Page 64 of Twisted Knight

“I am.”

“You’ve been missing Wine Wednesday. Like, a lot of Wine Wednesdays,” she teases.

“I’ve been rather busy,” I say as I glance up to the light on in Holden’s office and then shake the feeling away that he’s watching me.

“I’ve heard.” She hums. “I have a feeling that ‘busy’ of yours is why you’re calling me.”

“Would you be offended if I said yes?” I ask, hope laced through my tone. I’ve ditched socializing but then have no problem calling her up and asking for her legal advice. Nothing screams one-sided friendship like that.

“No. Never.” I can all but feel her smile through the line. “I’m here to listen. To bounce things off of. And when you want advice, all you have to do is tell me, ‘Hey, this is the part I want advice on,’” she says.

“You know I love you, right?” I say, a smile on my lips for the first time in hours.

“Yes. I do. Now start talking.…”

NINETEEN

Rowan

Music blasts through my headphones. The funky beat helps to erase the tension from the kind of day only a Monday can bring. The market analysis I’d worked on all weekend somehow managed to lose all my updates. A graphic designer we’ve used religiously for the past few years took on a new client and for some reason that I can’t get her to explain is dropping us midway through a new campaign. The board—where I technically don’t have a seat yet—sent out a letter to me about their displeasure over my new hair color.

Essentially a “blondes have more fun” decree requesting I dye my hair back to its natural color.

Then there’s Holden.

In my doorway when I’d look up, shoulder against the jamb, an indecipherable smile on his face. Behind me in the company lunchroom when I was getting coffee so that his crisp, clean scent screwed with my senses. Summoning me to his office time and again for something he could simply ask about over the phone intercom. Then stopping me in the parking lot on the way out, asking me for opinions on things that normally Rhett handles.

And then seeming to be genuinely interested in my responses.

Chaos and confusion.

That’s what I’ve felt since he barged into my life. Especially since that moment at Greatland last week that frequents my mind way more than I’d like to admit to.

For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about him, Row. You’re here to clear your head, not screw it up more.

I climb down off the elliptical and wipe the sweat from the back of my neck. People mill about, lifting free weights, waiting for machines, or shooting the shit with club employees. When a bench in the free weight area opens up in the far corner of the gym, I quickly move that way before it gets taken.

I mouth the lyrics to the song, maybe even sway my hips to the beat a little, while purposefully choosing to be oblivious to those around me. I’m not here to meet men. I’m here to work out. I’ve found that keeping my head down and my eyes focused on what I’m doing prevents most unwanted advances.

I begin my routine and am on my second time through when I look at my reflection in the mirrored wall and see Holden standing about twenty feet away.

He’s in the middle of his own workout. His dark green tank top is loose and showcases tanned, muscular biceps that flex with each curl-up of his arms. His shoulders are broad, his face a furrow of concentration, and the tendons in his neck are taut.

When he finishes his repetitions and sets the dumbbells on the floor, he proceeds to lift the hem of his tank to wipe the sweat from his chin.

It’s a casual movement, one you see in the gym all the time, but if I wasn’t paying attention before, I sure as hell am now. I’m graced with an array of dips and dents of sculpted abs and the faintest hint of a happy trail that disappears beneath a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

Well, well, well, Holden Knight looks good in a suit, but even more spectacular out of it.

Like there was any doubt.

But Jesus, seeing it and thinking it are two vastly different things.

Why are you thinking about that, Rowan?

I should be working out.

Stop looking.