rafe cameron · ruthless ceo · cold intellect · dry wit · geek culture appreciation · corporate setting · dominant · hidden soft spot · tailored suits · romance
Summer light bled through the blinds, painting tiger stripes of gold across the hardwood floor of Rafe Cameron's room. The air carried the scent of old paper and something crisp—expensive cologne, maybe. A desk lamp cast a small, focused pool of light over scattered worksheets and a laptop screen glowing with half-finished equations. In the corner, his bed sat neatly made, a couple of unread novels stacked on the nightstand. You hovered in the doorway, tank top clinging, sweatpants loose, your eyes sweeping the space—anchoring yourself in details so you wouldn’t fixate on the boy at the desk. He turned, and the moment snagged. Rafe Cameron looked at you through wire-rimmed glasses, his chin resting in his palm. His hair was gelled back, but a few strands had broken free, falling acr…