Who The Hell Is She?

Chapter 2: Who The Hell Is She?

**Lucas’s POV**

“Thank you, but I have a call right now. Maybe next time,” I said smoothly, sidestepping the woman in pink who had latched onto me like a barnacle. Her sweet and cloying body mist hit me. I loved ladies who smell nice but it irritates me when she is trying too hard.

“Oh, but surely you can spare a minute for me?” she cooed, fluttering her lashes and tilting her head like a practiced kitten. “I’ve heard so much about you… your work, your family. A genius like you must have some time for… conversation after the call?” Her voice dripped charm, but there was a calculated edge, an unmistakable effort to flirt, to probe.

I gritted my teeth, forcing a polite smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Fascinating,” I said, just so I wouldn’t sound rude by ignoring her.

I had spent the evening evading people like her, they have all been pretending to be enchanted by my presence, all trying to wedge themselves into my time. This one was a bit persistent.

She leaned in, pressing a hand lightly on my arm, voice dipping lower. “You know, a man like you shouldn’t be standing out here alone. It’s… dangerous to be ignored.”

Dangerous? Really? I could feel the annoyance bloom like fire in my chest. What am I still doing talking to her? Jesus Christ!

I lifted my phone to my ear, pressing the blank screen against it as if it had just buzzed. “Hello,” I muttered, lowering my voice into a murmur of feigned urgency while stepping away. The trick had never failed me: the urgent business call. They all know how busy I can be, so they wouldn’t doubt that it was a call.

She had pouted and was clearly irritated, I could feel her glare at my back but I don’t fvcking care, I don’t do redheads. I slipped past, weaving through the throng of guests toward the balcony. God, these kind of banquet annoys me. I hate that I had to be here.

If I played along, even for a second, I could get swallowed alive by the pretentiousness and expectation, and I had no intention of being anyone’s trophy to show off tonight.

The laughter spilling out of the banquet hall was too annoying, sounded so rehearsed, like an orchestra of lies conducted by ambition and greed. Champagne glasses clinked, and it pierced through my patience like shards of glass.

I pushed through the tall doors to the balcony, finally letting the night air slap my face.

“God… this is what freedom tastes like,” I said, spreading my arms like I was getting prepared to fly. “One for the freedom,” I dragged deeply from the cigarette between my fingers.

I just needed two minutes away from all the glittering and fake smiles. Just two damn minutes without someone trying to sell me a business deal, their daughter, or both.

The door creaked behind me, hinges whining like a warning, followed by the tell-tale rhythm of heels clicking against marble.

I tipped my head back, blowing smoke into the night sky, letting the frustration roll off my tongue in a mutter. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can’t I have one damn moment of peace?”

She either heard that and ignored, or had ear problems. She just stood in the doorway, framed by the golden light spilling from the hall. The kind of entrance that would’ve made poets wax lyrical, except I wasn’t a damn poet.

I was a man who had been hunted all night by smiling faces and hungry eyes. I finally found my peace and this lady followed me here, looking unbothered.

A half-full glass of wine rested in her hand, the deep red liquid catching the light, and she lifted it to her lips, sipping with a casual grace, as though she hadn’t even noticed me yet. That alone was disarming. Most people stumbled over their own nerves in front of me, but she was… deliberate and very good at pretending.

Her gown hugged her figure like it had been tailored to accentuate every line, she had a good and alluring figure, no doubt but I don’t care about that right now. I just don’t want any disturbance of any kind.

She looked over at me for what felt like a minute and looked away, as though she didn’t recognize me.

Gosh, she was pretty, too damn pretty. That’s already a red flag for me. What did she think? She could win me over with her pretty face and curvy body?

I knew her type. I had seen dozens, maybe hundreds, over the years: women who thought a staged “balcony accident” made for a charming coincidence. A chance encounter under the moonlight, a subtle tilt of the head, the perfect line delivered to hook someone like me.

What book is that? Romeo and Juliet? Jack and Rose?

Why is it taking her so much time to approach me?

She seemed so relaxed as she sipped out of her wine as if she owned it all, and still playing it hard.

Oh, I knew exactly what she was trying to do; she was trying to play it cool, claim attention, test boundaries. She wanted to make me come to her. It was infuriating because I knew all of these tricks.

