Chapter 3 Chapter Three
Miesa and her best friend, Bethany Williams, sat tucked away in a cozy corner of the school library, a large picture book of Alice in Wonderland open between them. It was recess, but the two girls preferred the quiet of the shelves over the noisy playground. Storybooks were more exciting than swing sets—at least to them.
“Mimi,” Beth whispered, a thought suddenly popping into her head.
“Yes?” Miesa looked up, her small fingers still resting on Alice’s blue dress on the page.
“Do you think that… well… everyone says you look a lot like Mr. Sandoval.” Beth’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “My mom said so too. Do you think so?”
“Yes, but…” Miesa shrugged. “My grandpa told me that God created two people alike.”
“You really believe that?” Beth raised a skeptical eyebrow, the way she’d seen grown-ups do.
“I do.” Miesa nodded confidently—then grinned. “Considering the fact that Sharon looks like you.”
“Ew, no she doesn’t!” Beth recoiled, horrified. “I won’t be caught dead looking like that. She looks like the Red Queen in Alice.”
Miesa laughed softly and shook her head. “Sharon is not that bad.”
“And her hair,” Beth groaned dramatically.
Sharon Cavanaugh was their classmate—admittedly the least pretty girl in kindergarten—but she was kind, gentle, and soft-spoken. Even children instinctively left her alone.
“My mom told me my dad is dead,” Miesa said suddenly. “Died before I was born. But she’s never taken me to his grave, even though I keep begging.”
“What if she’s lying?” Beth whispered, eyes shining with the thrill of a forbidden possibility.
“Well… I told her I’d never forgive her if I found out he’s still alive.” Miesa frowned, her small face hardening in a way that belonged on someone much older.
“It would be so cool if your father turned out to be Mr. Sandoval,” Beth said dreamily. “You’d travel everywhere in his private jet.”
Miesa secretly hoped so too. But she also knew her mother—kind, hardworking, lovely in her own way—was nothing like the glamorous celebrities Mr. Sandoval surrounded himself with.
“I don’t think my mom would stand a chance with him,” she muttered. “So it’s impossible he’s my father just because I look like him. Your brother Ghale looks like Chris Hemsworth.”
Her mother was beautiful, yes—but Cesari Sandoval was untouchable. A world apart.
“Why do you say that?” Beth gasped.
“Don’t you see the fashionistas he goes out with? Especially Antoinette Montalvo.” Miesa wrinkled her nose. “My mother is not Mr. Sandoval’s type."
~~~~~
Meanwhile…
“You’re totally my type, do you know that, Ellie?” Cesar drawled lazily from his seat.
“Really?” Elyon arched a brow, unimpressed.
“Yes.” He flashed a wicked grin.
“How so? I don’t see you dating women like me.” Elyon gestured at herself. “Plain Janes like me. You go for sophisticated, rich models like Antoinette Montalvo.”
“I dated someone like you once,” he mused, almost to himself.
“You don’t say.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I doubt you dated her. She was probably a one-night stand.”
“Yeah, but…” He leaned back, remembering. “I would’ve tried to see her again if she hadn’t escaped. I didn’t even get her name.”
“I bet you didn’t like that,” Elyon muttered. “You’re used to leaving women—not the other way around.”
Cesar’s eyes narrowed. “You enjoy knocking my ego down several notches, don’t you?”
“If I flatter you the way those other women do, your head will grow so big the universe won’t be able to contain it.” She smirked, proud of herself.
His gaze darkened—predatory, amused, dangerous. “I want to spank you,” he said calmly. “I’d love to see that gorgeous ass turn pink under my hand. And afterward… I think I’d fuck you. But I wouldn’t let you come.”
Heat shot down her spine. Elyon swallowed hard and clenched her thighs, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. If he knew how deeply his words affected her, he would never let her forget it.
“Turned on?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I am.”
Elyon cleared her throat, fighting for composure. “What we have, Cesar, is strictly a professional relationship. I would appreciate it if you refrained from making suggestive comments like that.”
“Where’s the fun in a professional relationship?” he muttered. Then, leaning closer, he asked, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“No.” She shut him down instantly.
And yet… Her racing heartbeat told a different story entirely.
