The Devil's Desire

LUCIANA

Knight in shining armor?

I take back everything I said about this man being the key to saving VRE. It's more accurate to describe him as a psychopath who thrives on other people's distress. Though, between making the wrong decisions for the company and falling in love with a jerk, is it astounding that my knight in not-so-shining armor turned out to be a migraine in disguise?

Why did I change my mind so fast, you may ask?

I've spent the better part of the last two hours showing him pictures of properties; not only does he keep rejecting all my suggestions with the strangest excuses, but he also doesn't want to tell me what he wants in a house either.

Not even the last few months could have prepared me for this.

“What do you mean the flowers aren't green enough? It's a garden, sir. You can plant whatever you want.” I'm on the verge of losing my patience.

His response isn't any less annoying than the previous ones. “And I don't want to have to plant anything.”

“You will not. Your garden will be primed according to your tastes before the purchase is complete,” I coax, only to receive a sly grin.

“Miss Vargas, I'm beginning to question your professionalism.”

I can't believe the nerve of this man. I take pride in my work ethic, and I will not let some infuriating silver spoon accuse me of being unprofessional, not even if he looks like a million bucks and an underwear ad model all at the same time. Six months ago, I would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don't shine.

But we need him. Quite honestly, I’m still surprised he chose VRE amid the pile of glamorous real estate companies. Luck doesn't shine on the same place twice—at least not on VRE.

I know that if I seal this great sale, it will revive us, and I will no longer have to deal with lawyers canceling contracts left and right, and my dad can finally have a good night's sleep.

The arrogant asshole on my couch probably thinks he has the world wrapped around his pinky finger just because he has the looks that make just about any woman willing to bend a knee for a mere word with him.

Admittedly, I was momentarily lost in his looks when he walked into my office about two hours ago.

Everything, including his height, is every girl's dream. The proverbial tall, handsome, with a charming smile to boot; all of which vanish out the window in a puff as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

Right now, he's merely the hell-sent asshole here to ruin my day.

When I look over at the couch, I find him fanning himself with one of the property magazines I gave him for reference. All he's done so far is scan the cover page for a second before casting them aside, making me wonder what magical mansion he wants and which fictional planet one can find it on.

This sounds like a trap, setting me up for failure before he gets his legion of friends and servants to one-star the hell out of VRE.

Fat chance. Between placating this bizarre client and taking Vicente’s deal, I’m not choosing the devil I know.

I will close this deal if it’s the last thing I do.

“Any more magazines for me?” He asks as though he were a petulant child demanding candy.

Would anyone notice if I went over to the couch and strangled the living daylights out of him?

“Miss Vargas, you seem to find me troublesome,” he drawls, shifting his position, so he’s finally sitting on the couch like a normal person.

No shit, Sherlock!

On the outside, I offer my sweetest smile—at least I hope I don’t look like a mad ghost on the verge of haunting his dreams. “Of course not, Mr. Morata. I’m only trying to figure out your perfect house.”

“Do your best, Miss Vargas. I will be waiting.” He resumes his previous position and starts whistling a tune. My ears threaten to bleed; I don’t know if that’s from the horrendous whistling coming from my new client or the exaggerated, sugary way he says my name.

Two minutes later, his attention is back on me. “Found it yet, Luciana?”

The way he drawls my name sounds like something out of a wet dream.

“Miss Vargas,” I correct him. It’s already bad enough that he’s making me start to hate my surname.

“But I like Luciana now,” he pouts.

Surely we're not here to discuss which name sounds better on his lips.

“You are in luck, Mr. Morata. Your future paradise awaits.” I click on a thumbnail to enlarge it. I am quite confident in my choice; humongous, extravagant, fitting for an arrogant asshole like him. However, I know what his answer will be, so I print out a questionnaire instead.

“Fill this in,” I place the sheet of paper on the visitor’s side of my desk and put a pen on it.

The man barely moves, merely blinking at me in confusion.

I forgot I was serving His Highness, Crown Prince of Psychoville. I take a deep breath and reluctantly deliver the questionnaire to the coffee table.

