I walked briskly through the glass doors of Navarro PR, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. My dark brown hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and my sharp navy-blue suit made me look how confident and professional I was. With a phone pressed to my ear and a tablet in my other hand, everyone looked at me like someone who had everything under control — exactly, I did.
"I'll send the final press release by noon," I said calmly into the phone. "Make sure the client signs off before publishing."
I ended the call and took a deep breath. It was barely 9 a.m., and my day was already packed. Still, I loved it. I loved being in control of everything, the planning, the problem-solving. That is my world. I'm not here to daydream or get caught up in emotional messes. I get things done.
Inside my office, floor-to-ceiling windows let the morning light flood the room. The view of the city skyline never got old, even if I rarely had time to stop and admire it. My assistant, Jordan, appeared at the door holding a tablet.
"There's a new client briefing in fifteen minutes. Very high-profile," he said. "And… complicated."
I raised an eyebrow. "Complicated how?"
Jordan hesitated. "It's Aidan Blackthorne."
I blinked. "The billionaire? The one with the yachts, models, and way too many front-page scandals?"
"You guessed it. It's exactly who you think it is — the scandal magnet himself."
I sighed, setting down her tablet. "Why us?"
"Apparently, he's in some legal mess with one of his companies, and the board wants to clean up his image fast. They think you're the only one who can pull it off."
Of course they do, I had a reputation for fixing the impossible. From celebrity meltdowns to corporate disasters, I'd handled them all — quickly, quietly, and without emotion.
But Aidan Blackthorne wasn't just another crisis. He was a walking headline. And worse, he was charming. The kind of charming I had learned to avoid.
Still, work was work. And I never said NO to a challenge.
"Fine," she said. "Let's see what kind of mess Mr. Blackthorne has made."
---
The meeting was held in one of Navarro PR's executive conference rooms — sleek, modern, and soundproofed for exactly this kind of high-stakes conversation. The long glass table gleamed under soft overhead lighting, and the walls were lined with subtle acoustic panels and framed press clippings — quiet reminders of the firm's many victories. I stepped inside, tablet in hand, scanning the room with the practiced precision of someone used to walking into fires.
A few members of Aidan Blackthorne's legal team were already seated, their suits expensive, their expressions tight. They looked like men who hadn't slept much lately — and judging by the stack of folders in front of them, I could guess why.
At the far end of the table sat a stern-looking man in a sharply tailored charcoal suit. He stood as I entered and introduced himself with a curt nod. "Richard Hayes. Head of public relations for Blackthorne Enterprises."
His handshake was dry and efficient, the kind that says, "I don't have time for small talk." He didn't smile, and I didn't expect him to.
The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that clings to a crisis like smoke. Everyone in that room knew this wasn't just a meeting — it was a strategy session for survival. Aidan's survival. His brand. His empire.
All that was missing was the man himself.
Until the door opened and he walked in.
Aidan Blackthorne stood in the doorway like he'd just stepped off the cover of a luxury magazine. Tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly tailored in a charcoal suit with just the right amount of casual rebellion — the top button of his shirt undone, no tie, as if to say "Rules don't apply to me." His dark hair was slightly tousled, not messy, but deliberate. Like everything about him had been engineered to appear effortless.
"Sophie Navarro," he said, offering his hand. "I've heard you're the best at cleaning up messes."
I shook his hand, her grip firm. "And I've heard you're very good at making them."
Aidan grinned. "Fair enough, that was a good one."
I didn't smile. "Let's get started."
We spent the next hour going over his recent headlines — a failed acquisition, accusations of reckless spending, and rumors of personal scandals. Most of it was half-true, spun by gossip blogs and bored reporters. But some of it wasn't so easy to brush off.
"The board is nervous," said the PR head. "They want the public to see a more… responsible Aidan Blackthorne."
"Responsible," Aidan repeated, as if tasting the word. "Doesn't exactly sound fun."
I glanced at him. "It's not about fun. It's about trust. If people don't trust you, they won't invest in you. And right now, trust is your biggest problem."
Aidan leaned back in his chair, watching me closely. "And you think you can fix that?"
"I know I can."
There was a pause. Then he smiled again. "Alright, Miss Navarro. Show me what you've got."
---
Later that afternoon, back in my office, I reviewed my notes. The plan was simple in theory: rebrand Aidan as a serious, committed businessman. That meant carefully planned interviews, charity work, and avoiding any behavior that might cause another headline.
Simple — except for Aidan himself.
He didn't seem like the type who followed rules. He was too used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted. That kind of attitude didn't fit into the polished, trustworthy image I needed to build.
Still, I'll worked with worse. At least Aidan was smart — and underneath the arrogance, maybe a little more complicated than he let on.
Jordan knocked and stepped in with a coffee. "So, what do you think of him?" he asked as he gave me a cup of coffee.
I took the cup. "He's exactly what I expected. Charming, difficult, and used to getting his way."
Jordan smirked. "Sounds like your type."
I gave him a look. "I don't have a type. Especially not him."
But when I looked out the window again, my mind kept drifting back to that smirk — and the way Aidan had watched me, like he was trying to figure me out.
This job would test me for sure. I have to be careful, stay focused. No distractions.
Because Sophie Navarro didn't fall for clients.
And I definitely won't fall for playboys with too much money and too many secrets.
Right, self? Yes, that's for sure…