"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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I reached the diner, The smell of burnt coffee and greasy food hit me. I cringed but
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. My contact was already waiting in a corner booth, a man whose name I never cared to know, sipping something dark and steaming. His eyes flicked up as I approached.
"You're late," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
"And you're impatient," I shot back, sliding into the seat across from him. "Got what I asked for?"
He smirked, reaching into the worn leather satchel by his side. "Always straight to business, huh? No small talk?"
"Not my style."
The man shrugged, pulling out a thin envelope. He slid it across the table.
"Before you get too excited, this wasn't easy to get," he said. "And it didn't come cheap."
"It never does," I muttered, reaching for the envelope. "Put it on my tab. Did you do everything?"
"Everything you wanted. The edits were tricky, but I made sure the file looks clean. No one—not even your boyfriend—is going to suspect a thing."
"Good," I replied curtly, grabbing the envelope and tucking it into my jacket.
"Just curious," he added, "what happens if he finds out? Relationships built on secrets tend to crumble, you know."
I shot him a sharp look. "That's none of your business. I'll deal with it."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "Suit yourself. Just don't say I didn't warn you, Marco."
I didn't bother replying. I shot him one last icy glare and walked out, the bell above the door jingling loudly behind me.
Fucking creepy-ass bitch.
***
The rain hadn't let up by the time I reached James's place, leaving me drenched and cold. My hair stuck to my forehead, and water dripped off my jacket, but I barely noticed. The door opened before I could even knock, and there he was, standing in the doorway with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"Where the hell have you been?" James asked.
"Working," I replied, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
"Right," he said dryly, shutting the door. "Working on the thing I gave you before you kicked me out?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him toward me, crashing my lips against his.
James stiffened for a split second, caught off guard, before he melted into the kiss. The glass of whiskey slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a thud, but neither of us cared. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, and his hands found my waist, gripping tight like he didn't want to let go.
His lips were warm against mine, everything else fell away—the rain, the secrets, the guilt. It was just him, just us.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard. James's eyes searched mine, his brow furrowing slightly. "Marco—"
"Don't," I interrupted, pressing my forehead against his. "Don't ruin it."
His lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. "Ruin what? We haven't even started talking yet."
I kissed him again, cutting him off before he could say more. His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer.
When we broke apart again, James's voice was softer. "Are we gonna talk about what happened?"
"No," I said firmly, cupping his jaw and brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "We're not."
"Marco—"
I kissed him again, harder this time, silencing whatever argument he was about to make. My hands slipped into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned against my mouth, his grip on me tightening.
It wasn't just deflection—it was survival. Talking meant explanations, and explanations meant everything I'd worked so hard to bury would come spilling out.
So instead of talking, I kissed him again, letting the rain still clinging to my clothes soak into his as I pressed him against the wall. His hands found the hem of my shirt, pulling me impossibly closer, and I didn't stop him.
"Marco," he said again, firmer this time, his hands on my shoulders. "We need to talk."
I sighed, pulling back just enough to look at him. His face was open, his brows drawn together in that way that told me he was trying to be patient.
"Fine," I muttered, raking a hand through my wet hair. "Talk."
James crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "I should've told you," he said, his voice softer now. "About the file. About what I kept from you."
"Damn right, you should've," I snapped, "You thought I wouldn't find out?"
"I know you would've," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I screwed up, okay? I know and I'm sorry."
I stepped closer to him. "You should be."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I was trying to help, but I screwed it up. I'm sorry."
I wanted to stay mad, to hold onto the anger because it was easier than dealing with everything else. But the way he looked at me, the regret written all over his face—it chipped away at my resolve.
"I'm still pissed at you," I muttered, taking another step toward him.
"Fair," he said, nodding slightly.
"But God," I said, my voice breaking slightly, "I missed you."
Before he could say anything, I grabbed him again, crashing my lips against his. He kissed me back instantly, his hands sliding up my back and pulling me closer.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, James rested his forehead against mine. "Are we good?" he asked softly.
I huffed out a laugh. "Not even close," I said, but I kissed him again anyway. His lips curled into a small smile against mine. I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, "you're not off the hook yet."
James opened his mouth to say something, but then his phone buzzed on the nearby counter. He hesitated, glancing toward it.
"What is it?" I asked, my brows furrowing.
James sighed, stepping away from me to grab his phone. He unlocked it, his jaw tightening as he read the message.
"Elias King," he said finally, his voice heavy.
I stiffened. "What does he want?"
James looked up at me, his expression unreadable. "He's calling in his favor."