He glances down at the sheet of paper and raises a brow. “Why do I have to fill in a questionnaire? Do I remind you of a kindergartener?”

Actually, you do, I think, but I bite my tongue and give a more civil response. “I need to know your exact tastes.”

“My exact tastes…” he drawls in a way that makes me question if we’re on the same topic of discussion. “What's in it for me ?”

“The house of your dreams,” I state the obvious.

He hums, almost as if he’s considering it, but his answer makes me want to groan. “Not good enough.”

Who did I piss off in my past life?

“What else do you want, sir?” I try my luck.

“I only answer questionnaires over coffee. So have it with me, Luciana, and I will fill in everything you want me to fill.”

My skin burns up from the way he’s looking at me, but I shake my head to clear my mind.

You are not getting anywhere with those seductive eyes, sir. “No can do.”

“Well then.” He smiles and picks up the questionnaire, ripping it in half.

He might as well have ripped my brain into shreds while at it because I’m one second away from grabbing a broom and shooing him out.

“I have to say, Luciana,” he drawls, “I may not like your way of doing business, but I appreciate the view.”

It’s a relief when the telephone on my desk rings. I know it’s from Sofia.

“There’s a delivery that needs your immediate attention,” she reports.

“I’ll be right there,” I say and end the call.

There is no delivery—it’s a code Sofia created to give me breaks if I need them. I’m often dealing with perpetual assholes, and she’s such a lifesaver. Needless to say, I need to be away from this one for an entire year if possible.

I shut my devices down in case he thinks of trying something he shouldn’t, then I point to the discreet surveillance camera in the corner of the roof. “I’ll be right back.”

I let out a huge sigh when I’m at Sofia’s desk.

“Is Mr. Hottie Pants too much to handle?” She winks.

She has no idea.

“I need a break. Keep him company while I’m out, will you? Maybe get him a cup of coffee. Don’t forget to add enough sugar to send him into a coma—or rat poison, I’m not picky.”

“Okay?”

I leave before Sofia can ask any questions.

I’ve just managed to catch a waft of fresh air when I notice a familiar frame at the end of the hallway.

No way that idiot is still here.

When I walk over to check, I find Vicente flirting with the pretty girl from IT. Emma is her name, if I remember correctly.

At least it looks like they’re flirting until I hear her hissing, “I told you I have work to do!”

I see red. “She asked you to leave.”

I cross my arms. When Vicente turns to face me, I have the strongest urge to slap the teeth out of his mouth. It’s already bad enough to pester me relentlessly. What gives him the right to make my employees uncomfortable?

“You may leave, Emma,” I tell the pretty girl, who looks at me like I’m her savior before scurrying away.

“What the hell?” I frown at my ex.

“Someone’s still got her claws out,” he imitates a scratching motion, and I do want to claw his eyes out.

“I told you to leave.” I point to the elevators.

“I stayed around in case things didn’t go well with the new client and you needed me. Looks like I made the right call.”

“Leave before I call security,” I threaten.

He raises his hands as he grins… “Remember, you know where to find me.”

In your damn dreams.

If I was on the verge of giving up, meeting Vicente has fueled my resolve. I make a quick trip to the bathroom and splash water on my face, leaving me so invigorated that I can fight a bear, leave alone wrangle an infuriating silver-spoon.

When I return to my office, however, I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe.

Sofia and the new client are engrossed in conversation. Sofia is laughing her butt off as the man tells an elaborate story about his trip to Vietnam.

So, I’m the only one he’s an asshole to.

“You’re back,” he smiles as soon as he notices me.

“You’re hilarious, Mr. Morata.” Sofia wipes a tear of laughter from her eye as she stands. “I’ll be on my way.”

My secretary winks at me on her way out. I don’t think I want to know what that’s about, so I sit at my desk.

The gloom has returned to my office, the previously joyous man now sitting with his arms folded. I print several questionnaires and deliver them before him. “Don’t waste your time ripping them. I could print a thousand.”

“Then you will have an entire confetti to clean up, Miss Vargas,” he says with a dimpled smile. “Are we having this dance again? I already gave you a solution—go out for coffee with me.”