Chapter 7 Luca
The second I step into my house; I move with purpose.
The library.
It’s tucked just beyond the glass-walled living room, where the Atlantic stretches wide and restless, like a living creature that never sleeps. My shelves lined with first editions and relics from places I’ve escaped to, only to come back here.
Whenever life gets chaotic—when the mental earthquakes start rumbling—I always return to my anchor: Stoic philosophy.
People think stoicism is about numbing your emotions, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The real aim is to strip away destructive emotions and cultivate the ones that keep you grounded.
So, when someone calls me cold or calculating, what they’re actually seeing is a man who refuses to let negativity poison his bloodstream.
Or at least… that’s who I used to be.
I pick up Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. The worn-down spine and damaged pages give away how often I’ve turned to it.
Stripping off my clothes one layer at a time, I head toward the back of the house.
The glass doors slide open to a stretch of manicured stone patio, infinity pool glimmering like liquid sapphire, and beyond that—my own strip of sand.
Palms sway lazily in the salt-heavy breeze, and the gated dunes keep the world at bay.
The Atlantic is right there, loud and endless, mine alone.
I drop into a lounge chair with nothing but black pants rolled up to my ankles and the weight of today pressing down on my shoulders.
I need to read. I need to remember who the hell I am. Because today? Today was brutal. I didn’t handle my need to see her the way I thought I would. When she walked in, all sunshine and sweetness, and gave me that effortlessly innocent “Hi,” I panicked and blacked out the windows in my office.
As if cutting off the view could somehow cut off the feeling.
It didn’t work. She couldn’t see me, but I could see her. And that was the problem.
I hated how composed she looked. Confident, competent. Laughing with her team like nothing was heavy, like work was a breeze. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get through a single meeting without glancing up every five minutes to check what she was doing.
I spent the entire day holed up like a hermit, trying to convince myself I was above it. That I could handle it. But by late afternoon, I found myself walking into her office like a man possessed just to watch her work. Just to see the woman she’s become.
I tried to outwit her, push her buttons, maybe even humble her a little… but I couldn’t.
I’ve always been weak when it comes to Emma Green. Apparently, some things don’t change.
I take a deep breath of salty air, letting the rhythm of the waves fight the noise in my head. I flip open the book, landing on the page I knew I needed. The line I’ve underlined in faded yellow.
You must always remember that the attention you give to any action should be in due proportion to its worth. —Marcus Aurelius
So then why the hell am I giving so much of my attention to someone who doesn’t deserve to have value in my life?
She doesn’t.
She can’t.
I can’t afford to fall for Emma Green again.
This is unhealthy. I can’t keep doing this.
That pair of pants should be banned from the office.
Emma always had this effortless way of looking incredible—even in sweatpants. Today, she’s got me sighing into my morning coffee as I watch her from behind the glass wall of my office. Another sleepless night, another caffeine-fueled Emma-induced trance.
It’s been a week since she started working here, and I’m not even surprised she already knows half my staff by name. Emma’s always been that kind of person—a charming, social butterfly. The kind of woman who walks into a room and leaves people smiling like they’ve known her forever.
I never understood why someone like her would want to spend time with someone like me.
Back in high school everyone knew her. Everyone adored her. Meanwhile, I was old money and a permanent scowl. People tolerated my attitude because of my last name, not because they liked me.
Focus, Luca. You have work to do.
Mr. Eyre requested a meeting this afternoon. He wants a house in the Keys. All I have to do is point to the one he’s going to buy.
Am I good at my job? Absolutely. Do I enjoy it? Eh. It doesn’t make me miserable… but it doesn’t make me feel alive either.
What I really wanted was to study philosophy. Maybe become a professor. But my father had a different idea for me, so here I am… selling homes to the rich and famous.
At least it pays enough for a beach house, a private shore, and total silence.
…And loneliness.
…And superficial flings.
…And existential emptiness.
Fun.
Well, that was the plan, anyway. But Emma Green, as usual, showed up and lit a match in my soul without even meaning to. Not in a good way, either.
Because I’ve learned my lesson. Emma Green has the emotional firepower to shatter me.
She did it once, and if I’m not careful, she’ll do it again.
I have to remind myself of that all the damn time.
Because my body forgets. It orbits her like nothing ever happened.
Like she didn’t walk away and leave me completely wrecked.
My phone rings. I snap out of it and return to my desk. “Brenda,” I answer, scrolling through emails.
“Mr. Walker,” she chirps—way too cheerful, which automatically irritates me. “Mr. Eyre is here, but…”
“But?” I repeat, not hiding my impatience.
