Act Like You Love Me (Jessica) novel Chapter 88

Chapter 88

Jessica’s POV

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Before I could find the words to address the tension between us, the meeting forced its way in.

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Three men in charcoal suits approached our table, led by a man who oozed manufactured confidence.

His hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail that pulled at the corners of his eyes.

“Señor Tyrone, qué placer verte de nuevo,” Roberto said, his voice a smooth baritone as he extended a hand. [Mr. Tyrone, what a pleasure to see you again.]

“¿Estamos listos para discutir el patrocinio del torneo?” [Are we ready to discuss the tournament sponsorship?]

“Por supuesto, Roberto,” Aaron replied. [Of course, Roberto.] His voice shifted into a liquid, effortless fluency that made me freeze with my coffee cup halfway to my lips.

“Hablemos de negocios. Pero recuerda, mi tiempo es limitado hoy.”

[Let’s talk business. But remember, my time is limited today.]

I hadn’t known Aaron spoke Spanish. He didn’t just speak the language; he inhabited it, blending his command with their local lilt so perfectly it made my chest tighten.

There was something raw and magnetic about hearing that deep, familiar voice navigate foreign vowels with such precision.

A low, treacherous heat coiled in my stomach; a slow burn of attraction I had no business feeling.

We moved to a glass-walled room at the back.

As the meeting unfolded and papers spread across the table like a battlefield map, the atmosphere shifted.

The lead investor, a man named Roberto with a bold gold loop earrings and a smile that didn’t reach his was sitting at the head of the table.

From the moment we sat down, I felt his gaze. It wasn’t professional; it was a slow, oily crawl.

eyes,

Every time I stood to pass a document or adjust the screen, his eyes lingered on my legs, hips and chest with a blatant, hungry focus.

I tried to focus on my notes, but disgust was a cold lump in my throat.

Aaron was speaking, his voice authoritative as he broke down the quarterly projections, but he wasn’t blind.

Roberto wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, he leaned back with a sleazy smirk that suggested he was already calculating my price.

Aaron didn’t miss a beat of the negotiation, but I saw the change. His jaw turned to stone. His voice dropped

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Chapter 88

an octave, becoming a low, vibrating warning.

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“As you can see on page twelve,” Aaron said, his English returning, but his eyes locking onto Roberto’s with lethal intensity.

“The growth for the Madrid sector is nearly thirty percent. It’s a delicate balance, Roberto. Much like the respect required in a boardroom.”

Roberto still didn’t get the memo. I shifted awkwardly as he continued to ignore the warning in Aaron’s voice.

“The logistics are sound, Roberto,” Aaron carried on, “and the projected growth in the Spanish market is-”

He paused mid-sentence, and leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he caught Roberto’s gaze wandering toward me for the tenth time.

He tapped his pen on the table, a slow, rhythmic sound that felt like a ticking bomb.

“Is there something more interesting than the profit margins, Roberto?” Aaron asked, his voice slipping into a slow, dangerous cadence.

“Because you seem to be having trouble focusing on the numbers. Perhaps you’re too busy looking at my assistant?”

Aaron leaned forward, his large frame casting a shadow over Roberto’s seat.

“If you keep looking at her like she’s a dish on the menu instead of the smartest person in this room, I’ll make sure the only thing you’re projecting by the end of the hour is your own medical expenses.”

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Roberto’s face flushed a deep, mottled purple-a clear sign he knew he’d overstepped-but his ego wouldn’t let him back down.

He looked to his colleagues for a support that wasn’t coming, then leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, filthy mumble.

“Come on, Tyrone. A man cannot appreciate a beautiful view?” Roberto sneered, a mocking laugh bubbling in

his throat.

“With curves like that, you cannot blame me for wondering how much she costs for a night. She looks like the type who’s been around the block a few-”

The punch cracked through the air like a firecracker at point-blank range.

I flinched, the sound of skin hitting bone making my stomach turn.

Before I could even blink, Aaron was over him.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft over the help, Tyrone,” Roberto scoffed, his breath coming in ragged hitches.

