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The heated moment shattered with a soft knock on the door, pulling my attention away.

“Come in,” Eleanor answered for me, her eyes still locked on mine. I scowled at her, the fight between us far from resolved.

The big, wooden door creaked open, and a face I didn’t recognize stepped inside. He wore a black chef’s jacket, his hair slicked back.

“Oh! Why hello, Axel,” Eleanor cooed, not budging from her position. She also didn’t turn around to see who it was but somehow, she knew.

I furrowed my brows, staring at her in confusion. Who was Axel, and why was he in my office? Of all times to make an appearance, it had to be now, with Eleanor so close and my body betraying me, hard and straining against my jeans.

She glanced over her shoulder.

“Eleanor?” Axel asked, his voice filled with equal confusion as their gazes met.

I chose that moment to stand, positioning myself behind her, using her as a shield to wait out the ache that refused to subside.

“I was just telling Mr. Stone how amazing you are, and he couldn’t agree more,” Eleanor sang, her tone sweet yet laced with mischief. She moved away, bending slightly to pick up her bag and tossing it over her shoulder with ease. “Isn’t that right? Well, I’ll leave you to it!”

She tapped Axel on the bicep and sauntered out, hips swaying, leaving me speechless and utterly confused, standing in my office with a man I’d never met.

Chapter 23

Colton

WHEN ELEANOR LEFT me in my office earlier today, my blood was nearly boiling while standing before that man, who was clearly as bewildered as I was. After a few questions, I learned his name was Axel, and he was, apparently, my head chef. I didn’t hire him nor had I ever met him. Through some quick detective work, I found out that Eleanor had told him I’d summoned him to my office to express my gratitude.

It was well played—I had to give it to her. I wasn’t quite sure why she pulled a stunt like that, but despite my frustration, curiosity gnawed at me. I didn’t bother asking Axel for more details. Instead, I apologized on her behalf and asked him to kindly leave my office. Usually, turning people away was easy for me, but I felt a tinge of awkwardness and sympathy for the guy.

Now, sitting on the balcony of one of the common areas, I stared up at the stars and took a deep inhale of the fresh, cool air. It was another sleepless night, something I’d grown too accustomed to. These nights had been frequent lately, returning with a vengeance. Growing up, my sleeplessness stemmed from nightmares or anxiety, worrying if that night would be the final straw for my parents, that they would snap and the fighting would no longer be our biggest problem.

Now my racing thoughts revolved around Eleanor and how she consumed me.

I’d never experienced anything like this before—how a woman could linger in every corner of my mind, invading every part of my body. The longing was evolving into an obsession, fueled by every moment we shared, every piece of banter, and the ever-present tension. It was irritating.

A soft click of a door pulled my attention, and I turned to see the figure I’d become all too familiar with. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Of course, she’d come out here, summoned by my thoughts like damn Beetlejuice. This woman was a witch, cursing me with her presence.

“Again?” she asked, walking toward where I sat, facing the twinkling Wyoming sky.

“Unfortunately,” I replied, my tone as gruff as ever.

Unfazed by my attitude, Eleanor pulled up a chair and plopped down next to me. Her hair was up, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. She was dressed for comfort—sweats, a hoodie, and… Were those slippers?

“Come on. I know you’re always excited to see me. You don’t need to hide it,” she teased, her eyes dropping to my lap. “Well, I know he’s always excited to see me.”

“Yes, because he can’t hear you speak, and I can.”

Eleanor barked out a laugh, her eyes twinkling under the moonlight. I found myself focusing on the corners of her eyes, noting the creases that appeared with her genuine smile—the same creases she’d pointed out on me at the bar.

I’d never come clean about the pull Eleanor had on me. She didn’t need to know. What would be the point? There was something about her, no matter how grumpy I was or what I said, she never shied away. Instead, it seemed to fuel her, and it was oddly comforting.

“Are we going to talk about earlier?” I asked, cutting through the banter.

Eleanor looked down at her hands, the red nail polish starting to chip. It surprised me—she seemed like the type who always kept her nails pristine.

The fire in her eyes dimmed, like she wanted to be anywhere but here. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but noticeable.

“Yeah, I guess I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t meant to piss you off,” she confessed, catching me off guard.

“Then what was it for? Do you know him?”