“He’s… in the Great Ideas team room.”
My head jerks up. And sure enough, there he is—Marco Eyre—with a hand on Emma’s shoulder, smiling like he just discovered the cure for aging. “What the fuck…”
I set the phone down and rise from my chair without another word. Brenda’s voice continues on the other end, but I’m already halfway to the door, walking fast and furious toward the scene.
By the time I step into the Great Ideas workspace, I can hear him—talking to my Emma like they’re old friends.
I mean—Emma. Just Emma.
“Oh! Luca!” Eyre beams, trying to wave me into the conversation. Emma looks tense. The rest of the team is smiling through clear discomfort.
“Mr. Eyre,” I say calmly, approaching. My eyes flick from his hand still resting on her shoulder to her expression. Easy, Luca. She’s not yours anymore.
“I didn’t know you were working with the talented Emma Green.”
“You two know each other?” I ask with a polite, not-at-all-jealous smile.
“Oh, yes! She’s the reason my daughter’s company is raking in millions. So, rest easy—you’re in excellent hands.” He pats her shoulder like she’s a golden retriever and not the woman who’s been living in my head rent-free since I was seventeen.
“I’m sure,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “That’s why she’s here.”
Not because I’m still obsessed with her. No. Definitely not.
“Well,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “it was lovely seeing you, Emma.” He starts to back away, but not before adding, “Oh! I’m throwing a party on my yacht this weekend. My daughter will be there too. You’re all invited.”
She turns to the team; one brow lifted in a silent question. Their faces light up instantly thrilled grins, barely containing excitement, the kind of buzz that says did that really just happen? A couple of them exchange wide-eyed looks, already imagining themselves on a yacht.
Emma smiles. “Thank you, Mr. Eyre. We’ll be there.”
“I’ll have my assistant send you the details,” he says.
I glance back at Emma once more and notice her cheeks flushed. That same tell when something rattles her.
On the way to my office, practically herding Eyre along, I study him from the side. Fifty-something. Clean-cut. A few silver hairs perfectly styled. Custom-tailored light gray suit. Wealth bled off of him.
Would Emma go for someone like that? Has she? Could I make him disappear without being caught? Stop it. Breathe. You are not Dexter.
We reach my office, and I sit across from him, barely holding it together. “What?” I ask, catching his stupid little smirk.
“You’re no fool, Luca,” he says, glancing toward the glass wall that looks out onto Emma’s workspace.
“I’m not following.”
He chuckles like we’re in on some shared joke. That’s the thing with men like Eyre—just because we both have balls and a dick, they assume we share perspective. If he knew I was imagining dunking his hand in acid, he might not smile so smugly.
“You’ve got a view of her from your desk.”
My jaw clenches. My blood’s starting to bubble. Maybe we do think alike. And that’s what’s pissing me off.
“Are you here to invest,” I ask coolly, “or to hit on the women in my office?”
He chuckles again, crossing one leg over the other. “Hard to resist, Walker. But you’re right. Let’s get to it.”
We spend the next ninety minutes going over his lifestyle, goals, and what kind of property fits his absurdly specific standards.
Marco Eyre is your textbook Miami mogul—twice divorced, four kids from four different women, loves nightclubs and brunches equally. He wants a home that can do both: accommodate family and host parties that piss off neighbors.
That narrows things down by about forty percent.
Normally, I wouldn’t waste my time with a client like him. I have agents who handle people like Eyre. But I met him at the marina last week and promised I’d take care of him personally.
Now that I know he knows Emma, I’m grateful to keep him on a short leash.
“Well then,” he says, standing and buttoning his jacket, “just let me know when we can start viewing properties.”
I rise with him, shaking his hand firmly. “Tell me,” I say casually, “do you only invite the pretty faces to your yacht?” You really think I’m leaving Emma alone with you?
He smirks. “Nah, ugly bastards like you are welcome too.” His laugh is fake, and his grip loosens. “We’re sailing Saturday morning.”
“And the plan?”
“Head north. But, hey, I’m unpredictable. Might change course just for the fun of it.”
Yeah. I know. The marina staff hates him for that ‘unpredictability.’ He’s got a superyacht that holds fifty people. Me? I’ve got a sailboat meant for one.
Just the way I like it.
Brenda opens the door, sensing the meeting’s wrapped up.
As Eyre walks out, he flashes a final smile. “See you Saturday.”
I nod once. Now I just have to figure out how to crash a yacht party with Emma Green aboard… and not completely lose my mind.