Her choice

Chapter 2; Ava

Xavier didn’t come back to his office that day. And don’t get me wrong—I was f*ck*ng glad. Because now he knows. He knows that I’m all hot and bothered for him.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? This isn’t right. There’s nothing normal about this. He’s my boss.

My head throbbed from the stress, and panic twisted in my chest. How am I going to face him again? Should I just start looking for another job?

That last thought made me breathe—like really breathe. It was probably the smart thing to do. I grabbed my purse and bolted to my car. It was closing time anyway, and I needed to get the hell out of there.

I called Diego as soon as I started the engine.

“Wrong time, baby. I’ll call you back,” he answered, his voice rushed.

There was no way. I didn’t care if he was balls deep in someone.

“You home?” I snapped.

“Uh… n—No,” he stammered.

“Good. I’ll see you in fifteen.” I hung up before he could make up more excuses.

When I got to his place, I didn’t bother knocking. I was sure I’d just interrupted something—he probably had someone naked and panting on his couch. Lucky him. At least he is having some action.

“Diego?” I called as I stepped into the living room. It was spotless, Diego was the most neat and organized person I knew. It gets too much sometimes, I think he is sick in the head or something.

“Someone better be dead, Ava,” he called from somewhere inside.

“Yup,” I replied, popping the "P."

He walked in wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low on his hips, his hair still wet. Diego was exactly my type—tan, lean, cut like a model. That sharp V-shape below his abs? God. He was hot. Not in that intimidating, jaw-clenching way like Xavier, but in a way that felt my level of hot. I can handle him hot.

Because let’s be honest—Xavier was way out of my league.

“One, stop looking at me like that,” Diego said, still irritated.. “God, you need to get some action.” he said, noticing me drooling on him.

Tell me about it. I dragged my eyes away from his body.

“And two, who died?” he asked, walking to the fridge like he hadn’t just made my ovaries weep. Dehydrated b*st*rd.

“Me. Can’t you see? I’m basically a corpse,” I said, grabbing the bottle of water he handed me and flopping down on the sofa.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting beside me, brows raised.

“Remember the job you offered me a while back? Is it still on the table?” I gave him the best puppy eyes I could manage.

He rolled his eyes. “Baby, that was like three months ago.”

Was it? I followed him as he headed upstairs.

“What’s going on?” he asked, rummaging through his absurdly organized closet. The man was so clean he made me feel like a mud puddle.

“I just… need a job,” I said simply.

He turned around, gripped my shoulders, and sat me on the edge of the bed. His tone changed—lower, serious.

“What happened? I’m not asking a third time, Ava.” He said, kneeling on one knee in front of me.

So I told him. Everything. And God, did I feel f*ck*ng embarrassed saying it out loud. He looked at me, lips twitching, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Do not f*ck*ng laugh, Diego,” I warned, glaring.

He chuckled anyway. “It was about time he noticed.”

“What the f*ck do you mean by that?”

“Well, Ava… your ‘please f*ck me’ eyes aren’t exactly subtle.”

“You’re not helping,” I hissed, my face burning.

“Relax. You don’t need a new job—unless he fires you, which I highly doubt, by the way.” It was almost like he was talking to himself. He went back to his closet.

“Then do tell, Dr. Phil. What do I need?”

He smirked. “You need a d*ck.”

I stared at him. Xaviers, d**k. I thought. My mind went straight to the memory. My face flushed.

“Jesus, Ava” he said, reading my face like a d*mn open book.

I groaned. At some point, he had gotten dressed, and I’d missed the whole show. Now he was in a navy-blue suit, vest and all, looking like someone off a GQ cover. He always dresses like this but somehow I am always shocked.

“Where the hell are you going?” I asked.

“Remember Augustus?”

I blinked. Hard to forget—with a name like that? A smile tugged at my lips when I realized what I must’ve been thinking.

“Well,” Diego said, pulling on his jacket, “I thought the old man would’ve died of old age by now, but guess what? He just beat cancer.”

I’d seen the news. Augustus was part of one of the most powerful, filthy-rich families in town. Owned half the hotels and buildings in the city. His cancer diagnosis had sent shockwaves through the city, even tanked some shares—including in our company. So the recovery was big news.

“Well, that’s… good, right?” I said, arching a brow.

Augustus was Diego’s father. Not by blood, not in the traditional sense. They didn’t live together. Never had a family dinner. But when Diego was fourteen, Augustus adopted him from our foster care, sent him to boarding school, then college. Now Diego lived on his own and managed four of the city’s biggest resort-hotels—directly under Augustus, Diego always said that man wasn’t his father. He says he is just an investor. And that was more complicated than it sounded. Because when you invest in something you expect something in return.

The investor definitely suited the man.

The funny thing was, whenever I saw Augustus on the news or heard his name in some business scandal, I always forgot he was technically the father of my best friend.

“So, his wife planned a welcome home party. Pretty big one,” Diego said, fixing the final button on his vest. “You’re dressed for it,” I replied, eyeing him with zero shame. D*mn, this man was a vision—dangerous, devilish beauty in the flesh. “Well, come on. We’re heading to your place so you can change, and then you’re coming with me,” he said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “What?” “We’re gonna get you some action,” he winked. Yes but he was also taking me so there will be at least one person he is comfortable with at that party.

We drove in separate cars, side by side. It took me forty minutes to get ready. Twenty of those minutes were spent yelling at each other through the bathroom door. Diego was screaming at me to hurry up, and I was yelling right back at him to shut up. Just when I was about to hop into my own car, he stopped me. Told me to get in his. “You are not driving in that dress,” he said . good idea. Now I can get drunk at the party without worrying about driving back. Plus I loved his Porsche. It was s*xy. It smelled like him—clean, expensive, and so f*ck*ng sinful.