Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Tomorrow I’ll watch for any shift in her pattern. If she acts different around me, if anything changes. Every twitch, every glance—I overanalyze all of it.
And if she keeps playing along? If she keeps taking the long way home and leaving gaps in her curtains?
Then maybe this isn’t just my obsession.
Maybe it’s ours.
Maybe it’s time to do something about this . . . maybe tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I stop watching from the shadows. I’ll find a reason to talk to her. A real conversation, not just security check-ins and small talk about jewelry designs. A conversation that lets me see if this tension between us is real or a fever dream I’ve been nursing for twelve months.
And if she shuts me down? If she looks at me like I’m exactly what I am—an obsessive stalker.
Then I’ll know. And I’ll figure out how to live with that.
But if she doesn’t. If those dark eyes spark the way I think they will . . .
Chapter Three
Hailey
I spend the entire morning waiting for Knox to show up. It’s pathetic, really. Sloane’s bent over her workbench, wrestling with a clasp that refuses to cooperate, muttering threats under her breath that would make a sailor blush. Cole’s upstairs in his glass tower doing whatever billionaires do before noon. And I’m sitting here, supposedly sorting through gemstone samples, but actually watching the elevator like it might dispense a six-foot-three Christmas present at any moment.
He stops by at least twice a week. Always has some excuse. Checking on the new vault. Updating Cole on building access. Dropping off paperwork that could absolutely be emailed. The reasons don’t matter. What matters is that his eyes find me every single time, and lately, they’ve been finding me more often.
Today, I dressed for combat.
Fitted black jeans that make my ass look phenomenal. A deep burgundy sweater that’s just tight enough to be interesting without crossing into desperate territory. The color does something to my skin, makes it glow in a way that even I had to appreciate this morning. And my Doc Martens, obviously. The black ones with silver laces. My armor.
I even put on lipstick. Dark red, because I’m not subtle and I refuse to start now.
“You’re staring at the elevator again.”
I snap my attention to Sloane, who hasn’t looked up from her work but is clearly psychic.
“I’m not staring. I’m . . . observing.”
“You’ve been ‘observing’ for forty-five minutes.” She glances up, her eyes caught somewhere between amusement and concern. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“Because if there’s anything going on I should know about—”
“There’s nothing going on. I just like elevators. They’re fascinating. All that vertical movement.”
Sloane sets down her pliers and gives me the look. The one she’s perfected over the year I’ve worked for her, the one that says I’m not buying your bullshit but I’ll let you keep shoveling.
“Uh-huh.”
Before she can interrogate me further, the elevator chimes.
My heart is out of control. I force myself not to turn around immediately, to keep my eyes on the gemstones spread across my workspace like I’m actually fascinated by the difference between sapphire and tanzanite. Which I am. Professionally. But right now, they could be pebbles for all I care.
“Knox.” Sloane’s voice is warm. “What brings you by?”
“Cole wanted me to go over the updated access codes for the vault.” His voice rolls through the studio like distant thunder. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“Of course he did.” Sloane’s tone suggests she’s as convinced by this excuse as I am. “Help yourself. You know where everything is.”
My skin prickles with awareness as he moves through the studio, checking panels and keypads that definitely don’t need checking. But his mission is unmistakable.
He’s circling. Getting closer.
I pick up a piece of citrine and hold it to the light like it’s the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen. My pulse is doing something ridiculous.
“Hailey.”
God, the way he says my name. Like it’s a word he’s been practicing in private.
I turn slowly, letting my eyes travel up. Past the perfectly tailored charcoal suit. The broad chest. The strong jaw, a face that would look at home on a recruitment poster. Finally landing on those silver-blue eyes that never seem to know where to look when they’re looking at me.
“Knox.” I match his tone exactly, because I’m nothing if not petty.
His gaze drops to my sweater. Just for a second. But I catch it. The way his hands flex at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach out.
I let my lips curve into the smallest smile. Hold his stare. Count the seconds.
One. Two. Three.
He looks away first.
Point to me.
“The vault codes,” he says, clearing his throat. “They updated properly?”
“Seems like it.” I wave vaguely toward Sloane’s workspace. “Everything’s very . . . vaulted.”
There’s amusement before he schools it back to neutral. “Good. That’s . . . good.”