Stranded:The Billionaire Biker And The Chef Next Door.

Two

Dominic:

“This is absurd. Can you believe this ad? You can hardly tell what product they’re promoting. They’ve just slapped some nameless celebrity on it and called it a day.” I said, speaking on the phone with my secretary Caleb, my voice cut through the hum of traffic as I steered the bike around a taxi.

“You’re right, sir. I’ve never seen that guy before.”

“Find out who approved this campaign. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

I shifted gears, the engine snarling beneath me, a reminder that power answered only to control.

Useless ads and over paid nobodies filling boardrooms with empty pitches and weak creativity instead of vision. If Hayes Industries was going to keep dominating, there was no room for mistakes, mediocrity. It demanded pure strategy and impeccable brilliance.

“What’s my schedule for today?” I asked, leaning into the turn as the wind whipped my jacket open.

“You’ve got the second-round interviews for the Marketing & PR Associate at ten a.m sharp, followed by the sign-off on the new superbike prototype at eleven, the engineering team insists it’s ready, but they won’t move without your approval. At one, you’re locked in for the sponsorship meeting regarding the Formula One launch, and PR has flagged your attention on finalizing the expo guest list before the end of day. And one more thing sir, the board is still pressing for confirmation on Milan; they’re not going to let that go.”

“Then reschedule Milan,” I said smoothly, my voice leaving no room for debate as I leaned into the throttle. “Push them to next week. I’ll deal with the board after I’ve seen the sponsors and not a moment before.”

“Yes, sir,”

I ended the call just as my front tire sliced through a puddle, the spray arcing high and catching a pedestrian square on the curb.

It was a red-haired woman.

In the blur of my side mirror, I caught a flash of white silk, now clinging to her curves, and her arms flung upward in a startled protest burned into my side mirror.

A smirk tugged at my mouth beneath the helmet.

New York was always in my way.

The annoying pedestrians, taxis, and endless chaos.

I slowed down, curiosity coiling in my chest. The right thing to do was to stop and apologize, but I didn’t have time for measly good manners.

I needed to stop by a café and get my morning coffee. Instead, she stomped her foot, her chin tilting higher as she glared at me with fire in her eyes.

I zoomed off and headed to the coffee shop where I coincidentally bumped into the red-haired woman.

She looked like a spoiled brat, a superficial daddy's little girl crying over her ruined outfit and demanding an apology.

I have to admit, there was something about this lady that was intriguing. Aside from her round and sexy ass swaying, making me want to get her into my bedroom, she seemed like an interesting f**k, that was for sure. And I liked how she talked back to me.

She headed to the bathroom, maybe to fix her outfit.

But I pushed the door open, craving another bite of her sharp tongue, yet I wasn't prepared for what my eyes landed on. I never thought I would catch a glimpse of her half-naked, but f**k did I enjoy the view.

I took my sweet time, lingering a little longer than necessary before speaking. I was just admiring her without her ever noticing.

I’ve had my fair share of p***y. Tasted so many that by now they had all blended together. Almost faceless women, eager enough to blow me and walk away with no promise for a tomorrow. Baseless one-night stands, one after the other.

I hadn’t even touched this girl yet, and somehow I had already staked a claim I couldn’t fulfill.

Damn, she was the most perfect human being.

Mine.

That word rang in my head in a loop as I looked at her. I hadn’t even asked her name, and yet thoughts of possession had swamped my brain without permission. There was no rhyme or reason to what I was feeling, and still, I was feeling it all.

She had broken my numbness with a severe case of pins and needles, relief and pleasure with a thick baseline of pain.

For damn sure, she was different from all the others. Perfect. So perfect it could only be wrong.

When I finally spoke, she jumped in surprise, covering up, but it was too late. I had f*****g seen it all, and I approved.

Again, I was rock hard without her even trying. Her body, her red hair, her smell, and even that sweet, innocent look that sparkled in her eyes.

Everything about her spoke to me in a deafening volume.

The same red flag was now flashing before my eyes, clear as day, screaming at me to stay away. But she had everything I could ever dare dream of , strength, defiance, a wildness I’d never been able to tame in anyone else. She was temptation made flesh, and no amount of caution could make me look away In one sexy-as-f**k package.

I offered her my shirt because, well, that was the only thing I could think of at the time. She was a feisty one, and she walked out of the bathroom, heading to wherever she was going.

I left the bathroom too, along with half of my brain. I needed to get back to the office ASAP, but not without a fresh cup of coffee. I needed the punch of a straight-up black and sour cup before I had to deal with what was coming. Yet those thoughts that had been burning me inside the whole morning were nothing but a distant whisper. She had taken over my thoughts, overriding everything else.

Maybe I should have just seduced and f****d her in the bathroom and gotten it over with. Get her out of my system.

I focused on the trait of hers I despised the most. The temper tantrum she threw after seeing her ruined clothes told me she was nothing but an airheaded bimbo. Superficial and materialistic.

After a couple of minutes, I had convinced my brain that was all she was.

Little distractions came at a high cost, and I had more pressing matters to attend to. So I hopped on my bike, pulled my leather gloves back on, and zoomed off to Hayes Industries.