Page 9 of Ardent Desires

“Miss Sanders,” I say, “I need you to sign this.” I hold out the NDA. “You’re going to be working closely on the French Riviera project, and it’s confidential.”

She takes the document, her eyes widening as she skims it. “Wait, you mean… I’m working on the actual project? Like, hands-on?”

I nod, watching her reaction closely. “Yes. You’ve got experience in hospitality, and I think your input will be valuable here.”

Her cheeks flush, and she tries to hide her smile by biting her lip. That same lip I’ve been thinking about far too often lately.She scribbles her signature at the bottom and hands the NDA back to me.

“Great,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Starting tonight. Stay late.”

Her eyes widen, but she nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Blackwood.”

I head back to my office, glancing over my shoulder just in time to catch the way she watches me leave. Interesting.

The first night she stays late, we dive straight into the project. I pull up the designs and proposals for the new luxury resort we’re planning in the French Riviera, and Ellie sits across from me, taking notes like it’s second nature.

“This location is all about exclusivity,” I explain, leaning back in my chair, fingers tapping against the sleek surface of my desk. “It’s going to be the kind of place where privacy is the number one priority. Think about the clientele. High-profile, wealthy, people who want luxury without the paparazzi.”

She nods, but then she surprises me. “But what about the local culture? I mean, if it’s all about exclusivity, sure, but part of the allure of the French Riviera is that it’s more than just luxury. It’s also about the experience—the art, the food, the history. You can’t forget that.”

I raise an eyebrow, impressed. She’s right. “Exactly,” I say, leaning forward. “That’s why I brought you on. You’ve got the kind of insight I need for this. We can’t just build another five-star resort. It has to feel authentic.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

“Alexander,” I correct her. “You’re working directly with me now. No need for the formalities.”

“Right. Alexander,” she says, a little uncertain, but I see the corners of her mouth tugging upward.

We work for hours, and the more she talks, the more I realize how sharp she is. She’s not just good—she’sreallygood. Her ideas, her way of thinking… it’s refreshing. I like the way her mind works. And as much as I hate to admit it, I like spending time with her.

By the second night, it’s clear this is becoming a routine.

“Staying late again, Miss Sanders?” Lena asks, her tone clipped as she passes by Ellie’s desk.

Ellie doesn’t even look up from the mock-up she’s studying. “Yep,” she mutters, eyes scanning the page. “Mr. Blackwood has me working on the creative side of things.”

Lena makes a face, but I catch the smirk on Ellie’s lips. There’s that fire again. I like it.

That evening, it’s just the two of us in the office again, the city lights twinkling outside as we pour over blueprints and project specs. Ellie’s in full work mode, flipping through papers, her focus intense.

But halfway through reviewing a budget proposal, she slams the folder shut. “This budget is ridiculous,” she says, her eyes flashing. “We’re overspending on things that won’t even matter to the guests.”

I stare at her, taken aback by her bluntness. “Explain.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Look, I get that luxury is the goal, but we don’t need to throw money at pointless decor or amenities just because it sounds impressive on paper. People coming to the Riviera want an experience, not just a fancy room. If we reinvest in things that enhance the cultural and personal aspects of the stay—local chefs, unique experiences—they’ll remember that. Not the thread count on the sheets.”

She’s talking fast, passionate, and all I can think about is how good she looks when she’s worked up like this.

“Hmm,” I say, leaning back and crossing my arms. “Good point.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. “Wait, really?”

I nod. “You’re right. The budget’s bloated. We’ll make adjustments.”

She stares at me, then breaks into a grin. “Thank you! I was half-expecting you to tell me I was out of line.”

I smirk. “You’re out of line often enough, Miss Sanders. But I don’t mind it.”

She blushes, and I can’t help but notice how those red lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something but stops herself. Instead, she looks back at the papers, trying to focus. I can’t.

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