Be My Boyfriend
LILIANA’S POV
If anyone had told me this morning that I’d be standing in the middle of my walk-in closet waging war against my own wardrobe, I would have laughed in their face. But here I was—forty-five minutes into what could only be described as a full-blown fashion crisis—pulling silk blouses, pencil skirts, and dresses off hangers like my life depended on it.
Or, more accurately… like Ronny’s attention depended on it.
I groaned and tossed another perfectly good top onto the already chaotic pile on the table in the center of the closet. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, dragging both hands through my hair.
From the doorway, my best friend Erica leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching my meltdown with the kind of patient amusement only a best friend can muster. She was sipping from her iced coffee like this was free entertainment.
“Lil,” she said, her voice carrying that lazy drawl that told me she was about to roast me alive. “Please tell me you’re not doing all this for Ronny.”
I looked up at her over my shoulder, caught somewhere between embarrassment and shamelessness. “Yes,” I said, with a proud smile that felt like a confession and a challenge all at once.
Her brows shot up, but she didn’t look surprised. “You know you already look beautiful, right? You could show up in sweatpants and a messy bun and still turn heads. Any man would—”
I cut her off with a sharp shake of my head. “Ronny isn’t just any man.”
That made her straighten a little, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
“He’s…” I searched for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t make me sound like some love-struck fool. “He’s a mysterious man with walls higher than a damn fortress. And I’m going to break every single one of them.”
Erica let out a slow whistle. “You really think you can?”
“I know I can,” I said, with the same certainty I reserved for things like champagne being better than wine and diamonds being a girl’s best friend.
For another five minutes I shuffled through options, holding fabrics up against my body in the mirror. I needed something that said professional without saying boring. Something that said sexy without screaming desperate.
Finally, I found it—the perfect combination.
Black short skirt. Silk cream top, buttons undone just enough to hint at what was underneath without giving the whole damn show away. Expensive red-bottom heels that made my legs look like they belonged in a glossy magazine spread. Jewelry, but not too much—just a delicate gold chain, diamond studs, and a thin bracelet.
I dabbed on my good luck perfume—the one men always seemed to remember—and turned to Erica, hands on my hips. “How do I look?”
She gave me a once-over and smiled. “As beautiful as always.”
“Good.” I grabbed my bag, my phone, and my confidence, then started toward the front door. “Take care of the office while I’m gone.”
She nodded, smirking. “Go break down some walls, Lil.”
I left the penthouse with a grin that only grew wider as I slipped into my car. The city stretched out ahead of me like a playground, and I couldn’t shake the thrill curling in my stomach. I wasn’t just going to see Ronny—I was going to rattle him.
By the time I pulled into the lot outside his agency, I’d managed to calm my pulse. Mostly.
The building was impressive in a way that made me wonder how long it had taken him to build it from the ground up. It had Ronny written all over it—modern, sleek, a little intimidating.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of coffee and something clean and masculine, like leather and cedarwood. My heels clicked against the polished floor, drawing the eyes of several men—and, to my satisfaction, even a couple of women—as I made my way to the reception desk.
“Good afternoon,” the receptionist said with a polite smile.
“I’m looking for Ronny,” I told her, leaning just slightly against the counter.
Her brows lifted a little. “Is he expecting you?”
“No,” I said, giving her a smile I knew was persuasive enough to make her forget to breathe. “But tell him I’m here.”
She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Of course. One moment.”
I watched her pick up the phone, murmur something, then hang up. “He’s waiting for you,” she said, still eyeing me like she was trying to piece together the nature of my visit.
“Perfect,” I replied, my heels already carrying me toward the elevator.
The ride up felt both too short and too long at once. My reflection in the elevator doors stared back at me, all cool confidence on the outside, but my heart was drumming against my ribs. I hated how much this man could get under my skin without even trying.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a hallway that led straight to his office.
He was there when I walked in—dressed head-to-toe in black, the polo shirt stretching just enough over his broad chest to make me wonder if the color choice had been intentional. Black pants, black boots. And those tattoos. My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them, lingering on the way the dark ink crept down his forearms, wrapping his skin in intricate, dangerous art.
I almost forgot to breathe.
He looked up from whatever file he’d been reading, his gaze sweeping over me once, sharp and assessing, before returning to my face.
“Did you remember something?” he asked, his voice that deep, steady rumble that made my pulse skip.
“Not really,” I said, walking farther into the room. “But there’s something that will make this case a lot easier for you.”
His brow furrowed slightly, suspicion flashing in those eyes that missed nothing. “And what’s that?”
I should have thought before I spoke. I should have planned, eased my way in, tested the waters.
But instead, before I could stop myself, the words slipped out—bold, reckless, and entirely mine.
“Be my boyfriend.”
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