

Description
Reality sucker-punched me in the gut. Raphael had a daughter. Which meant there was probably a Mrs. Sullivan at home, waiting for him. The same man who was two seconds away from kissing me before his daughter cockblocked us both. And his brothers... Stephen with those lingering stares that make my brain short-circuit? Titus brushing my hand every time he passes me documents like we're in some slow-burn romance? All of it suddenly felt like a neon sign flashing "DISASTER AHEAD." Nope. Absolutely fucking not. This isn't some rivals-to-lovers novel. This is my Dad's business partners and his disaster daughter caught in forced proximity on a project that could make or break my entire career. The Sullivan brothers weren't just gorgeous distractions-they were a professional minefield I couldn't afford to navigate blindfolded. Time for an emergency reality check: I cannot let myself fall any deeper into this mess.
Chapter 1
Jan 7, 2026
POV Dakota
Three years of watching Freeman Industries slowly unravel shouldn’t feel like a personal failure.
Three years without sex shouldn't feel like a death sentence, but staring at these blueprints at 7 AM on a Monday, I'm starting to think my vibrator deserves hazard pay.
I can’t shake the gnawing thought that all my training, all those sleepless nights and perfect grades, somehow haven’t prepared me for this.
"Dakota, they're here."
My father's voice sliced through my calculations of exactly how fucked we were.
Thirty million in debt, bleeding clients, and now the Sullivan Brothers were here to either save us or pick our bones clean.
I straightened my blazer, the one that screamed 'take me seriously' and tried to look like someone who hadn't just been calculating if we'd last another quarter.
"Remember what this means," Dad said, gray eyes holding that familiar weight of disappointment-in-advance. "This partnership—"
"—сould define Freeman Industries' future. And mine. I know," I cut him off.
After years of being his 'assistant' while running half the firm, I'd memorized his greatest hits.
TOP-1 song: Dakota, You're Not The Son I Wanted But You'll Have To Do.
The conference room door opened, and my carefully constructed professional facade shattered like my last relationship—spectacularly and without warning.
Sweet mother of hostile takeovers…
Three men entered, and suddenly I understood why romance novels existed. They moved like apex predators in Armani, all sharp angles and controlled power and I understood why failing companies bent over backwards for Sullivan Stone Company.
Oh, I’d definitely bent over for one of them… or for all of them…
Geez, focus, Dakota! They're here to evaluate the carcass, not save you.
"Bruce." The tallest one, voice smooth as a leveraged buyout, held out his hand. "Good to finally meet in person."
"Good to meet you all, Raphael." Dad shook hands with drowning-man desperation. "This is my daughter, Dakota. She'll be your point person on Meridian Tower."
Raphael Sullivan's gaze swept over me—analytical, dismissive, and somehow still hot enough to make my knees weak.
Late thirties, silver threading through dark hair, radiating never-heard-no energy.
“Ms. Freeman,” he nodded, firmly taking my hand.
"Dakota, please." I matched his grip because weakness meant game over.
"My brothers. Stephen handles client relations. Titus manages technical operations."
Stephen Sullivan smiled, and my organs inside started composing poetry. Warm brown eyes, charm that probably got him out of speeding tickets and into pants with equal efficiency.
"Dakota, what a pleasure. Your father told us wonderful things about you."
"All lies, I assure you."
Professional, Dakota. Professional.
But Stephen laughed, genuine and rich, and suddenly I was calculating if thirty-five was too old or just old enough to know exactly what he was doing.
"I like her already," he told his brothers.
Then Titus stepped forward. Where his brothers were obvious, he was a puzzle wrapped in a three-piece suit.
Intense hazel eyes cataloging my every breath, sharp cheekbones that could cut glass.
"Your structural analysis of the Morrison Building was brilliant," he said without preamble. "Though your load calculations on the east wall were off by 0.003%."
Stomach drop. They'd studied our work. Of course they had.
"They were not—" I stopped, ran the numbers. Shit. "Oh, you're right."
Dad winced. Titus's lips twitched—amusement or blood in the water.
