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As the author, I confirm to you that this is, in fact, not true at all.

It is a situation that only happens in that thick head of his.

“Excuse me,” exclaims Arrogant-Ass like a gently-bred gentleman from the Regency period, “do you really not know who I am? I’m a fucking CEO of a random fortune five-hundred company. And the youngest one in history.” He practically screeches at this point.

Why-En blinks rapidly, her eyelashes softly moving. “The fuck?”

The self-obsessed CEO sighs. He sighs deeply. Then he sighs again. “I am the CEO werewolf shifter pack-leader. Also, I am a mafia boss, cowboy, sad-boy guitarist, fae-knight, band frontman, firefighter, spy, hacker, vampire, stalker, lumberjack, regency rake, boy next door, hot cop, trillionaire boss, professor, bear shifter, biker, hockey player, dragon shifter, Highlander, alien, and Viking.”

“And how are you that many races at once?”

“I am multicultural, multitalented, multi-career, and multi-manor.”

He smiles, flashing his bright white teeth, then continues. “And you are?”

“I’m currently a hot mess,” deadpans Lily Linella Leona.

Awkward silence ensues for the next thirty seconds, only to be broken when the sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden, nutrition-lacking girl accidentally spills exactly half a cup of half-brewed coffee on the CEO werewolf whatever’s shirt. A scene that happens in about every other contemporary romance novel.

“Aw, shit, I’m so sorry.”

But the CEO guy, touched by her sincere apology and weak state of body and mind, forgives her.

At once.

“It’s alright, darling,” he practically coos, as if she’s an injured hamster or a similar kind of fluffy rodent, “this tailored suit may be more expensive than your whole outfit, your home, and your smashed iPhone put together, but I assure you, it means nothing to me. Don’t worry about it.”

He then proceeds to slowly unbutton his stained shirt, as if he is a stripper at a seedy casino and she, his sleepy old man of a client.

How beautiful.

In this paragraph, we will describe every single detail of his performance. He slowly undoes the buttons, starting from the second to the top, as the top one had been left unbuttoned. His fingers work slowly, long and beautiful (but quite thin, like carrot sticks), moving gracefully. Long, claw-like nails click onto the matte black buttons of his shirt, then the silky fabric slowly slides down, revealing his ample bosom.

What?

No, revealing his round shoulders and muscular pectorals, before slipping onto the dusty ground.

The CEO walks up, the gloomy coffee shop lights hitting his torso at a perfect angle.

The darling barista gasps.

Her customer has the most brilliant blue eyes and jet-black curls, but at the same time, also appears to have dark eyes and long blond waves.

Like a warrior from some ancient mythology.

Like a gigachad meme.

Also, let us not forget his washboard abs, square pecs, piercings, glass-cutting jawline, sharp cheekbones, dimples, lethal face card, flawless skin, buff torso, truck-sized shoulders, tree-trunk triceps, bulging biceps, round ass, wings, tails, scales, green skin, olive tan, and most importantly, his 7’2 height.

Staring at him with her eyes as wide as saucers and her jaw smacked down to the floor, Lily Lilyette Lockedstaring is officially a goner. With only one O, mind you. At that moment, it is as if she were an enlightened scholar, an Olympic champion, or an evolving prehistoric ape that walks with two legs for the first time.

She is changed forever, with just one look at his form.

It is truly love (lust, actually) at first sight.

She is so impressed with his appearance that she gives him a thumbs up.

“Wha— What’s your name again?” she stutters out in the midst of her confusion.