Chapter 2

Lara’s POV

I’d never imagined myself as a matchmaker. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with it, but I’d always believed in real love, and the cynic in me couldn’t understand how it could be possible when you were matched with someone by a firm.

I recognized the significance of working hard for what you desired as the daughter of middle-class parents. My parents were high school sweethearts who fell in love when they were young and stayed together despite their youth.

My mother then became pregnant while still a teenager. I’d seen and heard how hard they had to work simply to feed their families. But they triumphed, and knowing what genuine love could accomplish made me even more dubious.

Perhaps it was because I was unmarried and unhappy with my situation.

Maybe it was simply envy as I saw all these beautiful ladies and wealthy guys find happiness. And while working for a firm that specialized in that demographic, I witnessed that every day.

My own convictions about what it takes to be happy and find love, on the other hand, had no bearing on my work. When the word “love” was spoken, I delivered the same spiel I gave to everyone: that we all deserved to find that special someone in our lives, and Clover was committed to ensuring that every client did.

I put all of it out of my mind since obsessing on things I couldn’t change wouldn’t help me achieve my goal—whatever that was. At Clover , I began by doing what I did best: data entry. The main office wasn’t actually utilized for clients while I was the secretary of one of up-and-coming internet matching firms. Most things are done online these days, as they are everywhere else.

I’d been working for about 20 minutes when the sun caught something outside and shone brightly into the front office. When I looked up from my computer, I noticed a gleaming black Mercedes approaching. And, despite my lack of automotive knowledge, I could tell straight away that this Mercedes wasn’t one of the “normal” ones I’d seen in US. No, this one stood out. I could envision it on the street in some illegal street racing since it was athletic and sleek.

I didn’t even have to look at the driver to figure out who was at the wheel. Because I’d seen that automobile before, around a month ago, when I learned I’d always compare all guys to him.

Falvin Exruto.

I hadn’t talked to him since he first arrived at the workplace four weeks ago, yet I could still hear his rich voice caressing my mind. That day, his words cut through everything else and made my stomach knot.

But I hadn’t given myself permission to examine the other effects of his speech on my body. Because my bodily reaction to his sight and sound, as well as the scent of his rich and spicy fragrance as it engulfed me as he passed by, had been so unexpected and strange that it had puzzled and terrified me.

I just knew his first name and that he owned a portion of Clover and had come in to review the company’s stats and tendencies.

As I peered out the front windows and watched the driver’s side door open, I was stuck in place. My hands were hanging over the keyboard. My eyes felt as big as saucers. Then he emerged, his long, powerful limbs hidden behind a black suit. He was tall, well over six feet, and I could see the muscular force beneath the smooth cloth that wrapped him from neck to ankle.

He turned and slammed the door, his dark shades covering his eyes as the sun shone down, glistening in his short, semi bald hair. I was drawn to the way I could see the muscles flexing beneath the cloth as he strode with an air of dominance, his suit fitted to his hard, large physique.

As I saw the first few buttons of his immaculate white shirt undone at his collar, I realized I was inhaling harder. In contrast to his shirt’s snow-colored material, a patch of smooth olive skin could be seen.

My nipples hardened under my silk blouse; the intimate area between my thighs softened and heated; and my entire body began to tingle. I was completely soaked. My palms became sweaty as adrenaline flowed through my blood as I stroked my hands up and down my pencil-skirt clad thighs. I couldn’t take my gaze away from the man approaching.