Chapter 1

1

EMILIA

I sip my wine and settle back into the plush sofa of the Alchemy hotel lobby, the newest and most sought-after luxurious hotel in New York, as I watch my fiancé enter.

Everything about him is flawless.

His ten-thousand-dollar suit.

His muscles he works hard for.

His chiseled jaw with just the right amount of stubble.

Those dark glasses of his that cost him thousands and hide eyes that see everything.

He doesn’t see me watching him now, though, which is exactly how I planned it. I need this moment to observe him before the whirlwind of the coming weekend engulfs me.

We are to be married in two days and we haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet. We haven’t seen each other in two years, and I changed my number in that time, so we’ve had no way of discussing anything.

Except, everyone knows that if Javier Torres wants to talk to someone, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t have a phone number or an address for them, he’d make that conversation happen. Which means my fiancé hasn’t wanted to see me or talk to me since our engagement was decided by our families eight weeks ago.

He checks into the hotel, his entourage of four sticking close to guard him. Being the next-in-line to run the Serrano Cartel means Javier goes nowhere without security.

My phone buzzes with a text and I check it to discover a message from my assistant.

Carly: Bob’s playing difficult.

Me: How difficult?

Carly: The kind of difficult that makes my skull want to explode.

Me: Can you please just give me the facts?

Carly: He wants to increase his profit share on the deal.

Me: Send me the new proposal and I’ll look at it. I want this deal finalized before the wedding.

Carly: Sending now.

Carly: Have you spoken with Javier yet?

I don’t respond to her last message. Instead, I check my emails and read through Bob’s new proposal. We’re working together on a deal to open ten exclusive health and beauty resorts for women across America. The back and forth on this has been a headache. If I wasn’t so intent on working with his company, I’d back out now. But he’s got the knowledge and the positioning in the market that I want a part of, so I’ve worked my way through each headache as it presented. This new one is a pain in my ass.

I shoot another text back to Carly.

Me: I’ll get in touch with Bob and handle this.

Carly: I see you’re avoiding my last question.

Me: Yes, because you’re my assistant, not my best friend.

Carly: You don’t have a best friend. I’m all you’ve got.

Me: I have friends.

Carly: No, you have women around you who would die to appear in an Insta snap with you or be a bridesmaid for you or feature in a Forbes article with you. What you don’t have are real friends.

She’s right, and yet, I don’t care. Having friends isn’t my goal in life. I learned at a young age to keep to myself and not trust others. My father’s lessons on this have stuck. I trust my two brothers and Carly, and that’s it.

Carly: I’m dying here. You know I have no life and live through you. Have you seen him?

Me: I’m looking at him. He’s checking into the hotel. But I haven’t spoken with him yet.

Carly: Is he still as good looking as when he was keeping you awake all night every night and ensuring the security of my job by messing all your thoughts up?

Me: Better looking than then. And this conversation is done now.

Carly: Is that my boss talking or my friend?

Me: Since I don’t have friends, it’s your boss.

Carly: Right. Gotcha. But keep me in the loop! I need to know how this ends.

We both know how this ends. With me married to a man I’m not sure I can handle or who can handle me. I’m a strong woman, stronger than most, but Javier was built to dominate, to reign over, to conquer. I’ve never been good at being conquered. It’s why I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than six months. Men don’t appear to like my style of refusing their bullshit.

And that includes Javier.

Hell, he only lasted six months before he walked out. I’m unsure of why he agreed to this marriage our parents desperately want. I know why I did, but I’d have thought Javier would find another way to achieve the goal our families have.

I eye him again as he juggles checking into the hotel and taking a phone call. Whoever is on the end of that call has pissed him off. I know this solely by the way his shoulders have turned to stone. When he finishes at the front desk and turns to walk to the elevator, I verify his mood by the hard set of his jaw and the angry lines creasing his face.

I know Javier’s moods well. Nineteen years of knowing a person will ensure that. Especially if you’ve shared the kinds of things Javier and I have.

I’ll never forget the first day I laid eyes on this man.

We were both fifteen, but Javier looked older. Acted older. And had the muscles of a man rather than a teenager. I couldn’t look away even if I tried.

And those eyes of his.

Slate blue, they’re hypnotic against his tanned skin and dark hair, and have always ensured my complete attention when they’re on me.

Our families had worked together for decades and it was that day they united in a deeper way. As part of that, both families came together for a weekend at the Torres estate in Medellin where we lived in Colombia. Javier was almost as arrogant and self-assured at fifteen as he is now. And since I’ve always been drawn to men like him, I had no hope of escaping his charms. Not back then, and not throughout my adult life. We may have only dated for six months, but I wanted Javier when I was fifteen, fell in love with him at nineteen, and have never figured out how to stop loving him. Not even when he left me two years ago and cut all ties without a proper explanation.

A call comes in on my phone.

Bob.

I’m about to answer it when a text comes through.

Unknown number: 52 nd floor. Now.

I grip my phone a little harder as I stare at the message.

My heart beats faster.

My thoughts speed up.

My senses go into overdrive.

Me: I won’t be bossed around, Javier.

Javier: You will do as you are told, Emilia. Now.

Me: This didn’t work so well for you last time. I’m unsure why you think it will this time.

Javier: I don’t have time to waste on this today.

Me: Such a lovely way to talk to your fiancé.

He calls and I debate not answering him. My heart, however, craves him. I’m helpless but to take the call.

“I’m not coming to your room simply because you demand my presence,” I say, willing myself to not give in.

“I have precisely twenty minutes before my next meeting. We have things to discuss. Don’t make me come to you.”

His deep voice with that thick Colombian accent I love hits me where it always does, low in my belly. It also sends need racing through every vein in my body, and messes with my ability to think straight.

Javier might be an asshole, but he’s one I struggle to resist.

“If you want to talk, that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do,” I say. “I’ll be in my room in five minutes.”

I end the call without bothering to tell him my room number.

I have no doubt he already knows it.