I can’t sell out my family’s legacy. Not for money. Not even for a mega fortune. And especially not to the only man who ties me in knots.
I’d never accomplish a damn thing.
Raffael pushes to his feet and prowls the short space between us. “You want those letters.” He stops beside me and leans against the table.
“I want a lot of things.” I smooth a hand down my skirt, fighting the restless energy that comes with his proximity. “And I won’t stop until I get them.”
“Even if it means waiting decades for your father to retire?”
“Even then.” I nod.
It’s my birthright. My inheritance.
CrossPoint might not be a profit powerhouse like the Cavallo Group. But it’s mine. Built by my grandfather and meant to be passed down, not sold out.
“I’m a patient person.” I roll my chair back an inch, bracing to stand.
“Since when?” He offers me a hand with an infuriating smug look.
“Since forever.” I scowl, feigning annoyance when it’s attraction that’s frying my brain cells.
I hate that he can do this to me—make my heart stutter, my thoughts fragment. But my impulsivity is a traitor. My hand slides into his. And the heat of his touch sizzles through my composure.
“I suggest not turning this into a belittling contest.” I lick my painfully dry lips. “You may not act like it, but you have flaws too,Mr. Cavallo.”
“Me? Flawed?” His cocky chuckle infuses heat straight into my veins as he pulls me to my feet, bringing us toe to toe.
“Don’t get me started.”God, please don’t. I can’t think of a single flaw when those sinful eyes gleam with mischief. “I, um…” I clear my throat, needing to fill the cloying silence. My hand slips from his, severing the electric current. “I should go.” I retreat, but the new stilettos betray me. My balance wavers a fraction.
It’s small.
Barely a stumble.
But Raffael catches it—catches me—not allowing the bare second it would’ve taken to right myself before his hands are firm on my hips.
“You okay?” He frowns, any sign of his playfulness now hidden behind concern.
“I’m fine.” My tone is paper thin.
Obviously, I’m nowhere near fine. He’s too close. Too compelling. Too…everything.
His frown deepens, and those gorgeous lips part just enough to make me imagine what they’d feel like on mine.
I drop my gaze before I’m tempted to do something stupid, and focus on the space between us. The alarming proximity. The bare inches separating our bodies.
“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is softer now, his fingers hooking under my chin, tilting my face until I’m staring at him again.
The world narrows to the crackling tension between us, the air too thick to inhale a full breath.
His eyes glance between mine, that furrowed brow relaxing into something dangerously composed.
I place my hands on his chest, adding pressure. “This has been great but…” It’s time to leave. To place distance. To reclaim professionalism.
I swallow over my painfully dry throat, clueless at how to navigate whatever the hell this is.
He feels it too, right? The disorientation? The upheaval?
It’s as if this moment has been a lifetime in the making and resistance is futile.