Cesari’s voice dropped to a sinful murmur, his grin wickedly unrepentant. “I’ve fucked you eight ways to Sunday in my dreams,” he informed her, watching her reaction like a man savoring fine wine. The way her breath caught, the way she stiffened—oh, he lived for it. “I’ve never not been honest with you, Ellie.”
Elyon’s cheeks warmed, but she masked it with irritation. “I’d rather you keep your honesty to yourself, Cesari. I don’t want people getting ideas into their heads about us.”
He leaned back, lounging like a king on a throne. “Tell me one truth.”
“No.” She deadpanned, though they both knew he wouldn’t stop there.
“I insist.”
She blew out a long breath. Cesari Sandoval could be stubborn to the point of torture, and she understood all too well that he wouldn’t let her leave without indulging him.
She hoped—prayed—that his question wouldn’t be something she couldn’t safely answer.
“Fine. I don’t have any choice.” She shrugged, accepting her fate.
His eyes glinted with anticipation. “Have you ever thought of me the same way I think of you?”
“I don’t understand.” Her brow furrowed, though inwardly she did. She understood perfectly. She just wished he didn’t make it so hard to pretend.
“You know I want to sleep with you,” he said plainly, grinning like a charming devil. “And I’m going to. It’s going to happen, Ellie.”
Elyon rolled her eyes, though her pulse betrayed her. “What’s your question, Cesari?”
“Do you want me too? Sexually?” he asked, as if the entire universe depended on her answer.
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Do you?” He pressed again, unblinking.
“Yes,” she admitted at last. “Every red-blooded woman wants you, Cesari. I’m unfortunately not an exception. But…” She folded her arms and met his gaze steadily. “It’s not going to happen. Not if I can help it.”
“Do you want to bet?”
“I’ll win, so there’s no need.” She shook her head. Her confidence wasn’t a game—it was armor. “I want you, but I can resist you, Cesari.”
Now that wounded him. Or so he pretended. “You’ve really hurt my ego.”
Elyon ignored the theatrics and switched topics abruptly, a survival tactic she’d perfected working for him. “Do you know her? The woman you slept with? When was this?”
“Six, seven years ago,” he said dismissively. Then, unexpectedly, his tone softened. “Her hair was soft like yours, and her skin…” He closed his eyes, breathing in a memory that clearly haunted him. “I’ve got no words to describe her. She was a goddess.”
Elyon blinked, momentarily thrown. Cesari Sandoval, the man who didn’t worship anything but money and himself, speaking about a woman with reverence? That was new.
“Wow. Kudos to this mysterious woman. I mean, you’ve never praised anyone like that. Good thing you don’t remember her though.”
“Why do you say that?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up her planner and flipped it open, slipping easily back into professionalism. “You have a dinner meeting with Connor Dominguez at seven. I made a reservation at Fantasies.”
“I really can’t stand that guy,” Cesari grumbled. “I hated the way he was eye-fucking you two weeks ago.”
“Really? I didn’t notice.”
He scoffed, sounding genuinely disgruntled. “Half the men in this building want to fuck you.”
“Stop exaggerating, Cesari.” Ellie rolled her eyes again, a gesture that had become second nature around him. “I don’t see myself as anybody’s dream girl.”
“You’re mine,” he said gruffly.
Elyon froze for a second—just a second. His tone… it hadn’t been teasing. At least not entirely. But she brushed it off before the thought settled too deeply. She stood. “Need anything? Lunch, maybe?”
“Yeah. I could have you for lunch.” His smile turned mischievous—dangerously so.
She shot him a withering look. “In your dreams, Sandoval. I’m going out for an hour. Do not call me.”
“You know I will.” He winked shamelessly.
Elyon said nothing more and sashayed out of his office, leaving the faint scent of her perfume lingering behind—torture in the form of floral sweetness.
Cesar watched her go, jaw tightening as desire curled inside him like smoke. “Damn… what I wouldn’t give to tap that,” he muttered under his breath. “Fucking tease.”
With a sigh—one part frustration, one part admiration—he forced his attention back to work, though he didn’t fool himself.
Elyon Devane would haunt his concentration for the rest of the day.
