Sparks Fly
1524 Words
Travis woke up to a pounding headache and the faint smell of whiskey.
The first thing his mind conjured wasn’t the usual blur of a party or a woman’s name…
It was her.
That furious woman with coffee-stained sleeves and fire in her eyes.
The one who slapped a model, insulted him, and drove off with his car like she owned it.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “I’m dreaming about her?”
No. He wasn’t dreaming. Isla Simmons had burned herself into his mind, and it wasn’t fading.
Downstairs, Bianca Rossi’s voice hit him before he reached the kitchen.
“Travis! Why is there a cheap-looking car in the garage?”
He yawned, ignoring the sting of her tone. “Morning to you, Mother.”
She crossed her arms. “I asked you a question.”
He grabbed a glass of water, unbothered. “No idea. Must’ve followed me home.”
“Travis Alexander…”
“Relax,” he said lazily, brushing past her. “It’s temporary.”
The garage was silent except for the faint hum of luxury engines.
And there it was, her car. Old, ordinary, completely out of place.
He slid into the driver’s seat, leaned back, and took in the scent she left behind.
Soft. Clean. Sharp. Just like her.
A small card lay on the dashboard.
Isla Simmons…Attorney at Law.
He looks at the company name and doesn’t recognize the law firm.
He stared at it for a beat, lips curving.
“Attorney, huh? No wonder she talks like she’s ready to sue me.”
But it wasn’t just that. Something about her, her defiance, her nerve, had hooked him in a way that no woman ever had.
He wasn’t used to being ignored. And Isla had done just that… spectacularly.
Ten minutes later, Travis stood under the shower, water hitting his skin while his mind refused to let her go.
Most mornings, he woke up to strangers, luxury, and noise. But now, all he could think of was a woman who didn’t want a damn thing from him.
He grinned to himself.
He’d met hundreds of women. But none like her.
And if fate was kind,
he’d meet Isla Simmons again.
Only this time, she wouldn’t be the one driving away.
—
The office buzzed with chatter the moment Isla pulled into the parking lot.
It wasn’t every day she rolled in behind the wheel of a Lamborghini.
“Isla, whose car is that?”
“Wait, did you rob a billionaire?”
“Girl, did you get a sugar daddy?”
She ignored them all, clutching her briefcase tighter and pretending not to hear the questions that followed her straight into the building. She’d barely had coffee, her head was pounding, and the last thing she needed was a chorus of nosy coworkers dissecting her life.
She dropped her bag on her desk and opened her laptop like nothing was happening.
But, of course, everyone was staring.
“Okay, fine,” she snapped finally. “It’s not mine. It’s temporary. Can everyone please get back to work before I lose my mind?”
The interns scattered, whispering behind their screens.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair, opened her briefcase and began her work. Sorted out files for the day’s work and cases. Her day couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Until it did.
Because a few seconds later, the sound of screeching tires tore through the parking lot. Loud. Aggressive. Like a challenge.
Everyone froze.
Then someone by the window gasped, “Holy…Isla, there’s a guy out there. And he’s…he’s hot.”
Isla’s stomach dropped.
Oh, no.
“He’s definitely looking for you,” one of the paralegals whispered. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“My goodness, that’s where she got the super expensive car from.”
She glared. “Do I look like someone who has time for that?”
But when she stood and walked to the window, her breath caught.
Travis Rossi was striding across the parking lot like he owned the building.
Sunglasses. Black shirt. Confidence dripping from every step.
And damn him, he looked even better sober.
The entire office was pressed against the glass, watching.
By the time her boss, Mr. Keaton, appeared at her doorway, he looked ready to burst from excitement.
“Isla! You didn’t tell me you had connections!” he beamed. “That’s Travis Rossi…the Rossi heir! What an honor to have him here!”
Isla felt her jaw tighten. “Oh, it’s not…”
But before she could finish, Travis himself appeared in her doorway, removing his sunglasses with that lazy smirk that made her skin prickle.
“Afternoon, sweetheart,” he drawled.
The office went dead silent.
Keaton, still giddy, immediately extended a hand. “Mr. Rossi! Welcome, welcome! What brings you…”
“Business,” Travis said smoothly, not taking his eyes off Isla. “With her.”
Keaton’s grin widened. “Of course, of course! Ms. Simmons is one of our finest. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
The door closed behind them.
Isla didn’t move. “You’ve got five seconds to explain what you’re doing here before I call security.”
Travis slipped his hands into his pockets, his tone calm, teasing. “Came to return something.”
“My car?”
He tilted his head. “You mean the one you stole?”
Her eyes flashed. “You were drunk. I was doing the city a favor.”
He chuckled, low and deep. “You’re feisty when you’re self-righteous. It’s cute.”
“Don’t call me cute.”
“Fine,” he said, stepping closer. “Beautiful, then.”
“Don’t call me that either.”
He grinned, unfazed. “You drive like a thief, argue like a lawyer, and still look like sin in heels. Tell me, Isla, what can I call you?”
Her pulse spiked, but she masked it with a glare. “You can call your lawyer when I sue you for harassment.”
He laughed softly, closing the space between them.
She could smell his cologne…clean, rich, intoxicating.
He leaned in just enough to make her breath hitch. “You left something in my car,” he murmured. “Your scent.”
Her heart stuttered. “You’re disgusting.”
He smiled. “Maybe. But tell me you don’t feel this.”
Her body betrayed her—heat curling low in her stomach, breath catching. His presence was overwhelming. Dangerous. Addictive.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering just a second too long. “I could buy you another car. Hell, two. But something tells me you’d still find a way to drive me crazy instead.”
With one swift move, he pulled her close to him and wrapped his hands around her waist. He further slowly lifted her chin to face him, their noses almost touching.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Isla almost let herself fall into that pull.
Almost.
Then she caught herself and shoved him back. Hard.
“Get. Out.”
His grin faltered, but the amusement never left his eyes. “You’re not like the others,” he said quietly. “They all want something. You…” He tilted his head, watching her. “You just want me gone.”
“You’re very perceptive,” she said coldly. “Now leave before I call the cops.”
He hesitated, studying her face, then stepped back with a smirk.
“As you wish, counselor.”
He walked out, leaving the faintest trail of his scent behind.
Isla pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath.
Damn him.
Because for a second there, just one second, she had wanted him to stay.
—
Isla exhaled, forcing herself to stay calm. Her pulse was still racing, her hands trembling against the edge of the desk. He was gone. Finally.
She took one step toward the door, and it swung open again.
Mr. Keaton burst in, red-faced and breathless, grinning like he’d won the lottery.
“Oh Isla!”
She froze. “What now?”
“You won’t believe this,” he said, nearly shaking with excitement. “We just got a call from the board. Apparently, the firm’s new investor finalized the deal this morning.”
“Investor?” she repeated, frowning.
Keaton nodded eagerly. “Travis Rossi. He bought controlling shares.”
The air left her lungs.
Keaton laughed, oblivious. “Can you imagine? Our firm, backed by the Rossi empire. We would be working closely with him from now on.”
Her heartbeat roared in her ears.
And then, like a nightmare come to life, a deep, familiar voice slid through the doorway, smooth, dark, and amused.
“Actually,” Travis said, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, that same infuriating smirk curving his lips,
“I’d say she already works for me.”
Isla’s blood ran cold.
He met her eyes, gaze slow and deliberate. “Told you we’d see each other again, counselor.”
- Writer
