The city lights blurred into long streaks of neon as they navigated the evening traffic. Amanda sat in the passenger seat, her head tilted slightly to watch Quentin.
People often say that a man is most attractive when he is focused on his work. Since she had rarely seen Quentin in his professional element, watching him drive with such calm, steady intent felt like a revelation. He was magnetic.
She didn't stare for long, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. She leaned back and lowered the window, letting the cool night air rush in. She closed her eyes, letting the breeze pull the heat from her face, and before she knew it, the rhythm of the car lulled her into a deep sleep.
Quentin glanced over, noticing she had drifted off. He smiled softly and reached over to raise the window, leaving just a crack for fresh air. He knew she was exhausted—between the drama at the bar and the "torment" of the previous night, she had reached her limit.
When they arrived at the villa, he killed the engine and walked around to the passenger side. He moved to scoop her up, but the shift in weight woke her.
"Are we home?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and an indescribable softness.
Quentin didn't answer with words. He simply gathered her into his arms and carried her into the house. Amanda was awake enough to realize what was happening, but she didn't struggle. She leaned into his warmth, letting him carry her up the stairs.
After a hot shower that finally cleared the last of the alcohol from her system, Amanda returned to her room. Finding it empty, she followed a hunch and headed to the study.
Sure enough, Quentin was hunched over a stack of documents. She knocked twice and stepped inside. "It's late. You should shower and get some rest."
Quentin looked up, his gaze softening as he took in the faint scent of her shower gel. "I'm going now, Mrs. Harris."
The title sent a flush of crimson to her cheeks. She pushed him toward the door. "Just go! Why do you talk so much?"
He laughed, leaving her alone in the quiet of the study.
Amanda's eyes immediately drifted to the desk. Spread out before her was the real estate project for the Western District. Though she hadn't studied urban planning, being a Solis meant she had a keen eye for land value.
But as her eyes landed on the second plot of land Quentin had marked for auction, the blood drained from her face. A cold, visceral shiver raced from the soles of her feet to her brain.
She knew this land. In her previous life, Javier had won the auction for this exact plot to build his flagship private hospital. And it was there—on the rooftop of that twenty-story monument to his ego—that he had pushed her to her death.
She gripped the edge of the mahogany desk so hard her knuckles turned white. She fought to suppress the bile rising in her throat, the memory of the wind whistling past her ears as she fell threatening to overwhelm her.
She opened her eyes, and this time, her smile was cold and razor-sharp. Javier, in this life, you won't get a single square inch of this earth.
Outside the door, hidden by the shadows of the hallway, Quentin stood silently. The smile he had worn moments ago had vanished, replaced by a look of deep, pensive calculation.
Back in the bedroom, Amanda pulled out her phone. she sent a brief, tactical message to Javier. He replied almost instantly with a string of "disgusting" endearments that made her skin crawl. She deleted the thread without a second thought.
She lay on the oversized bed, her mind a battlefield of schemes and memories. She barely noticed when the mattress sank beside her.
"Good night," she whispered, immediately turning her back to him.
She was still wary. She knew that once a man had tasted a woman, "just sleeping" became a difficult concept. But to her surprise, Quentin didn't push. He simply slid his arm under her neck, pulling her back until she was tucked firmly against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin.
"I just want to hold you," he murmured.
Amanda felt her tension bleed away. His heartbeat was steady against her back—a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts in her head.
"There's an auction next week," Quentin said softly. "Will you come with me?"
Amanda frowned. "The Western District land auction?"
"Among others," he replied, his hand resting protectively on her waist. "There are also a few pieces of jewelry being sold. I want to buy you a proper wedding gift."
Amanda considered it. She needed to be there to see Javier's face when his "hospital" slipped through his fingers. "Fine. Pick me up."
She shifted slightly, the memory of the bar fight resurfacing. "The man from yesterday... how is he?"
"Don't worry about it. I've taken care of it."
Amanda knew that "taken care of" in Quentin's world meant the problem had ceased to exist. She didn't press further; she was a public figure, and having Quentin handle the legal fallout was the safest path. She turned around in his arms, snuggling into his chest to hide from the phantom sensation of his breath on her neck.
Quentin was momentarily stunned by her initiative. He smiled, his hand tracing gentle circles on her back. "Sleep now."
The next morning, Amanda woke up to find herself tangled with Quentin like an octopus. Her arms and legs were wrapped tightly around him. She tried to extract herself as gingerly as possible, hoping not to wake the "beast."
But Quentin's eyes remained closed as he tightened his grip, pulling her face back down to his chest.
"Tin? Aren't you going to be late for work?" she whispered.
"I'm awake," he rumbled, his voice thick with morning gravity.
"I need to get to the set," she protested, trying to lift her head.
Quentin didn't budge. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his eyes finally opening to find hers. "Kiss me, and I'll let you go."
Amanda rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide a small smile. "You're such an opportunist."
"I'm a businessman, Mandy," he teased. "I don't do anything without a profit."
In the end, the Businessman of the Year won. After a lingering good-morning kiss, Amanda was finally allowed to start her day.