CHAPTER 2

Basil's POV

The shock was a brief tremor in her stunning green eyes, but it passed, replaced by something I couldn't immediately decode-a flash of cold calculation, maybe even a twisted sort of victory. She didn't scream, didn't recoil, didn't run. She stood her ground, her arms still crossed over her chest, which was exactly the reaction I had bet on.

"You're really going to start our professional relationship by dropping your trousers and asking for a favor, Julian?" she asked, her voice steady now, even slightly mocking, ignoring my earlier request to use my given name. The use of the formal 'Julian' was a subtle power play, a small rejection of the intimacy I was trying to force.

All I knew was that I was standing there, pants down around my ankles, and I was still erect. She had managed to break down my carefully calibrated world in less than five minutes.

“It’s Basil, actually,” I corrected, my voice dropping to a low, possessive register. “And yes, I am. Because I understand the dynamic here, Kathy Montalvo. You need this job—urgently. And I need someone to distract me from the fact that my mother has become a liability who ran off with a man named Jean Pierre Valdez.”

I watched her face for a crack in her composure. There was a twitch near her mouth, barely perceptible. The name. Did she recognize it? Or was it the naked aggression of my demand?

“I understand the need for discretion,” she replied slowly, her eyes finally lifting from the evidence of my desire to meet my gaze. Her eyes flashed sharp, evaluating, as if she were weighing the risk of what I was proposing. “But you just hired me to care for your eight-year-old sister, Tifania. If I walk out on this, I won’t just report the ‘professional misconduct’ to Director Amelia Whitford. I will report the harassment. That’s a legal mess, Mr. Cavendish. One that could tarnish the reputation of Cavendish International Holdings faster than an oil spill.”

She was smart. Calculating. She hadn't threatened a personal moral failing; she'd threatened a corporate liability. She knew exactly which button to press. It was infuriating, and yet, it only made me want her more. I liked a woman who could hold a knife to my throat and still look me in the eye.

“That's a great counter-threat,” I said, a genuine cold smile touching my lips. “And fully expected from a girl who came recommended for her ‘high compliance.’ I must have misread the compliance part, but I do like the spine.

I moved further into the room, closing the remaining distance between us. She wasn't fazed when she saw my naked body; then again, her breath hitched once more when I came close enough for her to feel the heat emanating off my skin.

“Let me rephrase, then. The job is yours, indefinitely. The pay is double the agency’s going rate, which you can direct to pay off that monstrous student debt you’re hiding.” I saw the surprise now. I had information she didn’t think I possessed. Power shift. “And in return, I want you to acknowledge what you’re feeling right now. That you’re staring at me because you find me compelling, not repulsive. That this dangerous, immediate toxicity between us is exactly what you crave.”

She inhaled sharply, her own hands tightening on her biceps as if she were holding herself together.

“You don’t know what I crave, Basil. You don’t know anything about me,” she challenged, her tone low and husky.

“I know what I see,” I returned, my voice a whisper now, leaning in until the only things that existed were her defiance and my intent. “I see a woman who didn't take the first flight out of here when her last client, Mrs. Honor Whitcomb, accused her of attempted murder by gluten. I see a woman who takes risks, who walks into a skyscraper on the richest side of the city expecting ‘crazy’ and doesn’t bail when she finds exactly that. You’re not here for a simple paycheck, Kathy Montalvo.”

Her eyes narrowed, the green suddenly cold and hard. I had hit a nerve, but not the one about the chips. The one about her true motive.

“And you think you have me pegged?” she scoffed, but her voice wasn’t as steady now. “You think a flash of wealth and an impulsive, unprofessional display is enough to reduce me to some girl who wants to sleep with the rich client? You think that’s my endgame?”

“I think it's a necessary detour,” I said, reaching out and running the pad of my thumb lightly over the fragile skin of her cheekbone. She didn't pull away. “You're here for secrets. The Sky Tower is full of them. And the quickest way to the darkest ones is by getting close to the men who keep them. So yes, I think my suggestion is entirely professional—in the world we operate in.”

I lowered my hand and gave her an out, a final chance to salvage her professional image—or embrace the risk.

"You're hired, Kathy Montalvo. Now, you can leave that room and go unpack in the spare suite, start your job, and pretend the moment never happened. Or you can close the door behind you and prove to me just how dedicated you are to your. mission."

I didn't move or flinch, just stood there exposed and commanding, letting the silence and the weight of my own actions fill the space. Her gaze drifted once more to my arousal then back to my eyes. The flicker of fear was gone.

 Only a terrible, consuming ambition remained. She didn't head toward the exit. Instead, she moved one deliberate step toward me. The door to Basil's Royal Suite clicked shut behind her with a finality that was almost audible.

 “It’s Kathy,” she corrected, her voice barely above a breath, her fingers brushing the hem of my shirt. “And I always finish what I start.”