Page 10 of Fallen Heir

But somehow, I knew everything was about to change.

The man standing in front of me smelled like sandalwood and something warmer—comfort, maybe. If safety had a scent, it would be him. Everything about his presence rooted me in place, like gravity had suddenly shifted and centered on him.

But reality kicked in fast.

I’d never trust a man again. Not after what I’d been through. Not after the one who promised to love, honor, and cherish me had broken every piece of my soul. So, as this Greek god stood before me, exuding calm and control, I reminded myself of the truth.

I was just a lifeless soul trapped in a body stuck on this planet—and today, I had a very important client coming in.

I forced myself to move, extended my hand and summoned the most professional smile I could muster.

“Good morning. How can I help you today?”

He didn’t take my hand at first. Just looked at me with those unreadable, dark eyes—studying me as if I were a problem to solve.

“I’m here to meet with Millicent,” he said simply, finally shaking my hand—his grip firm, warm, and way too grounding.

His palm wrapped around mine like it was meant to. For a heartbeat too long,

I forgot who I was pretending to be. I felt... anchored. Not in a romantic way—God no—but in a terrifying, unsettling,what-the-hell-is-thisway. Like if I held on any longer, I’d start to believe I was safe again. And I couldn’t afford that.

Then, a strange pang twisted in my chest.Of coursehe was here for Millie. The hottest man I’d seen in forever, and he wasn’t my client. Not that it mattered.

It didn’t matter.He wouldn’t be interested in someone like me anyway.

But it did sting in a way I didn’t expect.

“Savannah!” Millie’s voice called out as she breezed into the room. “I see you’ve met your first client.”

My head snapped toward her. “My... what?”

Millie grinned, completely oblivious to the hurricane brewing in my chest. “Jaxson Westbrook—meet Savannah Sinclair, your new PR rep.”

I blinked.

This was my client? Hewas my client?

That small pang turned into a full-body jolt. Nervous excitement and raw panic collided somewhere in my ribcage. How was I supposed to work with someone like him? He was...too much.Too confident, too attractive, too everything.

I turned back to him, forcing my smile to stay in place, my spine to stay straight.

Strictly business. That’s what this would be. A job. Nothing more. I can’t handle anything more.

“Mr. Westbrook,” I said smoothly. “Let’s get started.”

I led the way to my office, hyper-aware of the weight of his gaze. It clung to me like static—subtle, electric, almost intimate. As if he were touching me without ever laying a hand.

I motioned for him to sit across from my desk, then rounded to the opposite side, setting down my notepad and opening my laptop.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

“So, Mr. Westbrook,” I began, trying to sound more confident than I felt, “tell me a little about yourself.”

He raised a brow, a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Shouldn’t that be something you already know?”

“Well,” I said with a clipped smile, “I wasn’t given any details—or your name—until about five minutes ago, so no, I don’t know anything. Not yet.” I leaned forward slightly. “Let’s start with why we’re needing to do damage control.”

He let out a deep laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest and curled around the room like smoke. It tugged at something inme I didn’t want to acknowledge. “I’m here,” he said dryly, “because Millicent Pierman is a permanent pain in my ass.”