The Billionaire Waitress
I hid Xiamond from Justin, meeting him as Elise Carter, a coder with bite.
His hazel eyes pierced me, navy blazer sharp in the bar’s violet haze. “Elise Carter, coding prodigy,” he said, sliding bourbon, voice smooth as sin. “Nexus needs your fire.” I tossed my hair, scars buried. “Not tech-bro bullshit, is it, Drake?” We sparred—his encryption dreams, my firewall designs, our hunger for control. “You see the game like me,” he said, touch sparking heat. In his Tribeca loft, his lips scorched my throat, hands tearing my dress, bodies colliding on leather. “You’re electric, Elise,” he growled, claiming me. “Be mine.” I fell, whispering, “I’m yours,” heart raw. For two months, we blazed—coding
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