Prologue
Katarina
One Year Ago, Buenos Aires
“One more!”
I pushed the empty glass towards the bartender as the strobe lights set off a pulsing headache that throbbed in time with the beat of the music.
I shouldn’t have been there, let alone on my fourth margarita. But every time I blinked, Sol’s voice echoed in my head.
“It’s a career suicide, Kat. Stick to the projects we give you.”
She blocked the movie I had been wanting to sign for the past year. The one acting role that finally felt meaningful. One I actually resonated with.
“Another one,” I slurred, shoving the empty glass to the bartender, who looked at me like he was terrified of my next move.
He had clearly recognized me. And so did most people in the VIP section of the club. But I didn’t care. I let them stare. Maybe if they saw me like this, the whole“Darling of Argentina”illusion could shatter, and I would finally be allowed to do a rebrand. Then maybe I could finally work on meaningful projects.
I pressed the glass to my lips and drank.
"I think you've had enough,Dolcezza." A man’s low voice appeared beside me, like a devil on my shoulder, and I knew immediately who it was.
Damiano Collarini.
The owner of this club and my brother’s client.
Buenos Aires’s newest eligible bachelor and notorious womanizer.
I met him six months ago at Mateo’s office. He had warned me about him then.“Stay away from him. He’s no good for you.”
But in true Katarina fashion, Mateo’s warning had only made me curious about him. And now, whenever I was about to go off the rails, I ended up here like a stupid moth seeking flame.
I turned, my stool wobbling. The devil was leaning against the bar, his emerald eyes scrutinizing my drunk face, lips twisting to one side. He looked so menacing it was impossible to look away.
“Go away,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying to have fun.”
“I see that. But does your manager know you’re here?” he murmured, stepping into my space and taking the stool beside me, his knees caging me as he took his seat. No qualms at all as he invaded my personal space. And clearly aware of the embarrassing rush of excitement all over my body that even the alcohol couldn’t numb.
He slowly reached for my glass, his big fingers touching mine.
“Nope,” I grinned through my heavy lids and took my glass back. “They don’t need to know,” I whispered before winking at him.
“Oh my, has theDarling of Argentinagone rogue?” His voice turned to a low growl against my ear, making the hairs at my nape stand.
When I looked at him again, his smirk was taunting.
Inviting.
Begging me to act on that stupid, palpable tension that had been hanging around us since the day we met.
And because I was drunk and angry, I reached out, my hands found the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him down to my level.
“¿Por qué siempre me miras así?” He didn't move when I asked why he was looking at me like that.
“Like what?” he asked, playing coy.
“Besame. Solo una vez.”
