Chapter 2

Laila

I spent most of Sunday sleeping, my internal clock still adjusting. I woke up only to cook and eat, then crawled back into bed to sleep some more. Monday morning came quickly. The alarm blared "Wake Me Up" by Avicii, and I was up and getting ready—showered, dressed, and having a light breakfast.

I packed my portfolio and laptop for a client meeting. Today, I would go over the renovation project and see if there were any changes or additions.

As I drove to the client’s place, I felt an odd sense of anxiety. Normally, I’d be nervous meeting new clients, but this felt different—like my stomach was buzzing and my palms were sweaty. I tried to shake it off. It’s just another client. I know the drill. But still, my intuition kept nagging at me, wondering if they might cancel the project. Could they? I wasn’t sure, but if so, I’d deal with it.

When I arrived, I was surprised to see a security checkpoint. I had assumed the clients were wealthy, but the neighborhood turned out to be a mix of small homes and big mansions, many of them a bit shabby. The mansion I was headed to, though, was definitely grand.

I rang the doorbell, and a woman in her fifties answered.

"Hello! I’m here to meet Mrs. Montgomery," I said with a warm smile. "She’s expecting me."

"Yes, she is," the woman replied, opening the door. "She’s in the sitting room. You can follow me."

I waved her off politely. "I know the way, thank you."

I removed my dark blue trench coat and hung it up, taking in the grand entrance hall. The house had a posh, Victorian interior, but the clients wanted to modernize it. As I admired the space, I froze—there was a man standing on the stairs. How had I missed him before?

He looked like he’d been watching me. I felt a heat wave run over me, nervous that I’d done something weird, like maybe talked to myself. But no, I hadn’t. Phew. Still, this guy… he was like a walking advertisement for muscle magazines. He was massive—shoulders like boulders and a body that seemed sculpted from stone. His blond hair was styled in waves, and his face was sharp, with high cheekbones and a straight jawline. I was too far away to see his eyes, but his look was intense. I couldn’t help but stare. There was no denying he was handsome, ridiculously so.

But then my brain kicked back into gear. Rich, good-looking guy? Probably a playboy. Most likely, every girl in the city was throwing herself at him. And here I was, ogling him too. I scolded myself. Come on, Laila, focus! Work, not men! Judging by his approximate age, this guy was most probably my client’s son or something. 

I straightened up, forcing a smile. "Good afternoon, Sir."

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and made my way to the sitting room, reminding myself that I was here for a project, not to stare at handsome strangers. This was, and yet wasn’t, my first time in this house. Having seen pictures and videos of it, it almost feels as though I’ve lived here for years.