His Kryptonite

Chapter 2

Michael's POV

I watch that "Laila" broad strutting out of the conference room, and my heart starts pumping like a goddamn jackhammer, as I force myself not to tie her long brown hair around my fist and demand the respect I'm owned. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I couldn't stand the way she looked at me. It was different from the way people usually gawk at me—either with respect and fear or straight-up lust from the women. But her gaze? It was fucking indifferent, and I sure as hell didn't like it.

And it just kept going. Every time I glanced her way during the meeting, she held my stare like it was nothing, even had the balls to flash me a smile. Does she even know who the fuck I am, or is she completely clueless?

"All good, Mike?" Renato asks, probably picking up on the tension in my veins. I give him a nod. Honestly, I don't even know why it gets under my skin so much that this broad ain't intimidated by me. Even when I backed her into a corner, she didn't flinch. Sure, she seemed uneasy, but scared? Not a chance. I know what fear looks like, I see it everyday in the eyes of the people who lock eyes with me. She just kept running that pretty mouth of hers like it was nothing.

I'll definitely have to bring this up with Francisco. Too many fucking boundaries have been crossed here. I'm the boss overlooking this whole empire, and I expect everyone to treat me like it.

When Francisco reenters the room, clutching the contract paper, his eyes immediately scan the end of the table, likely searching for his cub.

"She's gone," I inform him, locking my gaze onto his.

Francisco turns to face me, offering a forced smile that betrays his unease, aware that I may have terrorized his daughter. I excel at reading people, and it didn't take long for me to notice his protectiveness towards her, evident in his watchful glances earlier.

"Alright!" he attempts to appear unfazed as he settles into a chair, sliding the contract and a pen across the table. "You can sign the designated pages with the post-it."

Taking the contract, I begin signing, but I refuse to let him off the hook. "What was that about, Francisco?" I inquire.

"Sorry, what do you mean?" he asks, genuine confusion coloring his expression.

"I'm referring to your daughter's presence at this meeting," I reply, lifting my gaze from the papers, emphasizing the word 'daughter.'

"She's a lawyer, just passed the bar. Graduated at the top of her class. I've been grooming her," he explains.

I chuckle sarcastically. "Grooming her, huh?"

He shrugs. "Yes. She's my legacy."

"Don't you have sons?" I ask, my tone conveying more of an assertion than a question.

"They're not involved in financial law. Laila is deeply passionate about it. She'll be an invaluable asset to this firm."

I sigh, irritated by Francisco's deliberate evasion of the obvious. This man knows how to navigate the loopholes. In our organization, women are expected to stay at home, be eye-catching, and enhance our image. Francisco clearly concealed his daughter from the made men until she finished her education, preventing her from gathering unwanted attention. Now that she's educated, she becomes an asset to his legacy, much like a son would be. It's true that if she were a man, attending this meeting alongside her father would be considered normal. But the reality is, she's not a man. Her curves, soft features, and long hazelnut hair make that fucking clear.