Page 19 of Never To Be Mine

I walked to my car, grinning. Juno Young was brilliant, stubborn, passionate, and absolutely certain she was right about everything.

And I was going to enjoy every single second of proving her wrong.

7

JUNO

Sitting in my office, I plucked at invisible lint on my dress, then caught myself and forced my hands down to my lap. I wasn’t nervous. I was just… mentally preparing. There was a difference.

Kari had told me ten minutes ago Hollis had arrived for our first meeting.

Let him wait.

I’d taken extra time this morning getting ready. My hair was down today, falling in soft waves past my shoulders instead of pinned back. I’d spent twenty minutes on my makeup, which was subtle but polished. The navy dress I’d chosen fit perfectly, professional but flattering, and I paired it with my favorite heels, the ones that made me feel powerful with the heel an inch higher than I normally wore. After his little intimidation tactic yesterday, I had dressed for battle.

Not because I was trying to impress him. Absolutely not.

Yesterday he’d seen me hungover, exhausted, looking like death warmed over. I needed him to see that wasn’t who I was. I was competent. Professional. Put together.

I was not a hot mess.

Who did he think he was anyway? Just another trust fund baby playing entrepreneur. I’d seen dozens like him over the years. Rich kids with famous parents who got bored with their yacht collections and decided to start a “business.” They’d throw money at some vanity project, hire people to do the actual work, then take all the credit when things went well or blame everyone else when they didn’t.

Hollis Blackwell was probably no different. His family was legendary in the movie industry and the fashion world. The Blackwell name opened doors most people couldn’t even find. He’d grown up with every advantage and resource handed to him on a silver platter. More connections than he knew what to do with. And now he was playing health guru.

Give it six months. Maybe a year. Then he’d get bored and move on to his next hobby. Buy a sports team. Invest in some tech startup. Take up race car driving. Whatever nepo babies did when they needed a new toy.

The worst part was that people like him, the ones with more money than sense, were exactly who funded ventures like my father’s company. They had the capital. They wanted the prestige of being “investors” and “entrepreneurs.” So I had to play nice, had to smile and nod and pretend their ideas weren’t half-baked disasters waiting to happen.

I’d been doing it my whole career. Moving in their circles, attending their parties, listening to their pitches. The difference was they’d inherited their wealth. I’d earned my place through hard work and proving myself over and over again.

We were not the same.

I took a deep breath, then another. Rolled my shoulders back. Straightened my spine.

I could do this. I’d dealt with worse. I’d negotiated deals worth millions. Built partnerships from the ground up.

One arrogant pretty boy wasn’t going to rattle me.

“You are Juno fucking Young,” I muttered. “You know your shit. You’re good at your job. And you’re going to prove that trust fund baby doesn’t belong here.”

I pulled up the file I’d prepared, even though I’d already memorized every detail. Then I reached for the phone on my desk and pushed the button for Kari’s direct line.

“Yes?”

“Send him in.” I settled into my chair with what I hoped looked like casual confidence.

The door opened.

And oh, fuck me. He was wearing a suit.

Not the fitted athletic wear from the expo. Not the casual clothes from yesterday. An actual suit. Tailored, expensive, impressive. The jacket emphasized his broad shoulders and the pants were perfectly cut. Dark gray with a crisp white shirt underneath, no tie. The top button undone just enough to show a hint of his throat.

He looked like he’d walked off the pages of a magazine. Which, given his family, he probably had at some point.

His dark hair was styled but not overly so, like he’d run his hands through it once and it had fallen into place perfectly. The kind of haircut that had a four-figure price tag. Those striking blue eyes locked onto mine as he stepped into my office. I felt something low in my stomach clench.

Why did the hot ones always have to be the biggest jerks?