Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Focus. I need to focus.
The coffee maker in my room is empty. Of course it is. I’ve already had three cups, and it’s not even ten. Cursing my caffeine addiction, I head to the main kitchen. And stop dead.
Cole’s there, fresh from his workout. His hair is damp with sweat, his black athletic shirt clings to his chest, and he’s drinking a protein shake like this is completely normal. Like I’m supposed to be able to function when he looks like this.
Our eyes meet over his glass, and neither of us seems to know what to say. The silence stretches until he breaks it.
“Productive morning?” His voice is casual, but his eyes aren’t.
“Not exactly.” I gesture vaguely at my messy hair, still wearing my sleep tank under my cardigan. “Haven’t quite found my focus yet.”
His gaze trails down my body, lingering on the exposed skin above my collarbone, and suddenly the tension is back, different but just as intense. I need to handle this now, before I lose my nerve.
“About last night . . .” I start, then falter when he sets down his glass. “I could have finished the marquise design if I’d stayed in. These . . . extracurricular activities need to wait until after the deadline. I can’t afford distractions right now, not when there’s so much riding on this collection, and—”
“Sloane.” He cuts off my rambling, moving into my space with that predatory grace that makes my breath catch. “You’ll meet the deadline.” His eyes lock with mine, his voice dropping lower. “And I’m not a distraction you need to manage.”
Before I can respond, Knox bursts in. His face is grim. “Cole, we’ve got a situation. The—”
“Not here.” Cole cuts him off sharply, his whole body tensing. Whatever Knox was about to say, Cole doesn’t want me to hear it.
Cole shifts instantly—his stance wider, shoulders back, all softness gone. And then he’s there, crowding me against the counter, close enough that I think he might kiss me. Instead, his lips brush my ear: “We’re not done discussing this.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me gripping the counter to stay upright.
Back in my workroom, I pour everything into my designs—the frustration, the want, the confusion. The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me. Instead, I keep replaying it, again and again.
But something about Knox’s expression nags at me. The way Cole cut him off so abruptly . . .
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m heading toward Cole’s office. The hallway is empty, but raised voices leak through the heavy wooden doors. I can’t make out most of it, just fragments of their argument.
“. . . can’t keep ignoring this . . .” Knox’s voice rises.
Cole’s response is too low to hear. I glance up at the security camera in the corner and freeze. What am I doing? If Cole wanted me to know about his business dealings, he’d tell me. I’m not about to get caught eavesdropping.
I hurry back to my workroom, but the questions linger. What is this morning’s emergency? And why didn’t Cole want me to hear it?
A knock at the door breaks my focus. A delivery. Inside an elegant black box, I find an antique jewelry case and a note in Cole’s precise handwriting:
THIS PIECE INSPIRED AN ENTIRE COLLECTION IN 1957. I EXPECT YOU CAN DO BETTER. DINNER TONIGHT? I PROMISE NOT TO LET ANY CAROLERS INTERRUPT THIS TIME.
The piece inside takes my breath away—a necklace that incorporates exactly the kind of metalwork I’ve been struggling to perfect. He must have been watching my attempts through the cameras to know exactly what I needed for reference.
A normal person would probably have issues with the cameras, with being watched. Instead, I catch myself looking up at the one in the corner of my workroom. Is he watching now, taking a break from whatever crisis Knox brought to him?
I stand slowly, stretching my arms above my head. My sleep tank rides up, exposing a strip of skin above my yoga pants. I can almost feel his gaze through the camera, imagining him sitting in his office right now watching this little show.
I move to my desk, purposely choosing the chair that gives the camera the best view. Leaning forward, I examine the vintage piece with exaggerated care, letting my hair fall forward. I know exactly what I’m doing when I bite my lower lip, pretending to concentrate. When I run my finger along the delicate metalwork, taking my time, imagining his reaction.
I should stop.
I won’t.
My phone buzzes with a text from Cole: I can see you at your desk.
I glance up at the camera, pretending I hadn’t noticed it before. Then I slowly and deliberately bite my lip again, staring right at the camera. My phone lights up.
Cole: Very subtle.
Me: I’m just concentrating on this piece.