Page 64 of The Silver Fox Brother

I want to say something else. Want to break through whatever decision she's making right now to protect herself from whatever this is.

But I don't know what to say.

So I just nod. "Winter—"

"I should go," she says, cutting me off.

"I'll be in touch."

She gets back in the car, tells Victor an address I don't catch. The car pulls away as I stand on the sidewalk longer than necessary, watching it merge into traffic, watching until I can't see it anymore.

Then I turn and walk back into the building.

Chapter Six

Winter

The car pulls up in front of the Gramercy Park building just after five-thirty.

Victor, Knox's driver, gets out and comes around to open my door. He's been quiet the entire ride—professional, unobtrusive, the kind of driver who understands when silence is more appropriate than small talk.

"Ms. Hayes," he says, offering his hand to help me out.

I take it, step onto the sidewalk.

"Thank you, Victor."

"My pleasure. Have a good evening."

He gets back in the car and pulls away, merging smoothly into the evening traffic. I stand on the sidewalk for a moment, portfolio clutched against my body, and take a breath.

The past two hours feel like they happened to someone else.

Knox's office. The construction site. The penthouse level with sunlight pouring through unfinished windows. His voice explaining his vision, his eyes when he looked at me across that conference table.

Eight to ten million dollars.

I shake my head slightly and turn toward the building. The doorman nods as I enter.

"Evening, Ms. Hayes."

"Hi, Daniel."

The lobby is cool, marble floors echoing my footsteps as I cross to the elevators. I press the button, wait. The doors open immediately—no one else getting on at this hour, the building still quiet before the evening rush of residents returning from work.

I step inside, press the button, and as the elevator rises, and I lean back against the mirrored wall, closing my eyes.

Breathe.

Knox Sterling just offered me the biggest project of my career. Fifty-five hundred square feet of penthouse design, plus two additional model units. Six months to execute. Full creative control within his vision. A budget that makes the Chen project look modest by comparison.

It's more than I've ever been offered. More than I thought I'd see for another five years, maybe longer.

The elevator chimes, and the doors open. I step out, walk down the hallway to our apartment. Fish the key from my bag, unlock the door, and push it open.

The apartment is empty. Relief hits me before I can stop it. I'd completely forgotten what Rowan had planned for today—some investor meeting, or maybe it was the Brooklyn site review. Doesn't matter. He's not here, and I'm grateful for the space.

I close the door behind me, set my portfolio on the console table, and kick off my heels. My feet ache—four hours in Louboutins, half of that navigating a construction site. I leave the shoes by the door and pad across the cool marble in bare feet.