own raw lust. I watch his full lips move in perfect sync with his words, my eyes obsessing over his ripped, muscular arms gripping the wooden podium. I explicitly wish those large hands were gripping my body instead, pinning me down. My vagina throbs with a heavy, pulsing ache that clouds all rational thought.

The intense daydream is severed when his voice booms again through the speakers.

"Thank you for your time. You can continue your duties."

The abrupt dismissal yanks me back to reality. I am shocked, blinking rapidly. *What the hell! Was I daydreaming during his entire speech?* I realize I didn't hear a single word of his corporate presentation.

Up on the stage, the studly CEO calmly buttons his tailored suit jacket. His narcotizing, whiskey-brown eyes piece through the heads of the crowd one final time in a sweeping glare. He takes a heavy breath, offers a dismissive look to the flashing photographers, and strides off the stage.

Left breathless and aching in the back row, I suddenly regret sitting so far away.