Guns.
High-end, military-grade guns.
And I’m here to make sure the Vipers—Viper Enterprises, our company, our empire of lawyers and killers in suits—don’t get sued. Or arrested. Or slapped with a cease-and-desist from the U.N.
Easy enough.
At least, it should be.
But the problem?
My brain refuses to stay on the paperwork.
Every time I see him—every time he leans back in that damn chair, sleeves rolled up, wristwatch gleaming like temptation—I lose my place.
My thoughts slide right into the gutter like they pay rent there.
I imagine his hands on me—strong, commanding, warm.
His mouth tracing the same lines my tattoos follow, claiming every curve.
I imagine his breath on my throat, his name on my lips, his body crowding mine against the boardroom wall like a scene that belongs in a scandalous HR report.
And when he looks at me—that sneaky, little flirtatious side eye he thinks no one else sees—I feel something snap tight and hot inside my chest.
A pull.
The kind you don’t admit to.
The kind that ruins even the best-laid plans.
The kind that feels like fate wearing a bespoke suit and a smirk.
And I know—I freaking know—nothing in my life is staying simple after this.
He’s dangerous. Sexy. Watchful. Secretive.
And that’s just like catnip to me.
He’s a mystery I want to unravel. A puzzle I want to solve.
And those golden brown eyes? They promise something my body seems right on board with.
I tell myself to focus.
To stay professional.
To remember who I am.
But the truth is, I’m not sure I want to.
Because Atlas James Stavros might be the most beautiful mistake I’ll ever make.
Prologue Two-Atlas
It's the middle of winter, and New York smells like rain and ambition.
Two things I understand all too well.
