The driver-a middle-aged Black man with a faded Braves cap-shot her a look in the rearview mirror. "Ain't my fault folks forget how to drive when a raindrop falls. You in a hurry or something?"
Zoya bit back a groan. *In a hurry?* Only for the biggest meeting of her damn year. The Obsidian Group project could make or break her reputation at Carter & Pierce Architects. And if she showed up late because of Atlanta's legendary traffic?
Her phone buzzed in her lap.
**MightyMan1: Morning, trouble. Tell me you're not stuck in traffic again.**
A smirk tugged at her lips despite her frustration. Four years of random texts, late-night voice notes, and borderline-inappropriate flirting, and this man still clocked her like no one else. They'd never met-never even exchanged pictures-but he knew her routines better than her own sister.
**QueenZo: I plead the fifth. Also, since when do you wake up before noon?**
**MightyMan1: When I've got a 9 AM with a pain-in-the-ass architect who thinks she knows my buildings better than I do.**
Zoya froze. Her thumbs hovered over the screen.
**QueenZo: ...Wait. WHAT?**
The Uber lurched forward, cutting off her reply. Outside, the skyline of downtown Atlanta loomed-Obsidian Towers dead ahead. Her pulse kicked up.
No. No way.
**MightyMan1: Elevator's on the west side. And Zoya?**
**MightyMan1: You might wanna run.**
---
### **9:04 AM – Obsidian Towers Lobby**
Zoya's heels clicked against the marble floor like gunshots as she sprinted through the lobby. She'd abandoned her Uber a block back, sacrificing her last shred of dignity to make this meeting on time.
*This isn't happening.*
*He's not-*
*There's no way-*
The elevator doors started sliding shut just as she skidded up to them.
"Hold the door!" She jammed her arm between the sensors, panting.
The doors bounced back open.
And there he was.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a suit that looked like it cost more than her rent. Dark skin gleaming under the elevator lights, sharp jaw dusted with just enough scruff to make her fingers itch.
**Manny Andrews.**
CEO of Obsidian Group. Real estate mogul. And-if the smirk curling his full lips was any indication-the man who'd been texting her for four damn years.
"Well, well." His voice was whiskey-smooth, deeper than she'd imagined. "If it isn't the infamous Zoya Carter. Late as usual."
Her stomach dropped to her shoes.
The elevator doors sealed shut behind her.
---
### **9:06 AM – Stuck in a Metal Box With Her Worst Nightmare**
Silence.
Awful, suffocating silence.
Zoya gripped her leather portfolio like a shield, suddenly hyper-aware of everything-the citrusy scent of his cologne, the way his tie knot sat perfectly against his throat, the heat radiating off his body barely a foot away.
"You've got to be kidding me," she finally choked out.
Manny-no, *MightyMan1*-leaned against the elevator wall, arms crossed. "Took you long enough to figure it out."
"Figure it out? You *lied* to me!"
"Did I?" He raised one thick brow. "When exactly did you ask for my full name, Queen Zo?"
Zoya opened her mouth-then snapped it shut. Damn him. Damn him straight to hell.
The elevator dinged. 32nd floor.
Manny pushed off the wall, suddenly all business. "Conference room's to the left. Try not to embarrass me in front of my team."
Like flipping a damn switch.
Zoya grabbed his arm before she could think better of it. "Hold on. We need to-"
His skin was warm under her fingers. Hard. The contact sent a jolt up her arm.
Manny stilled. His gaze dropped to where she touched him, then slowly dragged back up to her face. Something hot flickered in his dark eyes.
"Yeah?" His voice dropped. "We need to what, Zoya?"
Her throat went dry.
The elevator doors opened.
---
### **9:12 AM – Professionalism is a Lie**
The conference room was packed-Obsidian's executive team on one side, her firm's senior partners on the other. All eyes swung to them as they entered.
"Ah, Mr. Andrews!" Her boss, Richard Pierce, stood with a too-bright smile. "We were just-"
"Starting without me?" Manny cut in, smooth as silk. "How rude."
Zoya barely resisted the urge to elbow him. *Asshole.*
She took her seat across from him, painfully aware of his gaze burning into her as she set up her presentation. Four years of secrets. Four years of *things she'd told him*-about work, about her ex, about the stupid little fantasies she'd never admit out loud.
And now he sat there looking like sin in a suit, watching her squirm.
"Ms. Ahmedi?" Richard prompted. "The renderings?"
Right. Work.
She launched into her pitch, channeling every ounce of professionalism she had left. The Obsidian Tower redesign was her baby-sleek modern lines blended with Southern architectural warmth.
Halfway through, she caught Manny's smirk.
*Oh, hell no.*
"-and as you'll see on slide twelve," she said sweetly, locking eyes with him, "we've incorporated *extensive* feedback from leadership about avoiding *predictable* design choices."
A quiet snort from Manny's CFO.
Manny just leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Fascinating. Tell me, Ms. Ahmedi-" His tongue flicked over his bottom lip. "You always this passionate about your work?"
The double entendre hung in the air.
Zoya's cheeks burned.
Across the table, Richard coughed. "Perhaps we should-"
"Actually," Manny cut in, eyes never leaving hers, "I'd love to discuss these plans privately. My office. Thirty minutes."
It wasn't a request.
---
### **9:52 AM – The Lion's Den**
Manny's office was all floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek mahogany, the Atlanta skyline sprawled behind him like he owned that too.
Which, given Obsidian's portfolio, he probably did.
Zoya shut the door harder than necessary. "You're unbelievable."
"Funny." He rounded his desk, loosening his tie. "That's not what you called me last month when I talked you through that permitting crisis."
Her stomach flipped. That night had been... intense. Her panicked call, his calm walkthrough, the way his voice had dropped when she'd finally relaxed-*"There you go, sweetheart. Knew you could handle it."*
She crossed her arms. "We need ground rules."
Manny laughed-a rich, warm sound that did stupid things to her pulse. "Rules? From the woman who told me she once-"
"*Do not* finish that sentence."
He prowled closer, all predatory grace. "Why? Embarrassed?"
"No. Professional."
"Mm." His gaze dipped to her mouth. "That why your pulse is jumping right here?" Calloused fingers brushed the side of her throat.
Zoya stopped breathing.
Manny's thumb traced her racing pulse. "Tell me to stop."
She should. God knew she should.
Instead, she whispered, "You first."
A beat. Then-
His mouth crashed down on hers.
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