Chased

CHAPTER ONE

Ruben

I grip the wheel of my Porsche Carrera, my fingers tightening around the leather, the engine roaring under my control as I navigate the hills of San Francisco. The city is always buzzing in ways I’ve learned to tune out. But today, the weight of the task ahead presses down on me harder than usual.

I’ve been handed the job of convincing the owners to sell a decaying theater in a once-thriving district now slipping into decline after its gilded age. My boss, the man who made my career as a lawyer possible, is the one who wants to buy it. And I’m not in a position to say no. Not when a senior partnership is on the table. Not when every step I take, every move I make, has to count. I’ve worked my ass off to get here, and I’ll be damned if I let anything get in my way. Even after laying it out again, this still makes no sense. I’m not a real estate lawyer. I’m not an acquisitions expert. Those aren’t my lanes. But here I am.

Fuck.

I park my Porsche in front of the theater. The building looks every bit of its age, crumbling at the edges, and the flickering marquee is dying slowly. I’ve seen the numbers. There’s no saving it, no matter how sentimental these people are about the place. It needs repairs that would cost millions. And the owners? They are drowning in debt, barely hanging on, and their hopes are pinned to something no longer viable.

I slide out of the car, my Italian leather shoes tapping against the sidewalk, the weight of my suit jacket pulling at my shoulders. I hate it. I hate that I’m here, but I’ll do what needs to be done. I always do. I’m Ruben Posada, and I win. I win at everything.

I walk up the sidewalk, focusing on the task at hand, when I see her.

She’s standing in front of the box office with a stack of flyers. She’s handing them out to anyone who’ll take one. I don’t know why she stands out so much, but she does. Maybe it’s the fact she’s doing something so old-fashioned. Does she know social media exists? That’s how you do it. But there’s something else about her. Something that pulls my focus.

Red hair.

A vibrant red that catches the light and starkly contrasts with the white, worn-down, painted building behind her.

She’s beautiful, gorgeous even. The kind of woman who’s impossible not to notice. She’s tall and her posture is confident. But the look in her eyes keeps me staring, brown eyes framed by thick eyebrows. More than that, there’s something in them, some fire. And it fucking annoys me.

I don’t need distractions. Not now, not when I’m so close to sealing the deal, making my boss happy, and getting the recognition I deserve—the title of senior partner under my name.

I keep walking, my steps purposeful, my gaze narrowing. I have a job to do, and no one—not some fiery redhead, not some woman handing out flyers—will get in my way.

I reach her, stopping just a few feet away. She doesn’t look up at first, but she can feel me there; I know it. She hands a flyer to an older man, then finally turns her head, meeting my eyes.

For a second, I freeze.

Her eyes aren’t like any I’ve seen before. Light brown, bright and warm. There’s something in them that draws me in, something that makes the air between us crackle with tension, and somehow it makes me feel she’s not just looking at me—she’s seeing through me.

I scowl, pushing the thought away. “Still trying to save a sinking ship?” I ask, my voice low and controlled, but carrying that edge that always puts people on their toes.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look intimidated. Instead, she holds my gaze, her eyes unwavering. She hands another flyer to a woman passing by, then responds, her voice smooth and confident.

“You can’t sink what’s already at the bottom,” she says, her tone almost too calm, too sure. “But when something is precious, you don’t throw stones at it.”

I feel it in my chest. A sharp tug, a flicker of irritation mixed with something else. I can’t place it. She doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know who the hell she’s talking to. But there’s something about her words that gets under my skin.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words feel off, somehow forced. This isn’t the fight I came here for.

“I’m not throwing stones,” I say, my jaw tightening, my grip on my briefcase tightening too. “I’m just making sure the inevitable happens. There is nothing here to be saved.”

We’re engaged in some pissing contest. I can tell she’s fierce. She doesn’t move, but my gaze follows the subtle shift in her posture. The way she stands taller, like she’s gearing up to fight back. Fucking hell, I hate how she’s already gotten under my skin.

“What about the people who love this place?” she asks, her voice still soft, but there’s an edge to it now. A quiet strength. “What about the ones who grew up here? Who has memories here? You think that doesn’t matter?”

I swallow hard, a tiny flicker of doubt starting to creep in. I can’t afford to let that seed be planted in my brain. I can’t let her sway me or let her words cloud my judgment. This is business. Cold. Simple.

“This isn’t about nostalgia,” I say, my voice sharp. “This is business. This place isn’t worth saving. Not for the owners. Not for anyone.”

She smiles, just a little. It’s not a happy smile. It’s more of a knowing one. Like she’s reading me, understanding exactly what I’m trying to do, and somehow, she’s not impressed.

“Business, huh?” she says, almost too casually. “Well, that makes it easier to ignore all the lives this place has touched.”

I feel my chest tighten, a knot forming in my stomach. This is not how this is supposed to go. I’m the one who’s supposed to have the power here. I’m the one with the plan. But she… she’s fighting back. And I don’t like it. I don’t like the way her words make me question everything.

Her eyes lock with mine, unflinching, unwavering. She’s not backing down. And for the first time in a long time, I question everything I thought I knew about this job.

I lean in slightly, my voice low, tight with frustration. “This is business. Nothing more.”

Her gaze is still on mine, and I feel a spark of something—challenge, maybe? Or something darker, more dangerous.

“Then I guess you won’t mind being the one to kill all those memories, will you?” she asks.

The words hit harder than I expected. It’s like a punch to the gut. I feel the sting, but I push it down, forcing myself to stay calm, to keep control. I can’t let her win. Not here. Not now.

“I’m not the villain here,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but loud enough for her to hear. “I’m just doing my job.” And I’m planning to do as I always do. Excel.

She looks at me for a long moment, her lips pressing together as if weighing her response. And then, she nods, her eyes still locked on mine. “I know exactly who you are,” she says quietly, her voice soft but full of quiet defiance. “And I won’t let you take this from us.”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For a second, all I can do is stare at her, at the fire in her eyes, and feel this inexplicable pull. It’s not attraction, not in the way I usually feel when I see a woman. No, this is something else. Something… unsettling. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I step back, trying to shake off the lingering tension. I need to focus. I need to get my head in the game. This is business. I tell myself that again, but it doesn’t seem to help.

“I’m not the enemy here,” I say, trying to sound convincing. But even to my ears, the words fall flat. I’m not convincing myself, and I damn sure can’t convince her.

I turn away from her, my feet carrying me toward the theater entrance. But I know, deep down, that this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. I’ve made my decision. I’ve already made the call. But something about her—how she challenges me—tells me this battle isn’t as easy as I thought.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what scares me the most.