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Chapter 88

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“She’s no different from the others. Girls like that always end up back where they belong. On the stree-”

Aaron didn’t just look angry; he looked lethal. He lunged, grabbing Roberto by the lapels and hauling him halfway off the floor until they were inches apart.

Before Roberto could finish the insult, Aaron’s fist connected with his jaw again. The sound was a sickening, heavy thud.

Roberto’s head snapped back, his chair flipping over as he tumbled to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and expensive linen.

Silence followed, heavy and suffocating.

The other investors sat like statues, their faces pale as they stared at the wreckage of the meeting.

One started to reach out, his mouth opening to protest the loss of the deal, but Aaron’s gaze snapped toward him, sharp as a blade.

The man instantly recoiled, sinking back into his chair and pulling his hands away from the table.

Aaron didn’t offer an apology or a formal closing. He didn’t say another word to the men in the room.

“The deal is off. I don’t work with pigs,” he seethed, his voice vibrating with a primal, protective fury.

Through the glass walls, the restaurant patrons stared, their whispers rippling through the air like a rising tide.

Aaron ignored them, his chest still heaving as he stood over the man he’d just leveled.

When he turned to me, the fire in his eyes hadn’t died down, but as they landed on my face, the jagged rage softened into something fiercely protective. It was a look that made my heart stutter against my ribs.

“Let’s go, Jessica.”

His hand locked firmly around my arm, his grip possessive and unyielding.

He guided me through the gawking crowd and out into the blinding Madrid sun, not letting go even as we hit the sidewalk.

“Aaron, wait the contract-” I stammered, the words tripping over each other as we reached the car.

“To hell with the contract,” he growled, not slowing his pace.

The car doors thudded shut, sealing us into the plush, air-conditioned silence of the back seat.

Up front, the driver, a man who had seen enough of Aaron’s world to know when to keep his eyes on the road -remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Aaron didn’t care. He slammed his hand against the window frame beside my head, trapping me.

He was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the adrenaline-fueled scent of him filling the small,

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Chapter SS

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private space of the cabin.

“Don’t ever,” he breathed, his face inches from mine, “ever think I won’t walk away from some stupid contract if the cost is you being disrespected.”

I stared at him, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

“Why? Why do you care, Aaron? You’re engaged. You’ve spent weeks acting like you hate me. Why does it matter?”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine as the anger faded into something much more painful.

For a second, the mask of the cold CEO completely shattered.

“Because you’re mine, Jessica,” he rasped, his voice cracking with a raw honesty that made my toes curl.

“I don’t care about the past, or the mistakes, or the pride. You are mine. Always.”

Before I could breathe, he leaned in and captured my lips.

For a split second, I lost myself. I melted against the leather seat, my fingers curling into his shirt.

But then, the cold reality of the metal against my skin-the ring on his finger as his hand cradled my jaw— snapped me back to reality.

I remembered where we were. I remembered the man in the front seat.

I gasped into his mouth and shoved at his chest, putting a few inches of space between us.

“Aaron, stop,” I breathed, my voice trembling. I glanced pointedly at his hand. “You’re engaged. You’re wearing her ring. You can’t just… you can’t do this.”

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he looked down at the band of gold as if it were a minor inconvenience, a restraint he’d been waiting for an excuse to cut.

Without a word, he gripped the ring and slid it off his finger. He didn’t drop it or tuck it away; he simply set it on the leather seat like it was a piece of scrap metal.

“Problem solved,” he said, his voice a low, rough growl.

Before I could protest that it wasn’t that simple, he lunged back in.

He didn’t give me room to think or space to breathe. He pulled me back into the heat, his kiss more demanding this time, as if he were reclaiming every inch of me I’d tried to keep hidden.

The fight drained out of me. The logic, the guilt, the presence of the drivers, the “what-ifs”-they all went quiet.

I surrendered, my arms winding around his neck as I kissed him back with a desperate, starving hunger of my

own.

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