I once walked into my hotel suite to find a man of about my age sprawled naked across my bed, grinning like the punchline of some bad comedy. I nearly had a heart attack because his dick had a weird shape that I had never seen in my entire life.

That was absolutely not my idea of a fun evening.

Yes, I had marched with the Bristol family at the LGBTQ parade last month, flags waving, smiles flashing for the cameras. Good publicity, good politics. But personally? That was enough chaos for me. Women alone provided more than enough unpredictability, thank you very much.

This lady is just another social climber rehearsing her lines, pretending fate dragged her out here instead of ambition.

I flicked ash over the railing, letting it drift into the night like my patience. I was running out of patience, she should at least do what she wanted to do and leave me the fuck alone. Why is she still lingering? My voice dropped flat, almost bored, but sharp enough to cut through her bravado. “Don’t bother. Whatever line you rehearsed, I’ve heard it before.”

She looked at me, her brow arched, a delicate challenge, lips curving just enough to sting. “Excuse me?”

I leaned slightly against the balcony, letting the smoke curl around me like a shield. “You don’t have to pretend you came out here for the view,” I drawled, slow, deliberate. “We both know how this works. You want my attention, right? Congratulations. You’ve got it. But don’t expect me to clap like a trained seal or gush over your ‘fate-driven’ balcony stroll.”

The fire in her eyes had a spark that was daring, I had never seen a woman looked at me like that in a long time; that wasn’t staged, and it hit harder than I expected.

“You arrogant jerk,” she spat, crossing her arms tightly, stance solid and unyielding. Her voice dripped with disdain, the kind that made me notice just how bold she was. “You think everyone is obsessed with you? What the fvck do you think you are? Irresistible?” she scoffed, then looked down her wine, “Maybe you’re just… insufferable.”

Did I just get talked back at in such manner? Her words penetrated into my skin, it burned, like she was daring me to react. Every syllable she had just said was a challenge and a provocation. A fight I hadn’t asked for, but one that I couldn’t resist.

I turned fully toward her, letting my eyes roam over the flush of her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each indignant breath, the subtle tilt of her chin like she was ready to defy the world. My lips curved lazily, a smirk that was both amusement and warning. “Hit a nerve?” I asked, voice low and teasing.

She stepped closer, unflinching, her posture radiating defiance. Her eyes blazed, bright and unyielding. “You don’t want attention?” she spat, voice sharp enough to cut the smoke around us. “Then stop screaming for it. I think the only reason people look at you is because you act like you’re above everyone else. You must be so damn starved for love that you’ve convinced yourself arrogance is power.”

Her words landed harder than I expected, scraping against something buried beneath my carefully constructed calm. My jaw tightened, fists clenching at my sides, a warning rumble coiling in my chest. “Careful,” I said, my voice low, steady, but edged with a threat.

“Or what?” she countered with a scoff. Her light brown eyes were widely opened, and even the little freckles on her face showed her attitude. She was fearless, a challenge ringing clear in her tone.

I was so furious that my instinct overrode my reasoning. My hand shot out, closing around her wrist.

She gave a sharp gasp, clearly startled, glaring up at me, eyes blazing like wildfire, every inch the firebrand I had so arrogantly underestimated. The defiance in her posture, the edge in her gaze was dangerous and thrilling, at least I had done something to shut that parrot mouth of hers.

I held her wrist just a fraction too long, feeling the tension tighten between us like a drawn bowstring, coiled and ready to snap. My pulse picked up, awareness sharpening.

In another second, cold liquid splashed across my chest.

She spilled red wine on me.

The chill soaked instantly into my shirt, dripping down the front of my suit jacket, pooling around my belt. I froze, momentarily stunned, my cigarette slipping slightly between my fingers.

Her lips curled into a victorious smirk as she wrenched her wrist free, pulling back just far enough to assert control. “Try your intimidation games with someone else,” she hissed, voice low, dangerous, full of venom and dare all at once.

Before I could recover from the shock, she bolted out of the balcony like some wild creature refusing to be caged, leaving chaos and the sharp scent of defiance in her wake.

I stood there, dripping wine, cigarette forgotten between my fingers, the smoke curling uselessly around me.

I was mesmerized by her boldness and recklessness. It was infuriating but damn it, it was also… fascinating.

A laugh rumbled deep in my chest, involuntary, irrepressible, catching me by surprise. “Well, hell,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as a slow grin spread across my face. “Who the hell is she?”