Chapter 2 Emma
Walking into Luca Walker’s office is a terrible idea.
Which, of course, is why I did it in four-inch heels and my most strategic pink blazer.
My sister warned me, “You’re not over him, Em.”
And I lied to her face. Then I lied to myself.
And now I’m here, sweating under full AC, listening to my boss, Chad, pitch our company like it’s a dating profile while Luca watches us with that look.
That look. Half amused, half insulted, and 100% unbothered.
Luca Walker—tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of controlled posture that makes a boardroom feel like his personal arena.
Short dark hair, eyes dark blue that don’t miss a thing.
He’s Miami sun dressed in storm clouds, all precision and patience, the kind of man who never needs to raise his voice to own the room.
God, I hate that it still does something to me.
I let Chad ramble—because one, he’s my boss, and two, I already told him this strategy was going to crash and burn. If Luca’s the one doing the interviewing, he’s not going to fall for flashy mission statements and startup jargon. He wants substance. Precision. Control.
Which is funny, because if anyone knows how good Luca is at control, it’s me.
He’s leaning back in his chair now, long fingers steepled, watching Chad like he’s grading a group project presentation from hell. Occasionally, he glances at me like he knows I’m dying inside and is enjoying every second of it.
I pretend I don’t notice. I’ve gotten very good at pretending.
“Hold up,” Luca says, raising a hand in that slow, casual wave people use when they don’t remember your name but want you to say it for them.
“Chad,” he offers, like he’s meeting a royal.
“Chad,” Luca repeats, lips twitching at the corners. “I have a question for you.”
Oh no.
“Of course,” Chad says, straightening his spine like a proud peacock.
“Are you trying to sell me your company?”
Boom. There it is.
Chad chokes on air. I shoot him a don’t-look-at-me-I-tried-to-warn-you glance.
“N-no,” he says, giving the fakest polite laugh I’ve ever heard. “Just giving context.”
“Then stop wasting my time with its backstory,” Luca replies, cutting through the room like a blade. “I’m here for ideas. Her ideas.” His eyes lock onto mine like a missile.
Oh. God.
I sit up straighter. My mouth is suddenly dry, and I can feel every molecule of air between us.
“Mr. Walker,” I say carefully. And just like that—snap—his attention sharpens. All of it. It’s terrifying and electrifying.
And completely, completely unfair.
He doesn’t speak, but the silence wraps around me, dense and charged. The last time he looked at me like this, I was seventeen, and the only thing between us was a secret we didn’t know how to keep.
“You’re right,” I say, somehow keeping my voice steady. “Let’s start the presentation.”
“Thank you,” he replies—cool, clipped, unreadable.
I rise and walk to the screen, my heels clicking like a metronome counting down to personal disaster. I can feel him watching me. Not just watching—studying.
I chose this outfit like armor. Pale pink suit, soft white blouse, heels that kill. Because when you’re facing Luca Walker for the first time in almost twelve years, you need every illusion of power you can get.
He used to look at me like I was both the sin and the salvation. Now? He looks like judgment day. I take a breath and start clicking through the slides.
Don’t look at him. Don’t even glance. I focus on Chad—coward’s move—but one look at Luca already twisted my stomach into some very complicated origami.
He hasn’t moved. Not a muscle. He’s marble now. Marble with a beard and a suit and the kind of expression that makes me second-guess my entire life.
Still beautiful. Still him.
“We want to convey elegance with Property Group Florida,” I say, guiding us through a carefully curated series of beachfront homes, sleek penthouses, and Miami Luxury. All of it was tailored to impress him.
“Take me back,” he says, his jaw set, eyes narrowing at the screen.
I freeze.
“W-what?” I stammer, my lips parting before I can stop them.
“Back to the last slide.” His gaze flicks to me, sharp and impatient, the faint crease between his brows deepening.
I click, pulse pounding.
“There,” he says, his mouth barely curving—not a smile, more like the ghost of one. “Stop.”
The slide is a modern mansion, concrete, glass, clean lines against a perfect sunset.
“That’s my house,” he says.
Oh. Oh no.
“That’s… seriously?” I mean, yeah, I pulled it off Google like twenty-four hours ago, but what are the odds?
Chad laughs, like this is some quirky anecdote for a networking brunch. “What a coincidence!”
Luca doesn’t laugh. “Don’t use my house for advertising,” he says, voice like ice cracking across a lake.
I should explain. Say it was random. Instead, I smile tightly. Professionally. “So… does that mean we’re working together, Mr. Walker?”
His eyes narrow. Something flickers behind them—something I used to know. Then… that smirk. That damn smirk. The one that once made me forget how to breathe.
He leans back, still calm, still in control. “Finish your pitch first, Emma,” he says.
The way he says my name sounds nothing like goodbye.