Chapter 1
SERAPHINA
PRESENT DAY
I’m here before anyone else, minus the security at the front desk and a few of the cleaning staff from their overnight shift.
I make my way through the skyscraper of a building: all glass, gleaming steel, and perfectly poured concrete make the bulk of my place of employment.
Whereas most people would prefer to be high in the clouds, I’d much rather be on the first floor.
There’s more to see, people to watch, and conversations that linger.
“Good morning, Ms. Seraphina. You’re here earlier than normal,” Harvey, the day shift officer, greets me when I make my way inside.
“Good morning, Harvey. The big guy wants his schedule changed. Therefore, duty calls,” I reply with a small wink.
Truth be told, I also have a report that needs another look and is also the reason I woke up this morning well before my alarm clock blared to life, whereas I’d usually wake up and start the day with a Pilates routine or at the very least a few stretches.
Today, that wasn’t in the cards. The slow drizzle and fogginess clogging my brain meant doing something different.
I sat on the couch with a blanket draped across my lap as I drank a hot cup of lemon water.
The television stayed turned off, my ringer kept on silent, and I only turned on a few soft lamps while I watched the weather change as the sun slowly crept up in the horizon.
“You better be careful. One day, Mr. Montero will hear you call him that.” I shake my head.
Rafe Montero is not the early-bird-gets-the-worm type of guy, he’s more likely to come in around ten o’clock in the morning and leave around the same time at night.
We’re complete opposites in every sense of the word.
“Will do. Have a great day, Harv.”
“You do the same.” I make my way toward the bank of elevators, press the up button, and don’t have long to wait, thanks to being here before any of the other head honchos or their assistants.
I step inside, press the button for the thirty-seventh floor, and the doors close behind me.
Even the elevator is glass, you can see the outside world on one side and the interior of the building on the other.
It’s a little bit disconcerting, especially when you’re on the other side waiting.
What seems like less than a minute later, the doors slide open, and I step out and into the area that houses Rafe Montero’s space. There’re other business entities within the building and on higher and lower floors. I guess it depends on how much you’re willing to spend on the space.
The morning sun spills into the office as I make my way through the sitting area, checking to see what needs to be done for the day.
The few plants look like they’re thriving, the stacks of magazines are perfectly in place, and the coffee station is the only place I’ll have to double-check is fully stocked.
I move to my desk, wishing I could turn down the overhead light.
The fluorescent bulbs they use are harsh on your eyes when you’re staring at a screen all day.
I wake my computer up, slip my purse off my shoulder, place it in the bottom desk drawer, and take my seat.
Even though it won’t do a bit of good, I turn on the small desk light, run my fingers along the petals of the small bouquet of flowers I change out weekly, and look at the stack of untouched reports I need to at least skim before the big guy gets here.
A ridiculous smile stretches across my face as I glance down at my outfit.
The skirt is a classic black pencil skirt, but that’s where the lack of color ends.
My blouse is more than a splash of color against a gray sky.
Silky soft and impossibly vivid, swirls of crimson, coral, fuchsia, and an ember orange look similar to a spray of flowers.
The neckline gives a hint of cleavage while also bolstering a confidence that borders on living on the wild side.
My rolled sleeves are cuffed, giving me an effortless elegance.
I forwent jewelry today and instead paired my outfit with fire-engine-red heels.
Dramatic.
Feminine.
And unforgettable.
My mind instantly locks on him. Rafe Montero, my boss. The human equivalent of a bomb cyclone that brings hurricane-force wind gusts, heavy rains, landslides, and power outages. I rest my chin on the palm of my hand, wrestling with my hopeless thoughts toward him more than I care to admit.
The man is unfair to look at. Tall enough to make everyone around him feel smaller.
Broader than the doorway half the time, a permanent scowl etched into his sharp face like he personally hates the concept of happiness.
Dark hair, slightly messy, as if he drags his hand through it with frustration day in and day out.
Darker eyes, the kind that pin you in place and make you forget your own name.
And, god, his voice—low, rough, with an edge of sleepiness, and every syllable sounds like a warning. Every syllable makes my stomach flip.
I can picture him now, storming off the elevator with his black coffee in hand, jaw tight, annoyance rolling off him in waves because he’s somehow been inconvenienced this early in the morning.
The thought makes me smile wider. I’m sure he’d greet me with a grunt, maybe a glare, and maybe he’d loosen his tie with his long, thick, strong fingers while muttering something beneath his breath.
“Good morning, Sera.” I blink, snap out of my trance as Alex walks by my desk with an amused grin.
“You look entirely too happy this early in the morning. Do you always get here this obscenely early?” Alex works three floors above me, for another wealthy billionaire.
He also happens to be friends with Rafe.
“Do I? We can’t have that. And yes, this is the time I get here every day.” I shrug my shoulders.
“Every day. That’s awfully suspicious.” Before I can respond, the elevator dings. My stomach does a cartwheel, the air in the office shifts, Alex backs away like the traitor she is, and Rafe Montero steps onto the floor.
There he is, black dress shirt rolled to his forearms, charcoal slacks tailored to devastating perfection, muscles tense beneath the fabric, expression fierce, mouth set in a hard line, all while he scans the office space looking for something or someone.
“Why are you smiling like that?” he asks with a gruffness.
“Good morning to you, too, Mr. Montero.” My grin widens, unperturbed at his slight jaw tick.
“How many times have I told you to call me Rafe?” My breath catches. His gaze lands on me for the briefest of seconds, his face softens, then he must realize what he’s doing because he schools his features once again.
“I’m not sure I have that many fingers to use to count.” I go about doing so in a playful manner.
“And you’re cheerful. Why?”
“You’re the second person to ask that today. I had coffee.” He moves a step closer. Clearly, he’s unconvinced.
“You hate coffee.” Every step he takes makes my sanity that much worse. The faint shadow along his jaw, the scent of tobacco and expensive cologne invading my senses. Tiredness lingers beneath his eyes like he didn’t sleep enough. Like always.
“I had a muffin, too. And you’re grumpy, per usual.”
“I’m surrounded by incompetent people, per usual.” I laugh before I can think better of it. Rafe’s eyes narrow on me. I swear there’s the tiniest flicker of amusement hidden there. Tiny. Microscopic. But it exists. “My office,” he grunts. “Ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” He shoots me one last look before turning away, and despite myself, I’m drifting right back into my daydream.