All Chapters of Resisting my father’s best friend : Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

At 3am, I gave up on sleep.My phone glowed on the nightstand, taunting me. Three texts from James that I had ignored. Drink tomorrow? Come on, don’t be stubborn. I flew across the Atlantic for you. I should feel guilty. James was a good guy, handsome, successful, age appropriate and not my father’s best friend. Everything that made sense on paper. But sense had nothing to do with the way my heart still raced thinking about those five seconds in Dominic’s arms.Then I saw it. A text from an unknown number, time stamped at 2:47am. We need to talk. Not here. Not now. But soon. No signature, he knew I didn’t but I didn’t need one. I stared at the message until the screen went dark, my finger hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to type back something reckless: Your place or mine? When? Why not now? But the rational part,the part that sounded alarmingly like my father,told me to delete it and go back to pretending.I locked my phone and set it face down.The problem wi

CHAPTER FOURIt was Pitch day.I stood in the Martinez Architecture conference room at 7:45am, fifteen minutes early, wearing my best armor: a tailored black suit that I hoped said “take me seriously,” heels that added three inches to my height, and my hair pulled back in a sleek bun that meant business. My presentation was loaded and ready. My notes were organized.I could do this even if my hands were a little shaky.The conference room was all glass and steel, with a view of lower Manhattan that usually made me feel powerful just made me feel exposed. The presentation screen dominated one wall. A long table sat twelve people comfortably. By eight o’clock, it would be filled with the people who would decide my future.My father arrived at 7:50, coffee in hand, and pulled me into a quick hug. “Ready, mija?”“As I’ll ever be.”“You’ve got this. I’ve seen your work. It’s good.” He pulled back, his expression serious. “But I want you to know, whatever happens today, I’m proud of you. Fo

I walked into Ashford Tower at seven forty five on Monday morning, dressed in my sharpest navy suit and heels that clicked confidence against the marble lobby floor. I had rehearsed this moment all weekend, practiced my professional smile in the mirror, prepared myself to be calm and collected and completely in control.That confidence lasted exactly thirty seconds.Because when I stepped into the twenty first floor conference room, Dominic was already there.He stood at the windows overlooking Manhattan, hands in his pockets, looking like he owned not just this building but the entire city stretching out before him. The morning light caught the silver in his hair, made his profile look carved from stone. He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my monthly salary, crisp white shirt, no tie yet. He looked different in daylight, sharper somehow, a man who carried empires on his shoulders and made it look easy.Then he turned and saw

“Good,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Now your hands. Bring them up, protect your face. Elbows in.” I raised my wrapped hands, and he adjusted them from behind, his arms coming around me to position my fists. We were completely aligned now, my back to his chest, his arms bracketing mine, his chin nearly resting on my shoulder. “Like this?” I asked, proud that my voice only shook a little. “Perfect.” But he didn’t step away, didn’t release me. For a handful of heartbeats, we just stood there, wrapped around each other under the guise of instruction, both of us breathing too hard for such a simple lesson. Then he stepped back abruptly, putting necessary distance between us. “Let’s try some basic punches. Jab first.” The next twenty minutes were torture disguised as training. Every correction required touch, his hands on my shoulders, my waist, my arms. He showed me how to pivot my hips for power, how to keep my core tight, how to breathe through the movements. Eac