FELL FOR THE CEO

The elevator ascent was silent, save for the hum of high-speed cables and the heavy, synchronized breathing of the four men in suits. Lucian Rayne stood at the center of the cabin, a 6’4” pillar of tailored charcoal wool and cold authority. He was staring at the digital floor indicator, his mind already miles away, calculating the fuel-injection specs for the new Rayne-Motorsport prototype. Behind him, squeezed into the corner, stood Ria Gabriel. She was twenty-two, dressed in a simple black blazer that had seen better days, and completely unimpressed. She had spent the last five years in the states, far away from the tabloid obsession with the "Rayne Empire." To her, the man in front of her was just a "stuck-up London skyscraper" in human form. Also she knew the name but did not know the person. Is he actually wearing a three-piece suit on a Tuesday? Ria thought, suppressed a yawn. And four bodyguards for an elevator ride? Talk about an ego. Get me to the 44th floor so I can get this interview over with and get a coffee. The lift chimed. The doors slid open. "Move," one of the bouncers grunted, stepping forward. Ria, eager to get out of the cramped space, tried to slip past the wall of muscle. But as she pivoted, her heel caught the heavy lug sole of the bouncer’s boot. Her balance vanished. "Whoa—!" She pitched forward. Her hands flew out, find no purchase on the slick elevator walls. Her forehead slammed into the rock-hard muscle of Lucian’s thigh before she collapsed onto her knees, her face ending up dangerously close to his belt line. "I—I am so sorry!" Ria gasped, her face turning a violent shade of crimson. "I tripped, I didn't mean to—" She tried to scramble up, but a sharp, agonizing yank at her scalp forced her back down with a cry of pain. "Don't move," a deep, melodic, yet terrifying voice commanded. Lucian Rayne looked down. His first instinct was cold fury. A plant? A girl sent by the paparazzi to create a scandal? He looked at the top of her head—her hair was a waterfall of ink-black silk, smelling unexpectedly of jasmine and actual rain. He looked down and realized the disaster. Several thick strands of her hair had snagged perfectly into the heavy metal teeth of his trouser zipper during her fall. "My hair," Ria whimpered, her eyes watering as she looked up at him from her knees. "It’s stuck." The bouncers let out a low, collective chuckle. Henry, standing by the control panel, looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. "Master Rayne, we’re late for the briefing," Henry whispered. Lucian didn't respond. He was looking at Ria. From his height, the view was... provocative. She was on her knees at his feet, her lips parted in shock, her dark eyes wide and pleading. A sudden, sharp jolt of heat—something he hadn't felt in years—rippled through him. The idea of his men seeing there all stoic Boss getting an arousal infront of them due to a puny little girl made him nauseous, but still his mind wandered. She’s tiny, Lucian thought, his pulse quickening. And she has no idea who I am. She’s looking at me like I’m an inconvenience, even while she’s at my mercy. "Cut it," Lucian snapped, his voice rougher than usual. "Henry, get a knife. Separate her and let's go." One of the guards reached into his coat and produced a tactical folding knife. The steel flickered in the LED lights. "No!" Ria shouted, her voice echoing in the small space. "You are not cutting my hair!" "It is an obstruction," Lucian said coldly. "I have a meeting." "I don't care if you have a meeting with the Pope! This hair took three years to grow. You’re not touching it with a knife!" "It’s on my zipper, girl," Lucian growled, leaning down so his face was inches from hers. "You are currently attached to my person. That makes you the obstruction." "Then unzip them!" Ria retorted, her face flaming. The bouncers went silent. Henry gasped. "Do you have any idea who this is?" Henry asked, stepping forward. "This is Lucian Rayne. He owns this building. He owns the air you're breathing right now." Ria looked up at the "Behemoth" and narrowed her eyes. "I don't care if he's the King of England's long-lost son. There is a law in this city. You cut my hair, I sue you for assault. Now, find a way to get it out without the blade." Lucian stared at her. Most people trembled when he looked at them. This girl, trapped and humiliated on the floor, was baring her teeth at him. God, she’s beautiful when she’s angry, Lucian realized with a start. The arousal he’d felt earlier deepened, a low thrum in his gut. He liked the defiance. He wanted to break it, but he also wanted to reward it. "Give me the knife," Lucian commanded. Ria flinched, her eyes squeezing shut. "Please, no..." "Be quiet, women," Lucian muttered. He didn't use the blade to cut. Instead, he dropped to one knee—a move that shocked his guards. Lucian Rayne didn't kneel for anyone. Now, they were eye-to-eye. He reached out, his massive, warm hand cupping the back of her head to steady her. The moment his skin touched hers, a static shock seemed to jump between them. Ria froze. His hand was heavy, possessive, and smelled of expensive cedarwood. A smell that she found familiar but couldn't find where, then she started remembering that night 6 years ago. "Stay still," he whispered. Pulling her out of her trance. With the other hand, he used the tip of the knife not to cut the hair, but to delicately pry the metal teeth of the zipper apart. His fingers were surprisingly nimble for a man who built jet engines. As he worked, his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of her nape. Ria shivered. Why is my heart racing? He’s a jerk. A rich, arrogant jerk. But up close, his eyes weren't just cold; they were a complex, stormy grey. And he was breathtakingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous. "There," Lucian murmured. The last strand fell free. Instead of pulling away immediately, Lucian lingered. He ran his fingers through the freed lock of hair, feeling the silkiness of it. He gave it a very light, almost imperceptible tug, watching her reaction. Ria’s breath hitched. Lucian stood up in one fluid motion, regaining his stoic composure, though his blood was still singing. He handed the knife back to the guard without looking at him. "Henry," Lucian said, his voice back to its icy professional tone. "Who is she?" "She... she’s one of the interview, sir," Henry stammered. "For the restaurant manager position. The one your grandfather insisted on." Lucian looked down at Ria, who was finally standing up, dusting off her blazer and trying to regain her dignity. "The restaurant," Lucian repeated, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "The failing one." "It’s only failing because you’re ignoring it," Ria snapped, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The bouncers stepped forward, but Lucian held up a hand. He found her lack of fear intoxicating. "You think you can save a ghost, Miss Gabriel?" "I think I can do a better job than someone who tries to solve problems with a tactical knife," she shot back. Lucian felt that spark of arousal flare again. He leaned in, his shadow completely engulfing her. "Go to the dining room. Wait for me there. If you’re late by even a second, I’ll have Henry escort you out." "I’m already here," Ria said, stepping out of the lift as the doors opened again. "Try to keep up, Mr. Rayne." She marched down the hallway without looking back. Lucian watched her go, his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. Henry was right, Lucian thought, a predatory glint in his eyes. Grandfather wanted me to care about the hotel again. I think I just found a reason to take a very personal interest. "Henry," Lucian said, not moving. "Yes, sir?" "Cancel my 11:00 AM with the aviation board. This interview is going to take a while."