Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
She stares at it for a moment. “That’s probably not coming out.”
“You’re single-handedly redecorating the entire building for Christmas,” I say, looking at the trail of silver she’s left everywhere. “Though the cleaning staff might not appreciate your artistic vision.”
“Speaking of Christmas . . . I need a Christmas tree,” she says suddenly, looking around the stark kitchen. “Not one of those designer monstrosities with the monochromatic ornaments. A real tree. With colored lights and mismatched ornaments.”
I set down my coffee mug. “Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?”
“No real trees in the penthouse.” I keep my voice level, professional. “Pine needles get everywhere. They’re a fire hazard. The sap damages the floors. And the smell is overwhelming.”
“It’s Christmas.” She crosses her arms, her expression hardening. “This is my first Christmas away from my family, ever. I’ve never spent December without a tree, and I’m not starting now because you’re worried about your precious marble floors.”
Her voice wavers slightly on the word family, and something in me softens despite myself. But I can’t afford to give in. Not when maintaining boundaries is already proving so difficult.
“You’re here to work, not decorate,” I remind her, my voice sharper than intended. “We have a deadline. Twenty-two days. A tree is a distraction we can’t afford.”
“A distraction?” Her eyes flash with indignation. “You think having some semblance of normalcy during the holidays is a distraction? Christmas has always been a big deal in my family, and I’m already missing enough traditions being stuck here. I need this one thing, Cole.”
The genuine emotion in her voice throws me. This isn’t just about decoration or holiday spirit. It’s about something deeper. Home. Family. The things I’ve spent years convincing myself I don’t need.
“Fine.” The word comes out sharper than I intended. “The Rockefeller tree. Tonight. If you’re so desperate for Christmas spirit, I’ll take you to see the biggest damn tree in the city.”
She blinks, blindsided by my offer. “Are you serious?”
“Consider it research for your winter collection.” If I can’t stop her from bringing holiday chaos into my space, at least I can redirect it.
“Research,” she repeats skeptically. “For jewelry.”
“Light refraction on ice. Crystal formations. Winter aesthetics.” I maintain a cool, professional tone. “The collection is called Midnight Frost for a reason. You should see what you’re designing for.”
I reach out, brush a spot of silver from her cheek, withdrawing my hand quickly when I realize what I’ve done. She tenses, that professional mask slipping back into place.
“Besides, we could both use some air that isn’t full of metal powder. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven.”
“Seven,” she repeats. “For research.”
“Seven,” I repeat, enjoying the way she’s fighting a smile now. “Try not to get lost on your way to your front door. And Sloane? We’ll revisit the production schedule tomorrow. I expect to see progress on the frost bracelet by then.”
Her smile fades slightly. “We’ll see.”
Back in my office, I pull up the security feeds one last time. Sloane’s back in her studio, still humming, still trailing glitter wherever she goes. She moves between projects with a focused grace that I’ve watched for hours through these cameras. Each piece she touches becomes something darker and more compelling than the last.
She picks up the design specifications for the frost bracelet, studies them for a moment, then deliberately sets them aside. I watch as she returns to the necklace components instead, her jaw set in quiet defiance. My fingers tighten around my pen.
I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her. I’ve built my life on control, on keeping everyone at a safe distance. But watching her dance around her workspace, scattering metallic particles like snow, humming Christmas carols off-key . . . She’s already made herself at home in my head. Now she’s making herself at home in my space, leaving her marks everywhere she goes. And for the first time in my life, someone is challenging my carefully constructed order. It’s infuriating. Fascinating. Mesmerizing.
I’ve always known exactly how to control every variable, how to bend people and situations to my will. But Sloane Whitmore refuses to be controlled. And god help me, that might be exactly why I want her.
Chapter Fourteen Sloane
I sink deeper into the bubble bath, watching little sparkles swirl in the water. Even with the expensive bath products Cole stocked in my bathroom, the metallic powder clings to my skin. I’ve officially become a walking art installation.
But it was worth it. The pieces are coming together better than I’d hoped. The atomized metal technique gives them exactly the edge I was looking for—strength wrapped in delicacy, like armor that catches light. If I keep up this pace, I might actually meet the deadline.
Cole and I spent the day in an unspoken standoff. Me continuing work on the necklace components, him sending increasingly detailed notes about the bracelet specifications I was ignoring. Neither of us mentioned the Christmas tree again, but it hovered in the air between us all day. Silent battle lines drawn over something so ordinary. The tension had been thick enough to cut with a jeweler’s saw.