A young, gorgeously tanned athlete sauntered into my office with a confident, lopsided grin on his face. His baby blue eyes sparkled at me and his lovely jet black hair gleamed in the filtered sunlight that streamed through my top floor glass windows. Under my desk, I pinched my inner thigh to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming again. My entire romance with Marco had been a whirlwind. He was a professional soccer player I had met while trying to score his coach’s account for my company. At 24 years old he was eight years my senior. And he was drop dead gorgeous. He was six feet and four inches tall with God-like abs and a swanky attitude that made me feel like a little girl. Me, Andrea Pandeski, the owner and CEO of a multi-billion dollar company that I single-handedly built up from the ground. I was one of the most powerful women in the country if not the world, and all this boy had to do was open his mouth to turn me into a baffling baboon. I pointed to the dress hanging on the back of the door he had just walked in.
