Julian Hunt is a legend. A tech billionaire and a playboy philanthropist.

He’s not someone you meet, not without a six-month wait. Except I did—and not in that sweet, meet-cute kind of way.

I wish.

No, I manage to run headfirst into Julian Hunt in a nightclub. It’s the spill-my-drink-over-his-suit kind of headfirst, the break-my-heel kind.

But the arrogant bastard doesn’t leave. No, he carries me to my car. He implies that I fell on purpose to catch his attention—how dare he!—and after I’ve chewed him out, he asks for my number.

I don’t expect to see him again. After all, lightning doesn’t strike twice. But when I walk into a business negotiation the next day, who’s sitting on the other side?

Julian Hunt.

He’s wearing a smirk and a perfectly tailored suit, and he’s not there to play. He dominates. I walk out of the negotiation having somehow been offered my dream job. It’s an offer far too sweet to refuse.

But if there’s one thing more intimidating than Julian Hunt at a nightclub, it’s Julian Hunt as a boss. A persistent, dominant, sexy-as-hell boss.

He might have decided that we’d be perfect together, but I won’t be tempted by his broad shoulders and wicked tongue.

Julian might be a hunter.

But I refuse to become his prey.