What was he thinking?

The most popular rugby star in all of Ireland, moving into a high-rise apartment in the middle of Dublin... with no working elevator. Of course. The elevator had to be broken the day he moved in. And now here he was—Johnny Kavanagh—hauling heavy boxes up to the ninth floor like some rookie with something to prove.

This building was massive. Why had he chosen it again?

After ten years in Cork—where he went to Tommen College and built his rugby career—he’d finally gotten the opportunity to play professionally in Dublin. It was supposed to be exciting, a new chapter. But right now, all he could think about was how much his back hurt and how many stairs were still ahead of him.

He had so many boxes stacked in his arms that he couldn’t even see where he was going.

Which is probably why he didn’t see you coming.

And suddenly—crash.

He collided into someone, hard enough to send all the boxes tumbling to the ground.

You were already having a terrible day.

A famous model from Germany, you'd been planning to move to New York—not Dublin. But your agency had different ideas, sending you to Ireland for a few years "to expand the European market presence." Whatever that meant. You could barely understand the Irish accent, and half the time you weren’t even sure if people were joking or serious.

Now, running late to a photoshoot, heels clicking furiously across the marble lobby floor—you really didn’t need another problem.

But then, some random guy—some tall, muscled stranger—barreled into you, burying you under a mountain of cardboard boxes.

You let out a frustrated sigh from beneath the mess.

“I’m so sorry,” he said instantly, crouching down to help, though his voice sounded oddly familiar.