Chapter 2 - The Spilled Drink and the Shadowed Truth
The ocean breeze turned brisk as evening fell over Palmetto Crown. The resort terrace transformed into a cocktail lounge illuminated by hanging amber lanterns and low fire pits.
Claire stepped away from her friends to get a fresh glass of sparkling water from the outdoor bar. As she waited, an overly confident man in a pink polo shirt and boat shoes slid onto the stool beside her.
“Let me buy that for you, gorgeous,” the man said, flashing a gold Rolex conspicuously. “Name’s Bradley. Senior VP at Vanguard Logistics.”
Claire suppressed an instinctive sigh. Rule Number One was being violated in real time. “No thank you, Bradley. I’m just getting water.”
“Come on, don't be shy. A girl like you shouldn't be drinking water on a Saturday night. Let me get you something expensive.” Bradley reached out, his hand moving toward Claire’s bare forearm with uninvited familiarity.
Before his fingers could graze her skin, a towering shadow fell over them both.
A large, calloused hand clamped around Bradley’s wrist. The grip was neither hurried nor loud, yet Bradley instantly froze, his face draining of color.
“The lady said no,” a deep, resonant voice said.
Claire looked up, her breath catching. It was the dark-haired man from earlier—the one who had chuckled at her checklist. Up close, he was even more imposing. His broad shoulders filled out his dark navy blazer effortlessly, and his striking slate-gray eyes held an authority that commanded absolute obedience.
Bradley tried to pull his arm away, but Dominic didn’t budge an inch. “Who the hell are you, man? Mind your own business!”
Dominic stepped half an inch closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous, silky whisper that only Bradley and Claire could hear. “You have three seconds to apologize to her, walk out that gate, and enjoy the rest of your evening elsewhere. If you touch someone without permission again in this establishment, you will find your accounts audited and your employment terminated by Monday morning. Do we understand each other?”
Bradley swallowed hard, terrified by the icy certainty in the stranger’s eyes. “I—I’m sorry. Excuse me.”
Dominic released his wrist. Bradley practically scrambled across the patio without looking back.
Claire stood stunned, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She looked at her savior, noting the faint scent of cedarwood, ocean air, and crisp linen.
“Are you alright?” Dominic asked. His voice softened dramatically, shedding its lethal edge as he looked down at her.
“I... yes. Thank you,” Claire managed, regaining her composure. “You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it. Although... threatening to audit his company was a bit dramatic, don't you think?”
Dominic’s lips curved into a slow, devastatingly attractive smile. “I find that men who wear their resumes on their wrists respond best to corporate threats.”
Claire laughed, a clear, melodic sound that made Dominic’s chest tighten. “Touché. I’m Claire, by the way.”
“Dominic,” he replied, extending his hand.
She took it. His grip was warm, strong, and protective. As their skin met, an undeniable spark leaped between them, lingering just a second too long.
“Well, Dominic,” Claire teased gently, eyeing his impeccable posture, “are you going to tell me your job title now, or should I guess?”
“I manage properties,” he said smoothly, telling a half-truth without missing a beat. “Boring spreadsheets, maintenance schedules, and dealing with unhappy guests.”
Claire let out a relieved breath. “Thank goodness. If you had told me you were a hedge fund manager, I would have had to walk away.”
Dominic tilted his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “I hear you have very strict rules on the matter.”
Claire blushed furiously, realizing he had overheard her earlier conversation. “You were eavesdropping!”
“You weren't exactly whispering, Miss Bennett.”
“You know my last name?” Claire blinked, surprised.
Dominic cursed inwardly at his slip, but recovered seamlessly. “Your luggage tag was visible at the check-in counter yesterday. I have a good memory for details.”
Before Claire could question him further, Dominic’s phone vibrated violently against his pocket. The screen lit up: MOM (Incoming Call).
Dominic instinctively went to silence it, then froze. He remembered the fifth item on her list: Must answer his mother’s calls.
Without breaking eye contact with Claire, Dominic answered the phone and brought it to his ear. “Ciao, Mamma. Yes, I’m in South Carolina. No, I haven't skipped dinner. I will call you the moment I am back in my room. I love you too.”
He hung up, slipping the phone away as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Claire stared at him, her hazel eyes wide with genuine delight. “You speak Italian to your mother?”
“Only when she’s worried I’m not eating enough pasta,” Dominic replied dryly.
May you like
Claire smiled warmly, taking a sip of her water. “Well, Dominic the Property Manager... you’re doing surprisingly well so far.”
Dominic smiled back, though beneath his calm facade, his mind raced. He had passed her tests by pure coincidence—but he was living on borrowed time. Because the moment she found out who Dominic really was, every single rule would blow up in his face.
