Page 138 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Glad you could make it," he says, and there's a snide edge to the words.

I hold his stare. "I don't think I had a choice."

Knox's jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't respond.

Claire reappears before the silence can stretch too long.

"Mr. Sterling, can I get you anything else? More coffee?"

"Another espresso," he says without looking away from me.

"Right away."

She disappears toward the galley and Knox opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

But then the pilot's voice comes through the overhead speaker.

"Good morning, this is Captain Richardson. We'll be taking off momentarily. Flight time to Naples is approximately two hours. We're looking at clear skies, minimal turbulence, smooth sailing all the way. Sit back, relax, and we'll have you on the ground in Florida before you know it."

Claire returns with Knox's espresso and my coffee and orange juice, setting them on the small tables beside our seats.

"We'll be wheels up in just a few minutes," she says.

"Let me know if you need anything once we're in the air."

"Thank you," I say.

She moves toward her jump seat near the front of the cabin, preparing for takeoff.

The tense, awkward feeling settles over me like a weight. I pick up my coffee and take a sip, anything to have something to do with my hands. Knox is watching me, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"Did you enjoy your evening?" he asks.

The question catches me off guard. His tone is strange—curious but also laced with something that sounds almost like disgust.

I set down my coffee carefully. "Yes. I did enjoy my evening."

I pause, then add, "Did you enjoy yours?"

Knox doesn't answer. He just stares at me with that same intense glare, his expression unreadable. Claire appears again, reaching for his empty espresso cup.

"All set, Mr. Sterling?"

"Yes."

She takes the cup and disappears again.The moment breaks. I pull my laptop out of my bag and open it, pretending to focus on work. Anything to create a distraction from the charged silence between us. Knox picks up the Wall Street Journal and unfolds it, retreating behind the pages.

The plane begins to move, taxiing down the runway. I stare at my laptop screen without really seeing it, my pulse still racing from the way Knox looked at me.

After takeoff, Knox retreats to the other side of the cabin. He takes calls—at least three over the course of the flight—keeping his voice low but audible enough that I catch fragments about investor meetings and construction timelines.

I make conversation with Claire when she brings breakfast. We talk about Naples, about the weather, about her favorite restaurants in the area. It's pleasant. Easy. A welcome distraction.

The rest of the time, I dive into emails on my laptop. Client updates, vendor questions, Maya checking in about the rescheduled meetings. I respond to everything methodically, grateful for the work to focus on.

The two hours pass quickly. Before I know it, Captain Richardson's voice comes through the speaker announcing our descent into Naples. The plane touches down smoothly and taxis toward the private terminal. Within minutes, we're pulling up on the tarmac.

A sleek black Maybach is waiting. The chauffeur steps out immediately, opening the rear door and moving to collect our bags as Knox and I descend the stairs.