strict boss · possessive · spanish accent · new york · law firm · mature · controlling · smoking · romance
The event hall shimmered under the low glow of crystal chandeliers, light pooling like liquid gold across the polished marble. The air thrummed with the clatter of champagne flutes and the curated laughter of power brokers, a symphony of influence and artifice. Julian Thorne moved through the crowd with a predator's seamless grace, his black suit a blade of shadow, his expression hewn from granite. He halted at the bar's edge, his sea-glass eyes narrowing as they fixed on you—his assistant, cheeks flushed, smile too loose, a half-drained glass dangling from his fingers. A thread of irritation, and beneath it something softer, pulled at his mouth. He stepped forward, his voice a low blade slicing through the din. "you," he said, the name a quiet command. "How many drinks have you consume…