That night, despite my best efforts, I can't sleep for even a moment. Every time I close my eyes all I can think about is my meeting with Mr DeLuca, replaying Jordan's warning in my mind.

You've caught Mr DeLuca's attention and that is a very dangerous thing.

Instead of relentlessly tossing and turning, I climb from the comfort of my unhelpful bed and force myself out the door for my morning run much earlier than usual, barely 4am.

It's dark out and the central CBD is quiet for Saturday morning. The sun has barely risen, a soft pink falling over the sky and bringing a crisp chill to the air. It's my favourite time of day, before the rest of the world has woken up.

I'm a creature of habit, and a morning run has been part of my daily routine since I was only a child. I think best when I run. My over analysing mind is quiet, and the burning sensation in my lungs is like an addiction.

Each stride I take, my thoughts wander to Mr DeLuca.

Does he want to meet with me because he's interested, or because he's furious?

Though I want to pretend meeting him yesterday didn't affect me, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to get his voice out of my head—smooth and commanding, like someone who always gets what he wants. Someone dangerous.

When he looked at me, I felt more alive than I have in years. The heat in his gaze made me feel like I was floating. I've never felt electricity like that with anyone before.

Either way, meeting with the man currently buying up as much of New York as he can get his hands on must be a good thing for my career.

And I can certainly control the irrational side of my brain and keep things strictly professional.

Right?

***

The rest of my day goes by quickly. I have five open houses, and in between them I meet my mother for lunch to hear all about her week. We mostly talk about work, but she also prattles on about not having grandchildren and the fact that my eggs are dying at a rapid rate, despite me only being twenty-six.

I try to brush off her comments with a smile, but the truth is, her words sting.

They sit at the forefront of my mind for the rest of the afternoon, bringing an unwelcome feeling to the pit of my stomach.

I've always wanted children.

For a while, I thought being a mom might have been my one true calling in life. I pictured a big family and everything that came with it. The chaos, the school runs—even the ugly mom car. But life is a funny thing.

After what happened, that dream became a twisted nightmare. I couldn't see it the same way again, no matter how hard I tried.

Grayson Ellis ruined my dream before I was even nineteen, but nobody knows except Art.

Not even my mom.

I've been down this rabbit hole before. Fallen for the charm and dangerous allure of a powerful man, but not again. I won't make the same mistake twice.

My career comes first. My career can't hurt me.

I remind myself of this as I pull up in front of the waterfront restaurant at 6:50 p.m. sharp, handing my keys to the valet driver with a polite smile. He eyes my Porsche with a grin and runs over to park it without looking back.

I've never been to this restaurant before, but even from the outside I understand why it's been booked out for months. It's beautiful, with tall glass windows that overlook the ocean and an elegant interior that momentarily takes my breath away.

"Miss Buchanan?"

Another buff male catches me off guard. He walks towards me, and I wait with an unreadable expression. Do these men all belong to the same gym? It's quite impressive.

"Mr DeLuca is not far away. Come and I'll show you to your table," he says without really looking at me.

I furrow my eyebrows. He's not dressed like the other waiters. He's wearing an all-black designer suit like the bouncers at the club.

I'm led to a private table upstairs. It overlooks the restaurant, but you'd never realise it was there if you were seated below.

"Sit," the man in the suit orders abruptly.

I do as I'm told and lock eyes with a second suited man who stands in the corner, staring at me with hooded eyes. He too is just as monstrous. An unmistakable aura of danger hovers around them both, suffocating me.

"Excuse me, may I get you anything to drink while you wait?" A young waiter appears, no older than maybe nineteen. The two men glare at him. He looks petrified.

The air is thick and vibrating with tension. I wonder again if I've made a mistake agreeing to meet with a man that I know nothing about. I'm used to secretive, high-profile clients. But this...it feels different.

"I would love a big glass of your best wine, please." I offer him a kind smile. "Actually, just bring the bottle."

God knows I'll need it.

"A bottle, got it. Thank you," he stutters before scurrying off.

The two guards look between each other.

"Nice restaurant, isn't it?" I offer.

Neither say anything. Instead, they continue to watch me like hawks. I decide to stare at the wall uncomfortably without speaking again, bouncing my foot up and down.

It's exactly 7:00 p.m. on the dot when both bodyguards turn in unison. I look up, locking eyes with a chilling dark pair moving towards me.

Mr DeLuca.

I stand to greet him, but as I do, both guards leap towards me like I'm about to pull a gun.

"Okay, okay, sorry." I raise my hands in surrender, sitting back down slowly as their glares harden.

