Page 33 of Titus

The driver stepped out before I reached the door, opening it with a quiet, practiced efficiency. The man offered me a respectful nod as I slid into the back seat.

The interior smelled like leather and money.

The driver pulled away smoothly, and I watched as the world outside turned into a blur of palm trees and glass buildings.

I crossed one leg over the other, pulling out my phone more out of habit than necessity. If I accepted Titus as an exclusive client, I’d have to expand my company—not replace it. That decision would affect every client who’d trusted me to get this far.

That was the only part that made me nervous. Dropping clients for one man. Jesus, I could lose everything—including my reputation—if I got money-hungry tonight. I had to maintain my composure and do what was right for me first, then for my business. But truly, being the sole event architect for one billionaire, known to host these events practically every other weekend and in different countries, well, I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t a dream come true for me.

My mind shifted from those thoughts the second we turned toward the private access road. We went through gates and security, all of which was a subtle but unmistakable escalation into the world of the Titus Hawk, the man I was meeting on a much more private level tonight.

The driver spoke for the first time. “We’ll be at the helipad in two minutes, Ms. Veléz.”

“Thank you,” I answered, seemingly unfazed by Titus rolling out his version of a red carpet just for dinner and to go over the necessary details for me and my team to work for him.

When the car pulled over to the helipad, the sleek black helicopter was already running when we arrived. I watched as the blades sliced through the air in a steady, powerful rhythm.

The driver opened my door again, offering a hand. “Thank you,” I said, accepting the gesture and forcing myself to remain composed.

The pilot gave me a polite nod, guiding me toward the cabin. I climbed in, fastening the headset as the door shut beside me, sealing me in a world that suddenly felt…very small. Once the pilot was settled, the helicopter lifted off, and we were officially on our way to Titus Hawk’s estate.

I watched as Newport stretched out beneath us, the water shining under the early-evening sun and numerous yachts as they cut clean lines through the harbor as if they owned it.

I leaned back, watching Newport grow smaller in the distance. Titus wasn’t simply inviting me to dinner. He was bringing me to his world, and I had no doubt that was intentional.

By the time the coastline shifted and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades came into view, I was already recalibrating and refocusing my thoughts.

The estate came into view like a cinematic reveal. It was perched above the ocean, glass and stone catching the light in a way that felt less like architecture and more like a statement.

I exhaled softly, adjusting my headset as we began to descend.

Let’s see if the man lives up to the entrance, I thought as the helicopter hovered over his private helipad.

The helicopter touched down with a controlled precision that matched everything else about this experience.

When the door opened, and the chilly ocean breeze hit my skin, I was very grateful I wore my cashmere sweater. The last thing I needed to be doing was rubbing my arms like a child trying to keep warm in front of the man who stood waiting for my arrival.

The second my heel hit the concrete, I felt the man’s gaze on me, as if I were a meek little lamb and he were the lion preparing to devour his prey. That’s why I didn’t look over at him right away. Instead, I took a few measured steps forward, sliding my sunglasses up onto my head as if I had all the time in the world.

Finally, I focused on the man, and damn. He was just standing there, looking casually commanding.

I noted the black button-down he wore, with sleeves rolled just enough to suggest control rather than effort. His dark denim jeans were fitted, not trying too hard, which somehow made it worse. As if he didn’t need anything extra to make an impression.

And he didn’t. The man could dress casually yet still somehow seem to own the entire world. On a more personal level, now that I was alone with him, I could truly observe his appearance and presence.

He had broad shoulders and a relaxed stance, with one hand tucked into his pocket as if he’d been standing there for exactly as long as he’d intended to.

My gaze briefly and strategically lingered on the details of this man’s appearance. The open collar at his throat. The way the fabric pulled across his chest as he shifted his weight, and the kind of stillness that didn’t come from calm but from control.

God, this man is—I stopped the thought before it finished.

We were not going there. Absolutely not.

I’d built an entire career on reading people in seconds. On seeing through the surface of their appearances, through their unmistakable charm, and through the carefully constructed image they put on display.

And Titus Hawk? He embodied his image. He radiated refinement, control, and an air of intentionality, down to the last detail. These men were dangerous, especially to those who allowed themselves to be intimidated.

My lips curved slightly as I approached him, each step measured to match his energy, yet I withheld the satisfaction of acknowledging the impressive experience he’d made me part of, an admission into his world.