"Shall we discuss the project?" Raphael's tone suggested the fun part was over.
We settled around the table, and I pulled up my presentation, grateful for something to focus on besides Stephen's forearms.
His rolled sleeves revealed what belonged in my mental museum dedicated to Things That Make Dakota Accidentally Moan.
"Meridian Tower represents a two-billion-dollar investment," I began, clicking through slides. "Forty-seven floors of mixed-use space, sustainable design with luxury amenities. The challenge is balancing structural integrity with aesthetic vision while maintaining cost efficiency."
"Walk us through your foundation proposals," Titus interrupted, leaning forward.
"Given the soil composition and water table depth, I'm recommending a mat foundation with—"
"That's unnecessarily expensive," Raphael cut in. "Pile foundations would be more cost-effective."
"And also more likely to shift given the clay content below thirty feet," I shot back, pulling up geological surveys. "Unless you'd like to explain to investors why their two-billion-dollar baby is tilting like Pisa in twenty years?"
Stephen made a sound between laugh and cough. Titus's eyes sharpened with interest, but Raphael's jaw tightened.
"Show me the data," Raphael demanded.
I did, sliding into a comfortable rhythm of numbers and facts, forgetting momentarily that I was surrounded by men who'd stepped out of my deepest fantasies.
The ones I definitely didn't journal about with hearts and x-rated doodles.
"Impressive," Titus murmured when I finished. "Your father undersold your abilities."
"Story of my life." Then louder, "Thank you. I believe in thorough preparation."
"As do we," Stephen said, smile returning. "Which is why we're looking forward to working closely with you over the next year."
Year. Right.
Twelve months of daily interaction with men who made me remember I had needs beyond professional success and daddy's approval.
"Speaking of which," Dad interjected, standing. "I'll leave you to discuss timeline details. Dakota has full authority to make decisions on Freeman Industries' behalf."
Translation: Don't fuck this up or I'll never let you forget it.
After he left, the atmosphere shifted.
Without my father as buffer, I was acutely aware of being alone with three men radiating enough masculine energy to power Manhattan.
"So," Stephen settled back like he owned the place—which, given their net worth, he probably could. "Tell us about yourself, Dakota. What drives someone so young to take on this magnitude of project?"
"Masochism, mostly," I said before my brain-to-mouth filter engaged. "And desperate need for paternal approval that therapy hasn't fixed."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
But Stephen laughed, even Raphael's expression cracked slightly.
"Honest," Titus observed. "That's refreshing."
"Sorry, character flaw I'm working on," I said, gathering papers. "Now, about those timelines—"
"Have dinner with us," Stephen interrupted. "Tonight. We can discuss timelines and get to know our new partner better."
Professional boundaries existed for a reason.
Mine were currently dissolving faster than my last relationship—which, fun fact, had also involved inappropriate attraction to a coworker. You'd think I'd learn.
"That's not—"
"Tomorrow. Nine AM. Our office." Raphael guillotined Stephen's invitation. "We'll finalize the timeline and deliverables then. Prepare for due diligence that'll make today look like casual conversation."
Stephen shot his brother with a multilingual look, but Raphael was already moving. Gravity, non-negotiable.
They filed out, leaving me alone with my laptop and a libido staging full revolt against better judgment.
I started packing, telling myself this was just business.
Just a year-long project with three incredibly attractive older men who made me want things that would revoke my Good Girl Club membership immediately.
As I reached for the door, my father's voice drifted from his office.
"I always hoped for a son to carry on the legacy. Dakota's capable, but she needs to prove she can handle the pressure. If she can't... at least the Sullivan boys will keep the firm alive."
The words hit like ice water, dousing my heated brain with familiar cold reality.
From now on, this wasn’t just about proving I deserved my birthright or validating years of hard work.
It was also about showing those three men that I was professional enough to lead my father’s business and honor its legacy.
If they didn’t see me as equal, I’d lose not only the position but the firm itself, slipping into their control instead.

Shared Between Three CEO Brothers
30 Chapters
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