Chapter 263

Sophia glared at her blacked-out phone screen, gritting her teeth in frustration. She mentally cursed Ethan Roscente's entire ancestral line.

With a resigned sigh, she dragged her heavy footsteps toward the elevator.

Ethan occupied the presidential suite on the top floor. Originally, he'd insisted she share the space with him. Knowing his predatory nature all too well—and without her pepper spray handy—Sophia had flatly refused and booked a separate room.

She'd hoped for some peace, but the man wasn't giving her a moment's respite.

Standing before the suite door, she took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in."

The scent of cedar greeted her as she entered. Fresh from his shower, Ethan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. A crisp white shirt hugged his broad shoulders, paired with a charcoal-gray vest that accentuated his tapered waist. The tailored suit outlined his athletic frame to perfection, the shirt tucked in to emphasize his lean hips.

City lights glittered beyond the glass. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, smoke curling around his tall, statuesque silhouette—like a figure stepped out of an oil painting.

Sophia's pulse stuttered.

The man had this uncanny ability to make hearts race with just his back turned.

She dug her nails into her palm, forcing composure. "What did you need, Mr. Roscente?"

He turned, nodding toward a tie on the table. "Help me with this."

She nearly rolled her eyes.

Were his arms broken?

Planting her feet, she stayed silent in protest.

"Problem?" Ethan arched a brow, lips quirking in amusement. He emphasized each syllable: "Miss Secretary unwilling?"

That title—delivered in his trademark drawl—sent heat rushing to her ears. It instantly transported her back to those reckless moments in his office, when he'd murmur "Miss Secretary" against her skin in that gravelly voice...

"Your face is red." He closed the distance abruptly, breath scorching her neck. Sophia jolted backward. "N-nothing! Just...admiring how handsome you look today."

She averted her gaze, terrified he'd see right through her.

"Oh?" His chuckle was low. "With that expression, I'd think you were imagining something indecent."

Sophia: "..."

Wasn't he the very source of all indecency?

When she still didn't move, Ethan's eyes darkened. "Tying my tie falls under secretarial duties. Have you forgotten already?"

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the silk. He towered over her; even on tiptoe, she struggled to reach. Her slipper slipped—sending her crashing against his chest.

"An enthusiastic approach?" His hands steadied her waist, tone dripping with mockery.

She flushed crimson, pushing upright. "An accident."

Looping the tie around his neck, she worked quickly. He obligingly bent his head. Her fingers flew, crafting a flawless Windsor knot in seconds.