Mr DeLuca says something in Italian. I don't know what it is, but it makes both men step back and relax slightly.

"I apologize," Mr DeLuca says, this time to me directly. I force myself to look up at him.

Now standing in front of me, I realise just how tall he is; at least 6'4ft. His muscular body towers over me, rippling with so much power it's almost unbearable.

My mouth is suddenly dry as I take him in. He looks just as good as he did yesterday, maybe better. His hair is a little messier, like he's run his hands through it more often than he should've.

The ruggedness of it suits him.

He sits gracefully, controlling the room without trying, unnerving me as he does.

My stomach churns for the first time in my career. What is happening to me?

I clear my throat, extending my hand towards him. "It's nice to formally meet you, Mr DeLuca."

Be professional. Professional. Professional.

"Adele Buchanan," he answers with absolute composure.

When his hand curls around mine, the feeling that ripples through me in response is like nothing I've felt before. I'm warm all over. I must be going insane.

"You wanted to meet?" I offer.

I must be in control of this situation. I will not let this mysterious—infuriatingly attractive—man influence me.

"I thought I best meet the agent who lost me a deal," he muses, but he doesn't sound angry. If anything, there's humour lacing his words. His eyes sweep over my face as if he can read every detail. "I'm not used to losing, Miss Buchanan."

"Well, there's always time to learn." I smile, cocking my head to one side. "Don't be too hard on Jordan, he really did try his best."

"Jordan no longer works for me," he dismisses, ignoring my shocked look. He gestures between us. "Hence this meeting."

He rests his hand on the table, and I trace the lines of a dark tattoo on his forearm. A landscape piece, I think. My eyes fall to the Rolex he wears, as well as the solid gold ring on his left pinky finger.

"I don't know New York well. I need someone who does. Someone to advise me. Someone who does not back down from a fight. I've heard you're quite good at that." He pauses, his eyes flickering from dark to light momentarily. "You have quite the reputation, Miss Buchanan."

His tone is suggestive, husky, and I press my lips into a thin line to prevent any emotion from crossing my face. "And what is it you're wanting to achieve by buying all this expensive real estate? Are you a developer?"

I catch the amused look his security guards send one another.

Not a developer, then.

"It's more of a hobby. Something on the side," Mr DeLuca explains vaguely, leaning back in his seat. His eyes alone hold a million dark secrets. It only furthers the uneasy feeling building in the pit of my stomach.

Good Lord, this man is terrifying.

"What is it you do then, Mr DeLuca?"

"I'm a businessman. I dabble in many things," he answers, giving away nothing. "It will be a simple task for someone with your level of skill, I'm sure. You'll be dealing with my associate mostly. She'll have all the information you need."

"Information?" I send him a perplexed look. His answers are providing me no information whatsoever. "I can't work with clients who are vague about their intentions. It makes my job impossible. What is it you're actually hoping to achieve in the market?"

A new look crosses his face. I can't tell whether he's impressed by my forwardness or insulted. Maybe he's just not used to anyone talking back to him.

"What is it you actually want from me, Mr DeLuca?" I prod when he doesn't answer the first time.

His stare burns against my skin in a way that makes me feel flustered and alive at the same time.

I never feel flustered; I hate it. I hate the effect he has on me. I hate myself for not being able to ignore it.

He remains silent for a moment, his brows drawn together and his expression hard.

"I want you to be my buyers agent," he says, but the tone in his voice implies there's something more on his mind. He hides it well, but I can see it. "I need you to get me as much of New York as you can get your hands on."

We stare at each other. After contemplating, I ask, "Why? What's your end goal here?"

He doesn't hesitate when he responds, "You don't need to know why. You just need to tell me if you can get it done."

I can't help but laugh. I'm frustrated, intrigued, and thrilled at the same time.

This is the big break I've been waiting for.

If I could work exclusively for someone as power hungry and wealthy as Mr DeLuca, no other agent in New York would be able to compete. After eight years of late nights, demanding clients, and weekends lost to work, I would finally be at the top of the food chain.

From where I sit, this deal might be a win for Mr DeLuca. But it's an even bigger win for me.

"I can buy you New York, Mr DeLuca. But I can only accept your offer if Jordan is the associate I'll be working with," I state firmly. "He's a good agent, and I wouldn't feel right taking his work out from underneath him when he did nothing wrong."

Mr DeLuca hums. If I wasn't mistaken, I'd think I sense amusement behind his eyes. "I thought you realtors were all out for yourselves?"

