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"Make it an Italian place," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "And Aris? No talk about the merger." He smiled, a slow, dangerous expression. "Deal." 📚 Popular Books by Christian Simamora

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The air in the Sudirman Central Business District was thick with humidity and the smell of expensive espresso. Aris sat in his corner office, his thumb tracing the edge of a crystal paperweight. He wasn’t looking at the spreadsheets on his monitor; he was looking at the woman standing by the floor-to-ceiling window. "Make it an Italian place," she said, her

"You’re late, Maya," Aris said, his voice dropping an octave. He wasn’t looking at the spreadsheets on his

"I know you deliver results," he said, stopping just inches from her. The scent of her perfume—vanilla and something sharp, like citrus—hit him like a physical blow. "It’s the person behind the results I can never seem to reach."

Maya didn't turn around. She watched the sunset bleed orange over the Jakarta skyline. "I wasn't late. I was reconsidering." "Reconsidering the contract?" "Reconsidering you."

"I'll pay double," Aris whispered, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her face. "If it means you'll stay for dinner."