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)
My jaw drops.
Has the man lost his mind?
But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, the casual display of destruction just to prove a point.
“Stop apologizing.” His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer. “Stop trying to be perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then trail down my neck. “You’re more interesting when you’re not.”
I reach for him. “It’s just . . . I’m sorry, I should be more—”
“What did I say about apologizing?” His voice has an edge that makes my skin tingle. He tilts my chin up. “Unless, of course, your goal for the night is to do exactly that . . . please me.” He studies my face. “Is that what you’re doing, Sloane?”
I meet his eyes. Everything else falls away—the broken glass, my nerves, all my earlier doubts. There’s only this moment, this man, and the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once.
A knock breaks through the tension. We both turn toward the stairs.
“Mr. Asher?” A staff member calls down. “Dinner is ready to be served.”
“Shall we eat?” His voice is rough. “I had them set up down here. No cameras.”
I nod, trying to steady my breathing as he leads me to where covered dishes await us on the far end of the table.
“I thought we deserved a proper meal after both working all day.” He pulls out my chair. “And I need to make sure you actually take the time to stop and eat.” The way he says it is both teasing and protective, like he’s already learned this about me.
Cole lifts the silver covers from our plates, revealing perfectly seared steaks with roasted vegetables.
“So this is how you impress all your business partners?” I pick up my fork. “Private wine cellars and intimate dinners?”
“Only the ones who break my expensive wineglasses.” He sits across from me, his eyes bright with amusement. “Though you’re the first to make me want to break one too.”
“I create chaos wherever I go. It’s a gift.” I cut into my steak. “Though usually I at least make it through the appetizer before destroying things.
“I notice you keep the French reds separate from the Italian ones.” I gesture at the wall of bottles. “Some might call that obsessive.”
“Some might call it respect for tradition.” His lips quirk up. “Though clearly I’m not as devoted to order as I used to be.”
“What gave it away?” I glance pointedly at the broken glass. He takes a slow sip from his glass.
“Let’s just say my priorities are shifting.”
“The steak is perfect,” I say, taking another bite. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t go with something more elaborate.”
“You struck me as someone who appreciates simplicity.” He watches me over his new wineglass. “At least when it comes to food. Your designs are anything but.”
“Says the man who spent three years hunting down a single bottle of wine.” I take another sip from my glass, considering him. “I’ve never met anyone so determined to get exactly what they want.”
His smile holds a hint of challenge. “You should look in the mirror.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers absently touching the necklace. “So tell me something I don’t know about Cole Asher. Something that isn’t in the press releases or Forbes profiles.”
“Trying to get the upper hand?” He cuts into his steak with precise movements.
“Maybe I’m just curious about the man who breaks thousand-dollar wineglasses to make a point.”
“Two thousand when you count the wine inside of it.” He sets down his knife with a smirk. “And what would you like to know?”
“Why jewelry?” I tilt my head. “Of all the investments you could make, why choose this collection?”
“Because you didn’t try to sell me on profits or market projections.” He studies me for a moment. “You showed me the pieces and let them speak for themselves. It’s rare to find someone that confident in their work.”
“Most people would call that arrogance.” I pause, studying his face. “But I think there’s more to it. Something you’re not telling me.”
Cole’s expression shifts subtly, a shadow passing over his features. “Someone I once cared about was an incredible jewelry designer like you. She died and never got to complete her vision.” His voice grows softer. “When I saw your work, I felt like it was important to support you, to show the world what you could create. And maybe . . . maybe it honors her memory too.”
My heart beats faster. “Who was she?”
“Her name was Claire,” he says, the words coming reluctantly.
“Claire?” I lean forward, a suspicion forming. “Wait—Claire as in Claire Voss?”
Cole’s eyes meet mine, and he gives a small, tight nod. “Yes.”
“Oh my god!” I can’t hide my excitement. “I studied her work obsessively in design school! Her use of negative space, the way she incorporated unexpected materials—” I shake my head in disbelief. “Her pieces weren’t just jewelry; they were tiny sculptures that told stories. I have her portfolio book dog-eared to death. Everyone was devastated when she died so young.”