Page 146 of The Silver Fox Brother

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"Oh but it is," I say, and I can barely control the words coming out of my mouth.

I continue. "I have hired not only your company for my project, but your reputation is important as well."

Winter snaps. "What the hell does that mean?" she whispers furiously.

I notice a few other attendees sitting at our table glance over at us. We're doing a very bad job at keeping our voices down.

The waitstaff has begun serving dinner. Around us, people are eating and talking, while Winter and I carry on this whispered but fiery exchange.

"It seems as if you just easily enjoy attention from random men," I say.

What I really mean is that I'm pissed she doesn't give me that type of attention. That she smiles at other men the way I only want her to be smiling at me.

Winter shakes her head, her eyes filled with rage.

"Unbelievable."

She pauses, then adds, "I knew this was a mistake."

I do a double take.

"What do you mean... a mistake?" I fire back, our dialogue muffled by the sounds of dinner chatter around us.

Winter shakes her head. "I'm leaving."

She grabs her purse and begins to stand from her chair.

"That's not necessary," I say.

Winter glares at me. "Yes it is."

She turns and heads toward the exit, her dress sweeping behind her as she walks. I watch her go, my pulse pounding in my ears, my hands gripping the edge of the table.

Then I stand and follow her. My stride is purposeful as I move toward the exit, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears. I’m not letting her leave like this. Not without saying something, anything.

I step into the corridor, my shoes echoing faintly against the polished marble floor. Winter is standing ahead, her head bent, scrolling through her phone. Her figure, draped in that breathtaking dress, holds my attention like a magnet.

“Winter,” I say, my tone calculated and stoic, but the tension in my chest betrays me.

She stiffens slightly before turning around, her eyes locking with mine. A shiver runs down her spine—one she tries to mask, but I notice. Always.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she says, her voice steady, but there’s something underneath—a crack in her composure. Guilt? Unease? Or the same pull that’s been eating at me for the past week.

Her lips part slightly, her breath catching as our gazes hold.

“What are you doing? Why bring me here if you were just going to be an asshole?” she says seethingly.

“I don’t like being ignored,” I say, my response is low, clipped, with an edge I don’t bother to hide.

She hesitates. “I’m not ignoring you,” she replies.

A couple passes us, their laughter fading into the distance, leaving silence. I step closer, my eyes narrowing as I study her. The air between us thickens, laden with everything we’re not saying.

“Is that why you’re acting as if nothing happened?” My voice is calm, but it cuts through her defenses like a blade.

“I didn’t expect that from you, Winter.”