THE BILLIONAIRE’S OBSESSION WITH GREEN
THE BILLIONAIRE’S OBSESSION WITH GREEN
Joseph León was the most feared name in oil — Mexico’s oil tycoon with empires that stretched across oceans. His name opened doors in Dubai, whispered in Geneva, and commanded boardrooms in Texas. But in the private sanctum of his glass-walled penthouse above Mexico City, the only thing that brought him to his knees… was Green.
Green Ariza. The sharp-tongued, warm-eyed girl from the southeast — who didn’t care for oil, power, or the billions in his offshore accounts. And that terrified Joseph more than any corporate war.
She stormed into his office, her heels clicking furiously against the Italian marble. Her worn leather bag slammed onto the chair with finality.
“I want to talk to you, Joseph!” she snapped.
Behind his desk, Joseph was mid-call with a venture capitalist from Qatar, trying to lock in a deal worth $1.3 billion. He held up one finger without looking up — only for a second — then paused.
His eyes met hers.
Sharp. Furious. Tired of something.
He ended the call. “I’ll speak to you later,” he said calmly, before the voice on the other line could protest. “Yes, I know it’s urgent.”
He hung up, removed his glasses, and leaned back in his chair. His gaze softened. “What does my love want that has her so upset?” he asked, like the storm in her eyes didn’t scare him. “A Maserati? Givenchy? My black card is right there—just whisper what you want, and it’s yours.”
Green exhaled, shaking her head. “I’m not here for gifts, Joseph.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You always think money can fix things.”
“I absolutely don’t think that.”
“You bought the company I worked for because I said I was scared of getting fired—how is that not thinking money fixes things?”
“I bought it,” he said quietly, “because it was the only way I could keep seeing you. You were avoiding me. Saying you couldn’t risk your job. So I made it yours. You’re head of creative strategy now. With triple your old salary. And you only work when you want.”
She turned away, rubbing her forehead.
“Green,” he said, his voice a low murmur now. “Can I touch you?”
She blinked at him. “Are you asking permission to touch me?”
“You usually get angry when I touch you during a fight,” he said honestly, standing slowly. “You say I use it to make you forget why you’re mad.”
“…Because you do.”
“And you let me.”
She turned to face him, and for a moment, neither said a word.
He reached out, gently, his hand grazing her elbow. “So tell me, why are you really angry?”
She looked away.
“Is it because of the girl at the gala?” he asked.
Her head snapped back toward him.
“She’s like a sister. My father’s goddaughter.”
“She was holding your hand.”
“She’s grieving. Her brother was assassinated in Bogotá.”
Green stepped back, arms folded. “You don’t even see how many women throw themselves at you. My mother tells me I’m stupid for staying. That I should leave you and marry someone safer. Someone like Don Frederick.”
Joseph’s jaw tightened. “Don Frederick is a snake with a fake smile and a poisoned chalice. He’s not safe, he’s subtle. That’s worse.”
“My mother doesn’t care,” Green said bitterly. “She only sees headlines. And dollar signs.”
“What do you see?” he asked, stepping closer. “When you look at me. What do you see?”
She didn’t answer.
He touched her cheek, gently. “Do you think I’d let myself love anyone but you? I’d burn down every oil well I own before I lose you.”
She blinked. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why? Because you believe me?”
“No,” she whispered. “Because I do.”
