Keeping Hot Mr. Sterling.

Eve was supposed to be restocking the pastry case. Instead, she stood at the café window, coffee cup in hand, watching the construction site across the street. Watching him. Three weeks now, and she still didn't know his name. Tall—easily over six feet. Broad-shouldered in a way that made his work shirt stretch across his back when he moved. Dark hair that fell into his eyes when he bent over the rebar, and he was always pushing it back with fingers she'd watched grip steel beams like they weighed nothing. Right now, he was crouched low, welding something, his body a study in controlled power. Even from across the street, she could see the flex of his thighs through worn denim, the way his jeans pulled tight across his ass. When he straightened up and pulled off his hard hat, Eve's breath caught. Sweat darkened his shirt, making it cling to a chest that was clearly solid muscle. He dragged his forearm across his forehead, and the motion lifted his shirt just enough—just enough to reveal tanned stomach, abs that flexed with the movement, a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. God. He ran his hand through sweat-dampened hair, pushing it back from his face, and Eve felt that familiar heat pool low in her belly. The heat she'd been trying to ignore for eight years. The heat that only seemed to wake up when she watched this particular man move. Those arms. Thick with actual working muscle, veins visible along his forearms when he gripped tools. His shoulders were broad enough that when he turned to grab something, she could see the flex of his back muscles even through fabric. She'd been watching him for weeks. Every time he lifted something heavy, every time he bent over, every time that shirt rode up to show another glimpse of tanned skin and hard muscle, something inside her responded. Twenty-eight years old and she'd never felt this before. Never wanted a man like this. Never imagined what those strong hands would feel like on her skin, what that powerful body would feel like moving over hers— Her phone buzzed on the counter. The spell broke. Eve sighed and picked it up, expecting another supplier invoice or Mia texting about tonight's book club. The message made her blood run cold. FINAL NOTICE: Payment of $12,000 due immediately for familial support obligations. Failure to comply will result in legal action. Legal counsel has been retained. We will come for you and collect what you owe us. – Richard Smith Richard. Her adoptive father. The man who'd tried to rape her the night she turned eighteen. The man who'd made it impossible for her to trust anyone, to let anyone touch her, to have a normal relationship with any man. The man who'd turned her into a twenty-eight-year-old virgin too anxious to let anyone close. And now he wanted twelve thousand dollars. The espresso machine screamed behind her. Eve flinched so hard she knocked her phone off the counter. It clattered onto the floor face-up, and the message was still there, glowing like an accusation. "Jesus, Eve, you okay?" Mia called from table six, half-standing. "Fine! I'm fine!" Eve's voice came out too high. She'd taken her anxiety medication this morning, but apparently it wasn't enough for dealing with Richard's threats. She snatched the phone and shoved it into her apron pocket. Her heart was hammering now, the pleasant heat from watching the construction worker replaced by cold dread. Twelve thousand dollars. She'd sent them eight thousand last month. Five thousand the month before that. Where did it end? The espresso machine hissed, steam billowing. Eve lunged for it, twisting the knob too hard. Silence dropped over the café. "Um, excuse me?" A man in a suit stood at the register, tapping his credit card against the counter with obvious impatience. Behind him, the line stretched six deep. Shit. She'd been so distracted watching the construction worker, then dealing with Richard's text, that she'd let the line build up. "Sorry." Eve grabbed the card reader. Her hands were steadier than she felt. The screen blinked. Error. She tried again. Green beep. Transaction complete. "Next," she said, her voice back to professional calm. Order after order. She moved through them efficiently, her hands knowing the routine even while her brain processed Richard's threat. Legal counsel has been retained. They were actually going to sue her. For what—for not giving them money fast enough? For having the audacity to build a successful business without them? Because Page & Pour was successful. Very successful. Her café pulled in solid profit every month. She had money in the bank—not endless amounts, but enough. Enough to be comfortable. Enough to have saved up a decent cushion. Enough that twelve thousand dollars wouldn't break her. But that was the problem, wasn't it? They knew she had money. They knew she'd built something profitable. And they wanted their cut of something they'd never helped create. "Eve?" She looked up. Mia was at the counter now, the café finally empty of the lunch rush. "You look pissed," Mia said. "I am pissed." "Richard again?" Eve didn't answer. Didn't need to. Mia knew the whole story. "How much this time?" "Twelve thousand." Mia's eyes widened. "That's—" "More than I've ever given them in one shot. I know." Eve pulled out her phone, stared at the message again. "They're threatening legal action. Said they retained counsel." "Can they do that? Can they actually sue you for—for what, exactly?" "For being ungrateful, apparently." Eve's laugh came out bitter. "For not paying them back for the privilege of being raised by them." Her phone buzzed again. Time is running out, Evelyn. