His voice was deep and measured, the kind that probably commanded boardrooms and bent lesser men to his will. But it was his eyes that undid her—those impossible blue depths that seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed defenses.
Their palms connected in a firm handshake.
But then the world exploded.
Heat raced up her arm like lightning crackling beneath her skin. Every nerve ending came alive at once, singing with recognition she couldn't name or understand. Her pulse spiked so violently she was certain he could hear it thundering in the sudden silence.
Riley's breath hitched involuntarily, and she had to swallow hard against the surge of sensation that threatened to buckle her knees. In all her thirty-two years—through countless sparring matches, professional fights, and even the disaster with Trent—nothing had ever affected her like this. One simple handshake had broken her composure more completely than any opponent ever had.
Adrian's expression shifted too, subtle but unmistakable. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, those golden flecks in his eyes flaring brighter as if something primal had stirred awake inside him. His grip lingered a heartbeat longer than professional courtesy required, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that sent another jolt of electricity straight to her core.
What the hell is happening to me?
Before either of them could process the moment—or worse, acknowledge it aloud—Gerri's delighted voice sliced through the charged air.
"Well, I'm glad to see such instant chemistry," she said cheerfully, clapping her hands together with obvious satisfaction. "But perhaps we should focus on the reason we're here."
The spell shattered. Riley jerked her hand back as if she'd been burned, which wasn't far from the truth. Her palm still tingled with phantom heat, and she had to resist the urge to flex her fingers to dispel the lingering sensation.
She retreated behind her desk like it was a fortress wall, gesturing toward the two mismatched chairs she'd positioned in front of it. The cramped space felt even more suffocating with these two commanding presences filling every inch of available air.
"Please, sit."
Riley gathered the stack of paperwork she'd prepared, her hands trembling as she passed the folders across the desk. She knew it was a pathetic attempt at professional documentation.
Adrian accepted the papers with those long, capable fingers that had just wreaked havoc on her nervous system. He studied the contents for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he flipped through invoices, membership records, and her scattered attempts at financial tracking.
Then his brows drew together in a way that caused her stomach to drop.
"This… isn't much to work with."
His words hit like a slap. Riley had known her bookkeeping was subpar, but hearing this powerful, intimidating man dismiss her efforts so bluntly made embarrassment flood her cheeks with heat. Here she was, a nationally recognized kickboxing champion, being made to feel like an incompetent child by someone she'd met five minutes ago.
Her defenses snapped into place instantly, armor she'd perfected through years of protecting herself from disappointment.
"I know my bookkeeping isn't perfect," she said, her voice cooler than the afternoon air. "But it's functional."
Adrian flipped through another folder, his expression growing more skeptical with each page. The careful way he handled her disorganized records made her feel exposed, as if he could see every failure and shortcoming laid bare in those scattered documents.
"I can't give you meaningful financial advice with this kind of incomplete information."
Before Riley could launch into a defensive response that would probably end this meeting before it truly began, Gerri stepped in with the smooth grace of someone accustomed to managing volatile personalities.
"Adrian, darling, perhaps you're being a touch rigid." Her tone carried gentle reproach wrapped in honeyed steel. "Riley clearly has the information somewhere. Maybe you could help her navigate it instead of dismissing it outright. Tell her exactly what you need."
Something in Gerri's inflection suggested layers of meaning Riley couldn't quite grasp.
Adrian's jaw clenched at being corrected so publicly, and Riley caught a flash of something almost vulnerable in his expression—as if being instructed on how to handle this meeting had caught him off guard. For a moment, his carefully controlled mask slipped, revealing glimpses of complexity beneath the professional exterior.
Then his gaze drifted past Riley's desk to the trophy case positioned in the corner of her office. The afternoon light caught the polished metal of her kickboxing trophies, making them gleam like golden sentinels guarding her achievements.
Recognition flashed across Adrian's features, followed by something that looked remarkably like admiration.
"I didn't realize you were a professional kickboxer."
Riley crossed her arms, her posture straightening with defensive pride. "I am."
"Multiple-time national champion, actually," Gerri interjected with obvious satisfaction. "Riley's quite famous in fighting circles."