Chapter 2 Lines In The Sand

• The afternoon sun bore down hard as Sandra pulled the Bentley into the Vega driveway. The house was modest—low stucco walls, cracked stone paths, terracotta tiles, but it was home. Inside, Mateo Vega reclined on the couch with a heating pad against his back and a crossword puzzle resting on his chest.
• “You’re back early,” he said, peeking over the newspaper.
• Sandra dropped the keys onto the hook by the door. “Traffic was light. He had two meetings downtown, one at the west tower, and then straight back.”
• Mateo raised a brow. “And? Did he say anything?”
• “He asked about you.”
• Mateo smirked. “He always did respect loyalty.”
• She hesitated. “He remembered me.”
• Her father looked at her knowingly, but said nothing. They both knew the weight that name—Steve Lancaster—had carried for years. The boy in tailored suits. The genius billionaire. Her childhood curiosity turned silent fascination.
• “I’ll take him again tomorrow,” she said, pouring herself some water.
• Mateo cleared his throat. “You sure? I can ask Tony.”
• “I’m sure.”
• But the truth was messier. It wasn’t just loyalty or responsibility pushing her. It was intrigue. Maybe even attraction. The Lancaster name had always cast a long shadow in Phoenix. It wasn’t just about money. It was power, focus, and a kind of danger wrapped in silk and steel.
• And Steve, now, wasn’t just the shadow he was the storm itself.
• Steve sat in his penthouse that night, glass of bourbon in hand, a file open in front of him—but his thoughts weren’t on the quarterly report.
• They were on her.
• Sandra Vega.
• He hadn’t recognized her at first. Gone was the shy teenager trailing behind her father at company parties. In her place stood a poised woman with wit and confidence behind every look.
• There was something maddeningly honest about her too honest for the world he lived in.
• His phone buzzed. A message from Martin, his head of security.
• Martin: Draven Enterprises just made another move on the western properties. Want me to push back?
• Steve typed back one-handed:
• Steve: Not yet. Let them think they’re winning.
• He set the phone aside. The corporate war with Ethan Draven had been dragging on for months. Mergers, blackmail, insider deals—none of it fazed Steve. But something about Sandra? That unsettled him.
• And he wasn’t sure he liked that.
• The next morning, Sandra wore a navy blouse tucked into tailored black pants. Practical. Polished. Unimpressed.
• She pulled up to the same entrance. Steve was already waiting, phone in hand. As he entered the car, he paused, letting his gaze drift over her.
• “Good morning,” he said.
• “Morning.”
• “New shirt?” he asked.
• She raised a brow at him in the mirror. “Observant for someone who spends most days ignoring everyone.”
• His mouth twitched. “I make exceptions.”
• She rolled her eyes and started the car. But she felt his gaze linger.
• “Are you always this charming before 9 A.M.?” she asked dryly.
• “Only when someone threatens my routine.”
• “By driving better than you expected?”
• “By being more interesting than I expected.”
• The words settled into the air like heat. Neither of them spoke for the next few blocks.
• At the downtown property site, Steve stepped out for his inspection meeting. Sandra waited nearby in the shade, phone in hand, reading a financial article on equity buyouts—just in case he noticed.
• He did.
• He returned twenty minutes later, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. “You read financials?”
• “Only the interesting ones.”
• “You find equity structuring interesting?”
• She gave him a smirk. “I didn’t say I was normal.”
• He leaned in slightly, resting his hand on the open car door. “You could have worked for any firm with your degree. Why come back here?”
• Sandra’s expression flickered. “Not everyone runs away from their past. Some of us have families to take care of.”
• Steve’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t running.”
• “Didn’t say you were.” She met his eyes. “But some people live in towers. Others build foundations.”
• He said nothing for a moment, then slid into the car without another word.
• That evening, after she dropped him off, Sandra lingered in the car a little longer.
• What was she doing?
• She wasn’t some starstruck intern. She knew better than to get tangled in a man like Steve Lancaster.
• But still…
• There was something there. Something that crackled in the air between them. Attraction, yes. But it was more than that. Recognition. Challenge.
• And danger.
• Later that night, Steve stood in the darkened glass office, watching the city. A reflection of himself stared back—one made of steel edges and quiet calculation. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
• It was a copy of Sandra’s résumé.
• He’d had Martin pull it earlier.
• Top of her class. Internship at Montgomery & Braith. Fluent in Spanish and French. Volunteer work with youth startups. No red flags. No scandal. No reason to stay hidden in her father’s shadow.
• So why was she driving his car?
• What was she waiting for?
• And why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?