Billionaire's Reluctant Girl

ALICE RILEY

“This is important. I only need ten minutes with Mr. Scott. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to cancel now, especially after I’ve come all this way,” I said firmly to the receptionist, determined to salvage my meeting with Vivian Scott, the CEO of Scott Group.

The text from his personal assistant canceling the meeting had reached me when I was already on my way—just minutes from his office. After traveling an hour to get here, I wasn’t about to turn back without at least trying.

If I hadn’t been an intern at Lexis Consultants—the legal advisory firm for Scott Group—I might have caused a scene over this blatant disregard for my time. But I had to keep my cool. My career depended on it. While I fumed on the inside, I forced a composed smile to stay professional.

“I’ll check on that, Miss Riley. Please have a seat,” the receptionist replied with a polite smile.

With a sigh, I made my way to the couch in the center of the lobby and sat down, tossing my handbag and file onto the cushion beside me. With nothing better to do, I pulled out my phone and began scrolling through emails.

Minutes ticked by, and my patience thinned. My imagination wandered, picturing myself punching Mr. Scott square in the face—a satisfying thought that eased my mood momentarily. If it weren’t for my boss’s insistence that I get these documents signed by tonight, I wouldn’t have wasted another second here.

The receptionist finally approached; her expression neutral. “Mr. Scott will see you in ten minutes. You can wait in the conference room on the fifteenth floor.”

She handed me a visitor’s badge and a temporary access card, gesturing toward the elevators.

“Thank you,” I replied, forcing a triumphant smile that lingered even as I fumbled into the elevator, dropping my file. Quickly regaining my composure, I picked it up, clutching my bag tightly, and pressed the button.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the fifteenth floor—a realm of modern sophistication. The air was cool, faintly scented with fresh linen and citrus, and the polished marble flooring gleamed under the glow of recessed lighting. The open layout stretched before me, with sleek, minimalist furniture arranged to perfection.

On either side of the corridor, glass-walled offices showcased state-of-the-art technology and impeccably organized workspaces. Frosted panels offered just enough privacy while still exuding a sense of transparency and openness. Large digital screens embedded in the walls displayed scrolling financial data and company updates, casting a faint blue hue over the area.

Ahead, the conference room caught my eye. I approached the entrance, pausing as I noticed the high-tech access system. A discreet panel beside the door blinked with a soft green light, waiting for me to scan my temporary card.

I swiped the temporary card and pushed the door open—only to freeze in place.

Inside stood a man. Not just any man, but a stunningly handsome one, dressed only in gray suit pants and a white undershirt. His chiseled jawline, perfectly sculpted body, and toned biceps made him look like he’d stepped out of a high-end fashion ad.

Beside him, half bent in a playful struggle was a teenage boy who bore a striking resemblance to him. The boy’s sharp jawline and dark, expressive eyes mirrored the man, though his features still carried a youthful softness. His hair was a tousled mop, and his casual outfit—a slightly oversized graphic T-shirt, ripped jeans, and scuffed sneakers—made him look effortlessly cool and carefree.

As the door clicked open, the boy twisted with a jerk as he wriggled against the man’s loose headlock.

Both heads turned toward me in unison. The man smirked, dripping with amusement and confidence, while the boy let out an unabashed laugh.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the man, his striking appearance momentarily making me forget everything around me. Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out: “Super-hot.”

His laugh was immediate, rich, and irresistible as if he’d heard the compliment a thousand times before. Mortified, I realized I had spoken aloud.

“Miss, you’re in the wrong room,” he said, entirely unfazed by the situation.

“I... I’m sorry. I thought this was the conference room,” I stammered, my cheeks flaming.

“That’s further down the hall,” he replied, his smile lingering.

“Thank you,” I mumbled before spinning on my heels and making a hasty exit. My heart raced as I berated myself. How could I confuse a private office for a conference room? And in front of such a ridiculously attractive man, no less? I prayed I wouldn’t have to see him again.

Pushing the embarrassment aside, I entered the correct room, determined to focus on my goal: getting Mr. Scott’s signature and leaving this building for good.