Chapter 2

The sun was relentless, beating down so fiercely that my feet felt like they were pleading for a break.

"I'm starving," Briar complained. "Let's stop somewhere and eat."

I couldn't help but smile at her obsession with food. "Of course, Briar. Let's grab something to eat."

We found a nearby restaurant and ordered pizza and milkshakes.

"I swear, we need to find jobs soon," Briar said between sips of her milkshake. "There's no way I can keep wandering around all day like this."

She had a point. We both knew we needed work—and fast. Our conversation drifted back to high school memories, and we laughed so loudly it probably echoed down the street. But we didn't care.

He had been heading to a business meeting when his car broke down—an infuriating inconvenience caused by his driver's negligence. Taking his phone with him, he stepped into a restaurant, seeking a quiet place to rest and avoid unwanted attention from the press.

Scrolling through his phone, deleting spam messages, he was suddenly interrupted by loud laughter from a nearby table. Judging by the noise, it was likely some carefree middle-class crowd, oblivious to anyone else's presence. The laughter grew more boisterous, and irritation flared within him.

Rising, he prepared to confront the offenders disturbing his peace—only to be stopped in his tracks by the sight of two young women.

One had blonde hair dusted with freckles and skin pale as fresh parchment, The other had dark hair that flowed like liquid midnight, each strand gleaming with a silken sheen, as if woven from the very fabric of the night sky itself. Her bright blue eyes, sparkling with warmth, caught him off guard; one smile from her could breathe life into the weary. Her lips were full and inviting.

Before he realized it, he was standing uncomfortably close to her. Awkward, but he decided to speak.

Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder diverted his attention.

A striking man with sea-blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a commanding presence stood before him, flanked by bouncers. His tailored suit and the subtle spicy scent he carried marked him as someone of importance.

With a confident smile, he extended his hand.

"I have a thing for blue-eyed men," came a playful voice.

He chuckled softly, his deep voice resonating. "I'm aware of my looks, but please, don't stare too much, mademoiselle."

His tone sent a shiver through her. Rude, yes—but also oddly charming. Gathering her courage, she replied in French, "Je m'appelle Reina," and confidently shook his waiting hand.

He smiled, surprised. "Oh, tu parles français? Well, je m'appelle Ian. Comment ça va?"

Panic flickered in her eyes—he actually spoke French. Forced to play along, she managed, "Ça va bien, merci. Et vous?"

Briar was discreetly nudging her under the table, begging her silently to stop embarrassing herself.

"I'm doing well," he responded warmly. "I'm very happy to speak French with you."

She took a breath, admitting, "Je parle un peu français, mais je parle beaucoup anglais."

He smiled knowingly, amused by her honesty.

Overhearing their earlier conversation about finding work, he offered, "I heard you mention looking for a job. I'd like to help, if you're interested."

Her heart leapt. "Thank you so much, sir!"

Handing her his card, he added, "Come by my office tomorrow. Don't be late."

With a final glance, he excused himself. The suffocating atmosphere in the restaurant was clearly not to his liking.

He rarely visited such modest places, but something about her caught his attention—an unfamiliar feeling he wasn't eager to explore further.

She bowed her head politely, whispering, "Merci beaucoup, sir," even though he was already gone.

Back at home, her thoughts remained tangled with images of Mr. Ian. Briar teased relentlessly, but the day's encounter lingered in her mind.

After kissing her mother goodnight, she skipped dinner and headed straight for the shower. Slipping into her nightwear, she lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to shake the thought of him.

He was undeniably handsome—rude, yes, but there was something sweet beneath that arrogance.

"I could probably pay a fortune just to be in his arms," she thought with a smile, rolling her eyes at herself.

Better get some sleep, though—she'd need her rest if she wanted to survive an earful from Mr. Arrogant tomorrow.

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