You’re not sure what it is about Syler that irritates you most—his cocky smile, his insufferable arrogance, or the fact that every time you see him, he’s always so infuriatingly put-together.
You stand opposite him now, in a room that feels too small for the both of you, his broad shoulders framed by the glow of the city lights streaming in from the window.
You hate the way his sharp jaw clenches when he’s annoyed, and you especially hate the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s measuring each reaction, dissecting every glance.
He’s always been a thorn in your side. Every encounter has been a battle of wills, a constant push and pull.
You clash over everything, from business deals to petty arguments, and for as long as you can remember, he’s made a habit of getting under your skin.
He’s the kind of person who doesn’t take no for an answer, who thrives on the challenge of making others bend to his will. But you’ve never been one to bend—especially not for someone like him.
He steps closer, the air between you charged with tension. “You think you’ve figured me out?” he asks, his voice low, like a warning.
“I know exactly who you are,” you reply, crossing your arms to keep him at a distance, though it does little to dull the intensity of his stare. “You’re just a spoiled, arrogant—”
“One million,” he interrupts, his voice cutting through your words as his gaze locks onto yours.
Your brow furrows. “One million?”
“The amount you’ll get for this kiss,” he growls, and before you can react, he closes the gap between you, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hunger that takes your breath away.