Stepping out of the arrivals hall, Ana Carter fumbled for her phone like she always did—dramatic, dramatic—and scrolled for her best friend's number. Four years away and she was finally back. Her chest did a ridiculous mix of excitement and nervous guilt, like confetti in a pressure cooker.
Across the road a black limousine waited. Behind the tinted glass, a pair of dark eyes fixed on her like she owed them rent. The stare made her shiver. She tried to avert her gaze. She failed spectacularly. The window slowly rolled up, cutting off the view.
"What a rude man!" she muttered, very loudly for someone trying to be subtle.
Three men in black suits were scanning the area like an overzealous security-themed boy band. Her heart did a small, dramatic flip when she recognized one — Lucas Zhang, her late father's secretary. Time had sprinkled grey in his beard, but Lucas still looked disturbingly composed. Teenage Ana had had a crush on him once; she'd confessed and gotten laughed at like a sitcom plot. Even Dad had rolled his eyes. She'd been called childish then. Here she was again, still annoyingly small in everyone's eyes.
"Young miss?" a voice snapped her back to the present.
"Uhnn…" she answered automatically, because she is always slow on the uptake in front of dramatic entrances.
"She's the one," another voice said. Oh. Wonderful. They somehow knew she was back. How did the airport Wi-Fi leak her location?
Across the road the limo stayed put. The man with the dark eyes hadn't moved. If I go to him for help… would he help me? she wondered, eyebrows raising like an internal cartoon.
Decision made, Ana marched across the street because panicking is better when decisive. The limo's glass was too dark to peer into.
"Do you want me to open the window for her?" the driver asked from up front.
"No." The single-word reply was perfectly icy. It came from inside the car — from Liam Ford.
Sean Young, the driver, sighed in the way people sigh around icy billionaires and hit the button. The window slid down partway.
Ana, in full performance mode, knocked lightly. Knocked again. The third knock misfired: she tripped and fell forward — straight into a pair of ridiculous, strong arms. Broad chest, secure grip, the faint scent of expensive cologne. Heaven.
She raised her head and met Liam's eyes — calm, unreadable, like a penguin that'd read Dostoevsky. Her hair had snagged on one of his jacket buttons. Mortified, she tried to pull free but only made things worse; the tug froze her in place, and she could feel his breath warm against her scalp.
"Up." The voice was low and colder than a refrigerator's heart.
"Uh?!" She blinked. Completely confused.
Sean watched and cleared his throat. "Mr. Ford doesn't like physical contact," he said like he was announcing the weather.
Ana's heart did a double beat. She was in a ridiculous position, but at least she could now assess that the driver Sean was cute in a 'will-sane-you-if-you're-mad' way. And the boss? Dangerous, oddly handsome, and apparently allergic to smiles.
Liam noticed her glance at Sean. His jaw tightened the tiniest fraction.
"Up," he repeated, colder and with more authority. She trembled a little at the tone maybe it was the man, maybe it was the public humiliation, maybe it was adrenaline. She forced a practiced, annoyingly cute smile.
Isn't she afraid of me like everyone else? Liam thought, expression unreadable. Who is this girl?
"I'm sorry for..." Ana started, fumbling to untangle her hair. She held up the jacket button like a tiny, ashamed trophy. "...this." She smiled in what she hoped was an adorable, apologetic way.
Liam stared, then said flatly, "Don't worry about the suit. I'll get another one made."
Ana couldn't help it. She grinned. "do you think I can't afford it?" she teased, flipping her hair back with a finger like a reality-tv heroine.
Not bothering to answer her ,Liam's eyes flicked to her slim waist and flat tummy for a heartbeat. Something inconvenient and human stirred inside him. He blinked, swallowed, and looked away like someone who'd almost tripped in public and pretended it was a new yoga move.
No one had done that to him since… well, since someone he wasn't ready to think about. He shut the door on that thought.
Ana smelled the soft shift and went full clown. "Were you born during the Ice Age? I mean,do you always have that serious look every time, you look like someone whose smile was stolen. OMG, you're pissing me off." She fanned herself like the drama queen she is, then triumphantly produced a lollipop from the back of her skirt pocket and shoved it into her mouth. "Want one?"
"Mr. Ford doesn't eat sweet things," Sean said, deadpan and precise.
"Ooh! That's why his face always looks like that," Ana said, mock-gasping and smiling so saccharine it could be weaponized.
Liam shot her a glare so cold it could've given frostbite. She smiled even wider annoyingly cute, precisely on purpose.
He cleared his throat. "What do you want?" His tone softened a fraction but kept the ice.
She stopped playing. "I need your help." She pointed at the men in black doing suspiciously too-much scanning. "Those men say my father owed them money. He's dead. I don't know how they found out I was coming back. I'm scared. I can't fight them. If I don't pay…they said they'd sell me." She said the last bit like an absurdly bad punchline, then added, to make her acting believable: "I just started my life. I'm only twenty-three." (Because yes, people still called her a child at twenty-three — the life of someone with a petite face.)
She praised herself silently for the performance: What great acting skill. Little did she know she was messing with the wrong person.
Silence stretched. Liam's face was carved from marble, but there was a new chip of interest in his eyes. After an embarrassingly long pause he asked, simply, "Name?"
Ana blinked. Name? Her mind scrambled for a decoy. She could make use of a random alias like she'd always used at hostel parties. She smiled sweetly—weaponized again—and lied like a charm: "Ava Carter."
A/N☺️
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