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)
“I pay attention,” I say simply. “Even to the things you don’t say out loud.”
We move toward the set where the photographer gives Sloane a nod. “Ready when you are. Your vision. I’m just here to capture it.”
Sloane hesitates briefly before her professional side takes over. I watch as she directs the shoot, placing pieces on Vivienne carefully, adjusting angles, suggesting poses that show off her designs.
“The necklace needs to catch the light right here.” She shows Vivienne, adjusting the centerpiece. “So the diamonds break the light instead of just reflecting it.”
I sit back, watching and occasionally asking questions as the shoot goes on. Despite her initial surprise, Sloane runs the set confidently, her vision clear. The photographer follows her lead, recognizing she knows what she’s doing.
“Today was pure hell before this,” she admits during a break while Vivienne changes. “I hate days when nothing works right.”
I nod, understanding. Sloane’s work is more than just jewelry; it’s art. Each piece carries a piece of her soul.
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” I suggest. “Sometimes, when we force things, they resist.”
She looks at me, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Is that your philosophy on relationships too?”
I chuckle, caught off guard by her directness. “Perhaps. Though I find some things are worth pursuing, even if they resist at first.”
Sloane’s eyes linger on mine for a moment before she looks away, her gaze drifting to the twinkling city lights beyond the rooftop. “I’ve never been good at forcing things,” she admits softly. “In my work or . . . otherwise.”
“That’s not always a bad thing. Your determination but also your flexibility is what’s gotten you this far.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “And what about you, Cole? What’s gotten you this far?”
“Calculated risks,” I reply, watching her closely. “Knowing when to push and when to step back.”
Sloane nods, her fingers tracing the edge of her blanket. “And which are you doing now?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with unspoken implications. I consider my words carefully before responding. “I’m . . . assessing the situation.”
She laughs softly, the sound melting into the night air. “Always the businessman.”
“Not always,” I murmur, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger, tracing the curve of her jaw. “Sometimes I’m just a man who knows what he wants.”
Sloane’s breath catches, her eyes meeting mine. The sounds of the city fade into the background, and all I can focus on is how her skin feels under my fingertips.
“And what is it that you want, Cole?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Instead of answering, I lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she chooses. She doesn’t. Our lips meet, soft and tentative at first, then with growing intensity. I taste her lip gloss, feel the warmth of her skin as my hand cups her face.
When we finally part, both slightly breathless, Sloane’s eyes are wide with surprise and desire.
“I want this,” I say simply, my thumb caressing her cheek. “Us. No more dancing around it.”
She bites her lip, considering. “It’s risky. Isn’t the saying ‘You shouldn’t mix business and pleasure’?”
“Some risks are worth taking.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “Well, you have always had good instincts when it comes to investments.”
“Is that what we’re calling this?” I raise an eyebrow, enjoying the way her smile widens.
“What would you call it?”
“Research and development?” I suggest, making her laugh.
“Just how much research are you planning to do?”
I grin, pulling her closer. “Oh, I intend to be very thorough.”
As we kiss again, Sloane relaxes into my embrace. Her fingers thread through my hair, and I feel the last bit of hesitation leave her body. When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright.
“I think,” she says softly, “that this might be exactly what I needed.”
I pull her closer, wrapping us both in one of the fur blankets. “Good. That was the goal.”
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the photographer capture the final shots. Vivienne poses with the Manhattan skyline behind her, Sloane’s diamond crown catching the city lights perfectly.
The shoot wraps up around ten. Vivienne thanks Sloane warmly, genuinely impressed with the collection. “Those frost pieces are going to be everywhere next season,” she says as her assistant helps her into her coat. “Send me the pricing when they’re ready. I want first pick.”
The photographer and lighting crew pack up efficiently, the makeup artist trailing after them with her case. I watch Sloane thank each of them personally, her excitement visible as the photographer shows her a few preview shots on his camera.
“We’ll have the full set edited by tomorrow afternoon,” he promises, zipping up his equipment bag.
Within twenty minutes, they’ve all filed into the elevator, leaving us alone on the rooftop.
“These photos are going to be amazing,” Sloane murmurs, her head on my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.