"Some are, but to me, money is never more important than being a decent person," I answer, shifting in my seat. It's impossible to stay still under his assessing gaze. Usually, I can get a good read on people, but this man... I get nothing.

"As I said, Mr DeLuca, I need to work with Jordan, and I also need a detailed summary in writing of what it is you want to achieve in the market, and at what price points."

His eyes flash with an emotion I can't read, jaw hardening. "You are making the terms now?"

The faintest sign of a smirk grows across his red lips, and briefly, I imagine what else he could do with them. I feel my soul leave my body in response.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I take it that's not something you're used to?"

His guards look between themselves again. No, Mr DeLuca is clearly a man who sets the terms.

"Can I ask something?"

He nods without removing his eyes from me.

"How did you get a table here so fast?"

My question clearly amuses him, not that he shows it. This man is very stern.

"That is your big question?" he asks.

"Well, I've been trying to get in here for months," I mutter, swallowing more of my wine to break the ever-growing tension I feel radiating between us.

"I'll see to it you get a reservation more easily next time."

"You own this too," I say, realisation dawning on me. "So, food is a hobby as well?"

"Making money is a hobby." His answer is just as vague as before.

I gesture to the two guards. "And a businessman needs such extreme security because?"

Mr DeLuca leans forward again; the action causes my heart to pound against my chest.

"You ask a lot of questions Miss Buchanan. Will you agree to my proposition, or not?"

Somebody is impatient.

I won't lie, part of me is enjoying this game... It's obvious nobody ever forces him to wait for anything, ever.

I too lean forward with sudden confidence. "I generally like to know who I'm getting into business with and if that business is going to put me in danger."

Mr DeLuca hums, and I watch the way his sculpted jawline tightens before relaxing again. As hard as I try not to, I could all too easily get mesmerised staring at him.

"You will be safe if you work for me," he states firmly, still with no readable emotion.

"Actually, I work for myself," I remind him. "You still haven't agreed to my terms either, by the way."

I smile slyly, aware I'm clearly not the kind of person Mr DeLuca is used to dealing with. I get the feeling everyone buckles under his commanding presence. That's unfortunate for him. He will not have the same luxury with me, no matter how alluring his is.

The poor waiter returns, practically trembling. "Can I take your orders now?"

"No, don't come over again without being called," Mr DeLuca growls without looking away from me.

"Thank you though," I call after the poor kid, who looks absolutely traumatised after his interaction with the intimidating man sitting opposite me.

Mr DeLuca leans back in his chair in an almost casual manner, linking his fingers together and resting them on his torso. The gesture causes the muscle of his arms to flex noticeably beneath the fabric of his shirt.

I swallow more wine to ease the sudden dryness in my throat, composing myself before speaking again.

Good Lord.

"So, Mr DeLuca, my conditions," I prod, placing my glass down gently on the table before him. "Do we have an agreement?"

He tilts his head to one side, observing me like I'm an open book. I mimic the gesture, refusing to flinch despite the very prominent heat coursing through my body.

"You may work with Jordan, and I'll have an associate send through the information you've requested on Monday," Mr DeLuca finally says. His vicious gaze holds a hint of amusement. "Would that satisfy you, Miss Buchanan?"

"It would," I confirm coolly, ignoring the butterfly-like feeling in my stomach when I think about what else he could do to satisfy me.

"Then I believe we do have an agreement." He nods, glancing briefly at the time on his watch before standing. "I'm afraid I have to go now."

"Now?" I ask. For some reason, disappointment tugs at my chest. He's going already? He didn't even have a drink.

"I have other business to attend to." He gestures to the two guards. "Stay Miss Buchanan, enjoy yourself."

I watch as he pulls a leather wallet from his pants pocket, and I shake my head firmly.

"I can buy my own dinner, thank you."

He doesn't seem to like this. His eyes narrow as he takes in my innocent expression.

"I insist," he murmurs, and once again his eyes sweep over me with an expression I cannot grasp.

"As do I," I counter firmly, sipping my wine once more before standing. I clear my throat, extending my hand towards him with a small smile. "I look forward to doing business with you, Mr DeLuca."

"Miss Buchanan," he responds in the same tone, placing his hand in mine. "Will you always be so difficult to deal with?"

"Absolutely." I nod, though my confidence wavers somewhat as his fingers linger in mine.

The roughness of his skin is warm and enticing. A simple handshake from him is enough to send a wave of goosebumps across my arms.

"Careful Miss Buchanan," Mr DeLuca rasps, leaning ever so slightly down towards me. "I too can play that game."

And so, I make my first deal with the devil.

If only I had known what was to come.