Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The executive floor of the Spencer Global headquarters was a silent vacuum of power. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Makati skyline was a blur of silver and grey, but inside Zayden's private office, the air was thick, charged with the static that precedes a lightning strike.
Ysabella sat on the velvet peripheral sofa, a leather-bound tablet in her lap. Nominally, she was there to review the quarterly audit of the Spencer Foundation—a legitimate branch of the empire Zayden was slowly carving out for her to manage. But for the last hour, her eyes hadn't processed a single line of the balance sheet.
In the center of the room, Zayden was deep in a high-stakes briefing with three of his senior directors. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark, intricate ink on his forearms.
"The customs clearance in Subic is non-negotiable," Zayden's voice was a low, authoritative rumble. He stood up from his desk and moved toward the long conference table where the maps and manifests were spread out.
Every time he moved, Ysabella felt a jolt of electricity. She watched him lean over the table, his large hands flat against the mahogany as he pointed out a specific shipping lane. The movement pulled his trousers tight against his muscular thighs.
She bit her lower lip—a hard, rhythmic habit that was no longer about nervousness. Her gaze traveled downward, tracing the sharp line of his belt, and then she saw it. Beneath the expensive dark fabric of his trousers, the evidence of his reaction to her presence was unmistakable. Even in the middle of a billion-dollar negotiation, the "shark" was affected by the girl in the corner.
Ysabella let out a tiny, involuntary squeak, her face turning a vivid shade of crimson. She snapped her head back toward her tablet, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"This is bad. Iniisip ko nanaman. Very naughty mind," she whispered to herself, the heat from her cheeks feeling like a physical fever.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made it worse. Her mind immediately betrayed her, dragging her back to the penthouse. She remembered the weight of him, the rough velvet of his voice calling her mahal, and the way the midnight-blue lace had been discarded on the floor. She remembered the sharp, breathtaking transition from being a ghost to being his.
Zayden paused mid-sentence. He had felt her gaze—he always felt her gaze. He arched a singular, golden brow, his blue eyes flicking toward her for a fraction of a second. He saw her flushed face, her frantic focus on a tablet that wasn't even turned on, and the way her teeth were punishing her lip.
A small, predatory smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't break character.
"Mr. Spencer? About the port storage fees?" the Director of Operations asked, sensing the sudden lapse in his boss's attention.
Zayden cleared his throat, his gaze returning to the documents, though his voice had dropped an octave. "Proceed. I'm listening."
The meeting dragged on for another forty minutes—the longest forty minutes of Ysabella's life. She tried to focus on the numbers, but every time Zayden shifted his weight or adjusted his cuffs, she felt a wave of liquid heat.
Finally, the directors gathered their files, bowed respectfully, and filed out of the office. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving the two of them in a silence so heavy it felt tangible.
Zayden didn't move from the table. He stood there, looking down, his back to her.
"You were staring, Ysabella," he said, his American accent sounding rough, unpolished.
"I... I was looking at the view," she lied, her voice an octave higher than usual. "The skyline is very pretty today."
Zayden turned around slowly. He leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. The white shirt was strained against his muscles, and the concern she had noticed earlier was still very much present.
"The skyline is behind me, little ghost. You were looking... lower."
Ysabella stood up, her legs feeling like jelly. She clutched her tablet to her chest like a shield. "I don't know what you're talking about, Zayden. I am a professional. I am reviewing the foundation's audits."
Zayden let out a dark, low chuckle. He started walking toward her, his stride slow and deliberate. With every step, the vast office felt smaller, the air warmer.
"Is that why your tablet is upside down?"
Ysabella looked down. The screen was indeed inverted. She groaned, wanting the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Zayden stopped inches from her. He reached out and took the tablet from her hands, setting it on the side table without looking away from her eyes. He stepped into her space, forcing her to back up until her calves hit the soft edge of the sofa.
"You have a very naughty mind today," Zayden whispered, repeating her own words back to her. He reached out, his thumb catching her lower lip and pulling it free from her teeth. "Stop doing that. If you're going to bite something, let it be me."
"Zayden, we're in your office," she gasped, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms. She could feel the heat radiating through his sleeves. "Your staff is right outside. Marcus is at the door."
"The glass is soundproof, and the blinds are electronic," Zayden murmured. He reached for a small remote on the wall and pressed a button. With a soft hum, the vast windows tinted to a deep, impenetrable charcoal, and the office door locked with a heavy, magnetic thud.
The office was plunged into a dim, intimate twilight.
Zayden's hands moved to her waist, lifting her easily and sitting her on the edge of his massive mahogany desk. He stepped between her knees, his body a solid, overwhelming wall of heat.
"You were staring at me during the meeting," he growled, his hands sliding up to her thighs. "Do you have any idea what it does to me? Hearing you squeak like that while I'm trying to discuss shipping lanes?"
"I couldn't help it," Ysabella whispered, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "You looked so... authoritative. And then I saw... I saw how you were reacting to me."
Zayden leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "I'm always reacting to you, Ysa. I could be in a room with a hundred world leaders, and I'd still be thinking about the way you looked in that blue lace."
He pulled back just enough to look at her. His blue eyes were no longer cold; they were burning with the same fire that had consumed them at the penthouse. He took her hand and guided it down, resting her palm against the tensed, pulsing heat of his trousers.
"You see what you do to me?" he groaned. "You think you're the only one with a naughty mind?"
Ysabella felt the pulse of him against her hand, the sheer power of his arousal making her dizzy. She didn't pull away this time. She leaned forward, her lips inches from his.
"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Spencer?" she teased, her voice breathy. "You have a business to run."
"The business can wait," Zayden said, his hand sliding up to the back of her head, his fingers gripping her hair with a possessive strength. "Because right now, my only business is making sure you remember exactly what happens when you stare at me like that."
He captured her lips in a kiss that was a declaration of war. It was deep, hungry, and full of the pent-up tension of the last hour. Ysabella melted against him, her back arching as she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his waist.
Zayden groaned into her mouth, his hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. "I told you, Ysabella... you're a variable I didn't account for. And I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to solve you."
He lifted her from the desk, carrying her toward the large, leather executive chair. The city of Manila continued its frantic pace outside the darkened windows, oblivious to the fact that the man who controlled its docks was currently being brought to his knees by a girl who used to be a ghost.
In the quiet, darkened office, Ysabella realized that she didn't just belong in Zayden's world—she was the heart of it. And as he began to show her exactly how "naughty" his own mind could be, she knew that no matter how many shipping lanes he controlled, she was the only one who truly held the wheel.