The Devil's Desire

LUCIANA

In my next life, I want nothing to do with real estate, if it means never meeting Dario Morata.

That’s one part of my brain speaking.

The other part of my brain—the one that can’t get over his looks—wishes to see that breathtaking face again. Better yet, it wishes we had met under very different circumstances. Maybe then, it would have been fun to get to know him. Maybe I wouldn’t have found him annoying.

This man has managed to make me question my sanity in less than a day.

If I didn’t need him for business, I would have long shown him the door.

‘But he’s insanely hot, you have to admit,’ a tiny part of my brain whispers. It must be the part responsible for all the bad decisions I have ever made—the devil on my shoulder, if you will.

Why else would I be entertaining the thought of a man like him? He’s shameless, to say the least, especially with that little stunt under the table…

Fine, there was nothing ‘little’ about what I felt through his pants, and shame was the last thing I felt.

My momentary lapse in sanity doesn’t keep me from wondering how he became the owner of the club out of the blue. There is no way this is a coincidence, but what is he up to?

I have to leave before I succumb to the insane temptation of marching back up to that booth and interrogating him.

I may have to haul Claudia out of here—just my luck. She's not too drunk to walk, but she doesn't want to leave yet, claiming that she hasn't had enough looks at Dario.

“Aren't you going to talk about what just happened?” she asks with a mischievous smile.

“What?” I feign ignorance.

Her grunt is all I need to know about what she thinks of my act. As I try not to crack under her detective eyes, I realize she’s not cheering me on for putting a guy in his place. That’s a first.

“So what has changed about you?” I ask. “Have you decided to finally tuck your claws away?”

“Fat chance.” Her laughs come off more like a snort. “You still need an elder sister to fight your battles—and if you dare ask which sister I’m talking about, I’ll disown you.”

“Okay.” I laugh, holding my palms up in surrender before instantly resuming my task of dragging her out.

“It’s just…” she drawls. “Why would I fight against your chances of getting laid?”

“Okay, that’s enough madness for one day.” I yank her arm over my shoulder to support her.

_________

I wake up the next morning to a text.

Unknown Number: Good Morning, Babe.

The heart emoji at the end is enough to ruin my day within seconds of opening my eyes. I don’t even need to ask who the unknown sender is. There’s only one man who seems to have taken up the entertaining hobby of infuriating me.

I didn't give him my contact details, but he looks like he has all the power in the world to get the social security number of anyone’s great-grandparents, let alone a mere cell phone number.

I text back so fast that my fingers could break the screen.

Me: Don't make it sound like we're in some sort of relationship.

Unknown Number: We can rectify that… By being in a relationship

No thanks. He may be arguably one of the most handsome men in existence, but I’m not an idiot.

Me: I don't date clients.

Unknown Number: Get me a perfect house, and I will no longer be a client. We can move in.

Gritting my teeth, I groan in frustration, just as the door to my room opens and my mother walks in, pursing her lips.

“Isn't it a little too early for drama?” she asks as she walks towards my bed.

He's going to drive me crazy. Actually, he's driving me crazy, and not the good kind of crazy—is there a good kind?

Perhaps those long, smooth fingers might know a way or two… I scold myself for even noticing such a detail. What on earth is wrong with me?

“Do I even want to know?” Mother teases. When I shake my head, desperately pleading for her not to poke into the matter, she asks, “What’s gotten you so furious?”

“Nothing I want to talk about right now,” I effectively shut the door for discussion.

She sits on my bed, tousling my hair. “Very well. You know where to find me if you want to talk about it.”

Huh? Who are you, and what have you done with Lara Vargas?

My relationship with my parents is not bad, but it's also not the kind where we have heart-to-hearts over ice cream and juice boxes.

To be fair, it’s not easy to juggle a grand empire and family time. They try their best.

“What are you doing here? Did Dad dump you?'' I tease.

“Not in this lifetime.” She laughs. “We haven’t spent time in a while. You have been missing dinner lately.”

“Since when do we talk about that?” I ask.

Last I checked, those should be Paula's words.

“Since today.”

“Everyone has been worried about the company. Your father has been juggling between VRE and the new construction company he wants to launch.”

That's right.

She continues, “I want us to at least have a normal family dinner.”

She wants me to assure her that I'll be there tonight, like something big is going to happen, which is more strange than her showing up in my room out of the blue.

“I can't tonight, Mum,” I say.

“Why not?” Her brows furrow.

“I have some business to take care of. I'll tell you when it's done.”

She reluctantly accepts it after a short while. “Not letting you off the hook tomorrow,” she warns.

“Okay, mum. I'll be there tomorrow.”

She stands to leave, but turns after a few steps to curiously ask, “Date?”

The instant frown must have shown on my face before I could stop it, but I ease it with a wink. “Not talking about it.”

____________

The list of people going to drive me nuts is rapidly expanding, and Sofia has found herself at the top.

She hasn't stopped ranting about how hot the guy I had a meeting with was. “I'd give an arm and a leg just so he could have a drink with me,” she says.

What is wrong with everyone around me?

It's barely nine in the morning and… “Are you going to give my schedule for the day anytime soon?” I ask, trying to avoid the topic.

She's one of the best secretaries I've had, but today I’m in a rare mood and I don’t want to accidentally take it out on her. I'm her boss, though sometimes I treat her like a close friend. Actually, most of the time. Well, except when there is serious business to discuss and when she's messed something up, and I don't want to let her off the hook so easily.

After making her go back to her desk, I resume my work after looking at my schedule.

She comes back a few minutes later.

“Not interested in a chit-chat about Dario,” I tell her immediately as she walks in.

But her expression is different from the one she had in the morning when I walked in.

“Who died?” I ask.

“Nobody, but maybe someone is about to, when she hears this,” she responds.

I look up at her, my finger trembling over my mouse. “Start talking.”

“I have news for you. The Comfort Real Estate contacted Dario, and they've offered him a better deal.”

Oh Crap!