The Devil's Desire
Chapter 3
LUCIANA
The distaste I feel must be evident on my face, because he frowns in irritation. “I am just trying to help, Luciana!”
“I don’t need it.” I’m on the verge of losing the battle against my anger. What makes him think he has the right to strut into this building like he owns it, order my staff around, and tell me what to do?
My family’s company may be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, but that doesn’t justify any of his actions. Maybe I would be more willing to accept a lending hand if the man offering it wasn’t the same one I found rolling in bed with a real estate agent in the very house we were supposed to move into.
I would rather make a deal with the devil.
He’s looking at me like I’m the unreasonable one, as though I should be overjoyed to get help from him. He sighs in frustration and says, “Look, Luciana. I know what I did was wrong, and I have apologized for it a thousand times.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.
“Are you going to let your parents’ hard work go to waste just because you don’t want to speak to me?”
What I don’t want is to stare at the man who betrayed everything we had and called it a ‘one-time mistake’, but whatever floats his boat. I cross my arms. “We will get clients soon enough.”
The chortle that leaves his mouth must have been unintentional. He covers his mouth awkwardly but can’t take it back, so he clears his throat. “What clients? Everyone is checking out listings online these days. It would be best if you sold what is left of VRE and—”
Sofia interrupts by opening the door, thankfully. She pokes her head in. “Luciana, there’s a Mr. Morata here to see you. I can’t find his name on the booking list, but he swears he made an appointment online with you.”
I shoot a look at my perplexed ex. “You were saying?”
He huffs, swiping imaginary lint off the shoulder of his cashmere sweater. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from responding to his jinx.
“Yeah, sure.” I roll my eyes. Why did I ever think I’d struck the jackpot with him? I must have messed with a higher power in my previous incarnation to receive this kind of retribution. “I hope you remember your way out. I have an important client to tend to.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but the look I shoot him shuts him up.
‘Don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out.’
I return to my emails—my inbox may be empty, but I would rather answer non-existent messages than listen to Vicente.
When the door opens again, I’m on the verge of groaning when I look up and realize Vicente is not back as I feared. An Adonis is standing before me, looking dashing in a crisp, black three-piece suit. He stands there wordlessly for a while, making me wonder if he mistook my office for a modelling agency—he certainly looks like a model, even if he is dressed like one of those imposing lawyers I’ve had to deal with lately.
The thought of yet another lawyer makes me want to curse. What is it this time?
I don’t have it in me to be friendly. “May I help you, sir?”
“I need a house as soon as possible,” he says.
I’m about to tell him to hand over whatever legal documents he has when my brain registers what he just said. A what?
Sofia did say someone booked an appointment with me. Unless my sanity is farther gone than I thought, we haven’t had anyone ask about us, leave alone book an appointment.
I try my luck nonetheless. “Mr. Morata?”
“That seems to surprise you.” He cracks a smile.
He should do that often.
On second thought, he shouldn’t. I’m already having enough lapses in my brain’s functionality without factoring in the sight of man who looks like a walking aphrodisiac.
His brown hair is neatly combed back, save for a few strands that hang over his face right beneath his brows. They must have defied whatever overpriced pomade he used, but they add charm to his already heaven-defying looks.
I find myself lost in his looks for a tad longer than is professionally acceptable before I remember my manners and stand. I circle my desk and offer my hand in greeting.
“There was a slight mix-up. I’m sorry.”
He casts those ocean-blue eyes at me, making me shiver slightly, although I’m sure it’s quite warm in the office. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Miss…?”
“Luciana Vargas,” I supplement.
He shakes my hand, and I have to pretend not to notice how his hand covers mine. He is much taller than me, so I look up to meet his eyes. Our gazes lock for a few heartbeats, my hand still in his. He doesn’t look like he has any intention of letting go anytime soon.
Not that I’m complaining, but we have to get started on finding that house if there’s any chance to get the job done today.
He lets go of my hand just as I’m about to retract it, so I offer the visitors’ seat opposite my chair. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Morata.”
He still looks imposing when he sits, and I’m beginning to question how my brain will function while looking at that handsome face.
“Thank you, Miss Vargas.”
There’s something odd about the way he says my name, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.
I take out a writing pad and click my pen as I ask, “Tell me about yourself.”
I wait a few moments for him to speak and look up when I don’t hear a response, only to find him staring at me with that charming smile.
“Why do you need to get to know me? Your job is to find me a house.”
“This is how I do my job. I have to know details that will help me pair you with the perfect house.”
He pushes his chair back and stands, making me wonder what I did to shoo this one off so fast. All I did was ask one question.
Seeing my confusion, he explains as he heads to the left side of my office, my mini-resting lounge, sparsely furnished with a couch and coffee table. “The chair is too stiff, and you did tell me to make myself comfortable.” He slouches on the couch and kicks his legs up on the armrest, crossing them at his ankles.
‘Get your legs off—’ I don’t finish my thought. Clients can have their quirks sometimes, and this man could be the key to saving Vargas Real Estate. Besides, those perfectly polished shoes probably cost twice as much as the couch.
Once he is as comfortable as he prefers, he flashes me a goofy grin. “You were saying something, Miss Vargas.”
I’m lost for words. I may not be a fortune teller, but I know this is going to be an intense roller coaster.
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