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. You owe us. – Patricia Patricia. Richard's wife. The woman who'd watched her husband try to assault Eve and then blamed Eve for "tempting" him. Eve's hands clenched around her phone. The anxiety was there—it was always there—but underneath it was something else now. Rage. Pure, clean rage. She'd clawed her way out of that house. Built this café from nothing. Made something of herself despite them, not because of them. And they wanted to take it. She turned back to the window, looking across the street at the construction site. At him. He was back to work now, lifting something heavy, those powerful arms flexing with the weight. His shirt had ridden up again, showing that strip of tanned stomach that made her mouth go dry. An idea crystallized. Insane. Reckless. Absolutely crazy. But also... possible. She had money. She had a profitable business. She had resources. What she didn't have was someone standing beside her. Someone to make Richard and Patricia think twice. Someone who looked like he could break them in half if they pushed too hard. Someone who needed money and wouldn't ask questions. If I had someone, she thought, watching those strong hands grip steel. If I had someone beside me, they wouldn't dare. They were cowards. All of them. They only pushed because she was alone. But what if she wasn't alone? What if there was a man standing next to her? Tall, muscular, clearly capable of violence if necessary. Someone who made it clear she wasn't an easy target anymore. Her heart started racing, but it wasn't panic this time. It was something else. Something wild and decisive. She could pay him. Offer him something better than whatever that construction site was paying. And in exchange— In exchange, he'd be hers. Not really. But he'd stand beside her. He'd be visible. He'd be the deterrent she needed. And maybe—maybe if this arrangement worked out, if he was actually trustworthy, if she could learn to feel safe around him—maybe he could help with the other problem too, the eight years of untouched frustration. The ache that built every time she watched that body move. The intensity her body needed, the f**k she needed. "Eve?" Mia's voice cut through her thoughts. "You have that look." "What look?" "The look you get right before you do something insane." Eve pulled off her apron. "Can you watch things for a bit?" "What? Why?" Eve was already walking toward the door. "I'll explain later." "Eve—" The bell chimed as she pushed outside. The construction site was directly across the street. Loud with the clang of metal and machinery. He was there, crouched down, working on something she couldn't see. Eve stepped off the curb. Her heart pounded, but it wasn't fear. It was adrenaline. Decision. The feeling of taking control for the first time in years. She crossed the street, her steps confident despite the nerves dancing in her stomach. He looked up as she approached. Their eyes met. Up close, he was even better. Taller than she'd thought. Those dark eyes sharp and intelligent. Jaw strong, dusted with stubble. Sweat on his skin that somehow made him look even better. "Are you crazy?" he said, standing quickly. "You can't be in here without a helmet!" His voice was deep. Rough. It did things to her. He took her arm—those strong fingers wrapping around her elbow—and guided her back outside the construction zone. Eve's skin burned where he touched her. "I need to ask you something," she said. He dropped his hand, looking at her with confusion. "Me?" "Yes." She looked up at him, making her decision final. "I want to hire you." "For what?" Eve took a breath. Committed. "As my fiancé. I'll pay you thirty thousand dollars a month. You'll have your own place if you need it, or you can stay with me. All expenses covered. Food, rent, whatever you need." She met his eyes directly. "In exchange, you stand beside me. You look like you belong with me. You will please me. And you make sure my family knows that getting to me means going through you first." He stared at her like she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had. But she'd also made up her mind. "Name your price," she continued, her voice steady now. Confident. "Though I may not have unlimited funds, I can pay well. And I'll pay you everything you need. Just—" She stepped closer, looking up at him with determination. "I want you to be mine."