Page 50 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Ms. Hayes is here."

My pulse does something I refuse to acknowledge.

I close my laptop with deliberate calm.

"Send her in."

Marcus nods and disappears.

I stand, button my suit jacket, and move around my desk to the open space near the conference table. Professional positioning. Not behind the desk—too formal, too much of a power play. But not too casual either.

The door opens, as she steps into my office. For a moment—brief, charged—we just look at each other.

There's something almost hostile in her expression initially. An enemies glare, sharp and assessing, like she's walked into this meeting ready for a fight. Her blue eyes are cool, guarded, challenging. But then our gazes lock, and something shifts.

The hostility softens. Not disappearing, but... mellowing into something else. Curiosity, maybe. Wariness mixed with interest.

She's stunning.

I knew that already—I've seen her at family events, noticed her across crowded rooms. But seeing her here, in my office, in the afternoon light with nothing between us but air and intention, is different.

Black pencil skirt that ends just below the knee. Cream silk blouse, perfectly tailored. Black Louboutin heels that bring her closer to my eye level than I expected. A leather portfolio tucked under one arm. Blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail, sleek and professional.

Professional armor. Every detail calculated.

Her blue eyes meet mine—direct, unflinching, assessing me the same way I'm assessing her.

I realize I'm staring.

Force myself to move, to extend my hand.

"Ms. Hayes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today."

She crosses the space between us—measured steps, confident despite the slight hesitation I catch in her shoulders—and takes my hand.

The handshake is firm. Brief.

But the contact registers.

Warmth. A brief electric moment that travels up my arm and settles somewhere in my chest.

She pulls back slightly faster than necessary.

She felt it too.

"Mr. Sterling." Her voice is professional, cool.

"Your assistant was... persuasive."

"Marcus is good at his job."

"Clearly."

We're still standing too close. I step back, gesture to the chairs near my desk.

"Please. Sit."

She moves to the chair but doesn't fully settle into it. Perches on the edge instead, portfolio on her lap, posture perfect. Ready to leave at any moment if this meeting goes wrong.