Page 4

The next few hours were a whirlwind of preparation.I rushed to my closet, yanking out clothes and tossing them onto my bed.Professional but not stuffy.Confident but not arrogant.I needed to look like someone who could handle a billionaire’s demands.I finally settled on a navy blazer over a white blouse and dark jeans.It was polished but approachable.I paired it with my lucky purple glasses, hoping they’d give me an extra boost of confidence.

I spent the next hour Googling Sterling Nightfang, trying to get a sense of the man I was about to meet.Former soccer star turned billionaire investor.Reclusive.The more I read, the worse my stomach felt.This man was powerful, private, and used to getting what he wanted.And I was about to walk into his world armed with nothing but a notebook and hope.

My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, wide-eyed and frenzied.“You got this,” I told her, adjusting my glasses.“Just be yourself.And for God’s sake, don’t spill coffee on him.”

The Sterling Sports Headquarters loomed over me like a glass mountain, all sharp edges and sparkling windows.My sneakers squeaked against the pristine lobby floor as I approached the reception desk, acutely aware of how underdressed I suddenly felt.The woman behind the counter gave me a polite smile.

“Ariel Hayes for Sterling Nightfang,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

“Mr.Nightfang is expecting you.Take the elevator to the 42nd floor.His assistant will meet you there.”

The elevator ride was silent except for the pounding of my heart.When the doors slid open, a young man in a crisp suit nodded at me.“Ms.Hayes?Mr.Nightfang is in the gym.Follow me.”

The gym?I blinked but kept pace as he led me down a hallway.The scent of antiseptic and rubber hit me as we entered a sprawling fitness center.In the center of it all, was Sterling Nightfang.

Shirtless, glistening, every muscle defined like a Renaissance sculpture of the perfect male form.His fists pummeled the bag with a rhythm that echoed my suddenly erratic heartbeat.My throat went dry.God help me.

He didn’t notice me at first, lost in the rhythm of his movement.I stood frozen, clutching my notebook like a shield, as I took in the sight of him.His dark hair was damp, stuck to his forehead, and his jaw was set in a hard line, every punch delivered with controlled fury.He was every inch the powerhouse I’d imagined the world’s most famous soccer player to be, intimidating, commanding, and undeniably magnetic.

The sight of him, all rippling muscles and glistening tanned skin, was almost too much to take in.His muscles bunched and released with each punch, a powerful force of nature in skin and bones.Even from across the room, I could see the sweat glistening on his skin, tracing every ridge and valley across his body as each drop dripped to the floor.He was utterly magnificent.A statue of a god come to life.The heat of the room seemed to press in on me, my notebook a flimsy shield against his intensity.

Finally, he paused.Turning to face me, his chest heaved.His eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto mine.For a split second, I felt like prey under the gaze of a predator.My pulse hammered in my throat.

“You must be the writer.”He didn’t look up from his punching bag as he spoke.

“Ariel Hayes,” I managed, my fingers tightening around the spine of my notebook.“Nice to meet you, Mr.Nightfang.”

He grabbed a towel from a nearby bench and wiped his face.His expression was unreadable.“Call me Sterling.”He tossed the towel aside and crossed his arms, his biceps flexing in a way that made it hard to focus.“Gladys tells me you’re the best.Let’s see if she’s right.”

I swallowed, my confidence wavering under his scrutiny.“I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

He nodded, gesturing to a set of weights by a weightlifting bench.“Good.Sit.I don’t have time for chit-chat, so let’s get to work.”

I hesitated, glancing back at the weights.Was he serious?Did he expect me to sit on a stack of weights while we discussed his autobiography?But then I noticed the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I realized he was testing me.Of course.

“You’re the boss,” I said, raising an eyebrow as I perched on the edge of the bench.“But if I fall off, it’s on you.”

His smirk widened, just barely.Something hot and feral coiled in my belly.“Fair enough.”He grabbed a water bottle and took a long swig before leaning against the rack opposite me.“So, you’ve read the brief.What do you need from me?”

I flipped open my notebook, grateful for something to focus on besides his intimidating presence.“I’ll need to interview you.Extensively.Your childhood, your soccer career, your transition to business.The more honest you are, the better the book will be.”

He raised an eyebrow.“Honest?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze.“The good, the bad, and the ugly.People want authenticity, not a polished version of your life.”

He grunted, his expression unimpressed.“Authenticity.Right.Because the world’s dying to hear about my feelings.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.“Well, Mr.Nightfang.Sterling, if you’re worried about oversharing, don’t be.I’m not here to write a tell-all tabloid.I’m here to tell your story.But it’s your call how much of it you want people to see.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he crossed his arms again, the movement drawing my attention to the way his muscles shifted under his skin.I forced myself to look back at my notebook, but the image was seared into my brain.

“My call, huh?Good.Because I’m not interested in airing my dirty laundry for the world to pick apart.”

“I’m not here to pick it apart either,” I said, meeting his gaze again.“I’m here to help you tell it in a way that’s true to you.Whether that’s polished or raw, it’s your choice.But the more open you are, the more impact it’ll have.”

He studied me for a moment, and then he let out a short, humorless laugh.“You’re persistent.I’ll give you that.”

“And you’re stubborn,” I shot back before I could stop myself.My cheeks warmed, but I held his gaze.“But I think we’ll make a good team.”