Clementine, a social media manager with fiery red hair and emerald green eyes, was a contradiction. Shy in person, her mind buzzed with fascinating trivia just waiting for the right listener.
Sebastian Montgomery as the tabloids dubbed him, was an...
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The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, a quintessential London morning. Clementine wrapped herself in her favorite trench coat and entered the bustling city. Her first day at Emerald Magazine's London office awaited her, and despite her nerves, a flicker of excitement spurred her on.
She had mapped out her route meticulously but made an impromptu decision to detour when a cozy-looking coffee shop caught her eye. Through the fogged-up windows, she spotted baristas in action and a line of customers clutching steaming cups. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee spilled onto the street, beckoning her inside.
"Just a small flat white, please," she said, fumbling with her pounds and pence.
Clementine tapped her foot as the barista worked. Time ticked by faster than expected, and her phone buzzed with a reminder about the orientation meeting. Her heart dropped; she had twenty minutes to cross several streets and find her way to the towering office building.
When her coffee was ready, she grabbed it with a hurried "thanks" and bolted out the door. She navigated the crowded sidewalks with as much grace as possible, muttering apologies as she bumped into strangers. By the time she reached the building—a sleek, mirrored skyscraper nestled among London's historic facades—her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was already a mess from the drizzle.
The lobby of the building was an architectural marvel: high ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and minimalist decor that screamed luxury. But Clementine didn't have time to admire the aesthetics. She pushed through the revolving doors, her focus fixed on the bank of elevators across the vast space.
Then it happened.
Turning too quickly to dodge a distracted pedestrian, Clementine collided with what felt like a wall. A very warm, very solid wall. Her coffee cup tipped precariously, its contents launching upward in a spectacular arc before descending with cruel precision—straight onto the tailored lapel of the man she had crashed into.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" Clementine gasped, her voice rising in horror as she looked up at the victim of her caffeinated calamity.
He was tall, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His piercing blue eyes, framed by lashes almost unfairly thick, locked onto hers with a glacial intensity. He exuded an air of unapproachable authority, the kind of man who seemed to belong to boardrooms and penthouses rather than crowded lobbies.
For a moment, he said nothing, merely surveying the damage. His crisp white shirt was now stained with an earthy brown blotch, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
Clementine scrambled to find something—anything—to fix the situation. She pulled a packet of tissues from her bag, offering it to him like a peace offering. "Here, let me—"
"Don't," he interrupted, his voice low and clipped. He took the tissues but made no move to use them, his gaze never wavering. Without another word, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the stain with a sharp, irritated motion. His jaw tightened as he surveyed the damage, a faint scowl shadowing his otherwise flawless features.
