Chapter Two

“Did you forget anything at all?”

Cameron’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts as she pulled to a stop in front of the impossibly tall D’Angelo skyscraper, its glass stretching so high it felt like it disappeared into the clouds.

I turned in my seat, inhaling slowly, hoping the breath came out steady instead of shaky. “No. I’m fine. Please stop worrying.”

She didn’t look convinced. She’d been hovering since six that morning—actually knocking on my door before the sun had properly risen—despite me telling her last night that I could handle today on my own. But Cameron being Cameron meant she showed up anyway, armed with coffee, reassurance, and a full breakdown of what I should and shouldn’t wear.

Now she examined me again, eyes moving from my face to my clothes like I was her child on the first day of school. “Just remember—whether this works out or not, you’ll find another way. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I won’t,” I said, forcing a small smile. “And I don’t need the extra motivation. I’ve got this.”

Let's try to be honest for a second, yeah? I needed every bit of confidence I could gather and then some.

At least my outfit ate. The fitted blue top I got from my father few years before he died was still as spotless. I’d kept it that way deliberately. Wearing it felt like armor, like I wasn’t walking in alone but with him. I paired it with black suit trousers, my go-to black heels, and my hair pulled into a neat ponytail that I hoped made me look capable and composed.

“Go,” Cameron said, already flicking on her indicator. “I’ll see you later. And text me if anything happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I replied.

She smiled and drove off, leaving me standing there as I turned toward the building. The morning sun bounced off the glass walls, making the place look less like an office and more like something built for gods.

Inside, everything smelled expensive and if course I couldn't miss the familiar scent of money, new printed cash, expensive cologne.

Damn…

The receptionist greeted me with a flawless smile and directed me toward the waiting room on the sixth floor. I stepped into the elevator, unable to stop my eyes from wandering. Everything was wide, fine, spotless, and cold. No wonder the man who runs the place is rumored to be dangerous.

I shoved the thought aside, I have a meeting, I should be focused on that.

When I got into the waiting room it was empty, furnished like a luxury lounge instead of the wait room it was supposed to be. A staff member approached and offered me coffee and snacks. I refused once, then twice, before finally accepting so I wouldn’t look strange sitting there with nothing in my hands while watching her give to people who sat for a few seconds and left.

An hour passed as I scrolled endlessly on my phone, trying to find even a single photo of the infamous, feared D’Angelo. Nothing. No face. No features. No trace at all, all I saw where rumors, women fangirling over a man they've never seen.

I tried not to overthink it, sipping my coffee slowly, when the glass door finally opened and a blonde in pointy heels stepped inside.

“Miss Statham?” she asked, polite and professional.

“Yes?”

“Please come with me. Mr. Reeve has requested your presence.”

“Mr. Reeve? Wasn’t it supposed to be…?

I followed her down a hallway so quiet my footsteps sounded too loud, each step echoing in an uncomfortable way that made my shoulders tense. When she opened the conference room door, I nearly slowed to a stop.

This wasn’t what I expected.

Only two men were seated inside. Both were older, quiet and formally dressed . Neither looked remotely like a Mafia kingpin—if anything, they resembled accountants who’d been doing this for decades. The boardroom itself, however, was impressive in a magnificent way.

The blonde woman took her seat. “I’m Summer.” She smiled sweetly. “You may hand your documents to me. Mr. Reeve will join us shortly to review the final stage of your proposal.”

I passed my papers over, trying not to stare too obviously at the two men. Was one of them secretly D’Angelo?

Going undercover to solve an embezzlement case in his company?

Is that the only problems rich people have?

Summer cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. “Before we begin, I should inform you that Mr. D’Angelo will not be present today. He has important meetings to attend.”

My stomach dipped slightly. I’d been hoping—just a little—to impress him. To impress the man who bought struggling businesses like they were collectibles. Why would someone like that invest in something as small as my dream?

It didn’t matter. I would still do my best.

I took a breath, bracing myself to speak, when the conference room door suddenly burst open with a sharp, echoing slam.

Summer jumped to her feet instantly. “Mr. Reeve, good mor—”

She stopped. Her eyes widened before she straightened even further.

“I—I’m so sorry. Mr. D’Angelo.”

D’Ang— Huh?

My heart froze .

Both older men rose immediately. Summer was already standing, and without being told, I forced myself up as well and turned around to see who this D'Angelo actually was.

Two men stepped inside.

The one leading was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like authority itself. He wore a dark suit and a different pair of glasses from the night before—these tinted grey, hiding his eyes completely. But the jawline, the posture, the silent arrogance in the way he moved…

My stomach sank.

It was him.

Oh shit!

The man from the alley.

OH SHIT!!

It was the man from the freaking alley. The arrogant thief I accused.

Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Behind him stood the same man who caught the actual thief and had thrown my purse back at me after the chaos

I swear the floor should’ve opened and swallowed me whole.

I froze, unable to blink, as the beautiful, intimidating CEO walked further inside, his expression giving nothing away. Not irritation, not even amusement. Nothing at all.

I hope he'd find it amusing. That would be better… right?

He walked past Summer without acknowledging her, and for one hopeful milisecond, I wondered if maybe he hadn’t noticed me—

Then his head turned slightly and those hidden eyes locked onto me.

Only for a moment. But it was more than enough.

Did he recognize me? Of course he fucking did.

Who wouldn't remember the woman that accused them of theft and then kicked them?

I looked at him, hoping to catch any expression that gave away the fact that he recognize me but unfortunately, he smiled at…me?

Was, was that a smile?

Was it a sneer…?

My throat tightened, nerves and frustration twisting together. I swallowed hard, forcing my face into the nearest neutral expression I could put on just as his voice cut through the room.

“If staring at me was the only thing you prepared for this proposal, Miss Statham,” he said, “Then I suggest you walk out now cause, you’ve already lost this deal.”