Chapter 4 Sloane
Sloane
Iwake before dawn, my body humming with an energy that has nothing to do with the three hours of sleep I managed. Memories of yesterday flood back; Atticus's lips on mine, his arms around my waist, the way he looked at me afterward like he was seeing something entirely new and precious.
I press my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. This is insane. Three years of carefully maintaining boundaries, of convincing myself that friendship was enough, and now everything's changed with one impulsive moment on a snowy ridge.
Perfect. A legitimate reason to be up and moving instead of lying in bed overthinking everything. I throw back the covers and hurry through my morning routine, choosing a soft emerald sweater that brings out the green in my hazel eyes. Not that I'm dressing for anyone in particular.
Who am I kidding? Of course I am.
Outside, Hope Peak is transformed, the overnight snowfall having blanketed everything in pristine white. I trudge through the quiet streets, breath clouding in the early morning chill, mind whirling with questions I don't have answers for.
What happens now? We kissed. We admitted it meant something. But what exactly? And how do we navigate this new territory while launching a corporate division and convincing an entire town that Blackwood Industries isn't the enemy?
By the time I reach Perfect Brews, the warm glow from its windows is a welcome sight. Inside, the rich scent of coffee and baking pastry envelops me, and Carly's familiar smile greets me from behind the counter.
"There she is," Carly calls, already reaching for a to-go cup. "Vanilla latte with an extra shot?"
"You're a mind reader." I breathe in the comforting aroma of the coffee shop, letting it settle my nerves. "And I hear there's pain-au-chocolat?"
"Fresh out of the oven." She boxes up a half-dozen, sliding them across the counter. "These should win you some corporate points with the team."
"That obvious I need them?"
Carly's eyes sparkle with knowing amusement. "Word around town is that the ice king of Blackwood Industries is thawing thanks to local influence."
Heat creeps into my cheeks. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"So there's nothing happening between you and the devastatingly handsome CEO who, according to Mindy, couldn't take his eyes off you at the committee meeting?" She leans forward, tattooed forearms resting on the counter. "Come on, Sloane. I've known you since kindergarten. Spill."
I take a fortifying sip of my latte. "It's complicated."
"The best things usually are." She passes me another box. "Gingerbread latte and black coffee, two sugars. For your complicated situation."
"You're the best."
"I know." She winks. "Now go conquer the corporate world, or whatever it is you're doing over there besides making eyes at your boss."
"He's not my boss," I correct automatically. "We're colleagues."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetie."
I leave with coffee and pastries in hand, both dreading and anticipating seeing Atticus again. What do you say to your best friend the morning after you've crossed a line that can't be uncrossed? Sorry? Let's forget it happened? I want to do it again, preferably with fewer clothes involved?
The last thought sends a flush of heat through me that has nothing to do with my latte.
Blackwood Winter HQ is already bustling when I arrive, the team preparing for the marketing presentation. I spot Brynn arranging mock-ups on the large corkboard, her auburn hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
"Morning," I call, holding up the boxes. "I come bearing caffeine and carbs."
"You're an angel." Brynn abandons her work to peek inside the pastry box. "God, these smell amazing. Are those from Perfect Brews?"
"Fresh this morning." I set the boxes on a nearby desk. "The gingerbread latte is for you."
"You remembered." She takes the cup, looking genuinely touched. "How'd the rest of your evening go? After you left Skyline?"
Something in her tone makes me glance up. "Fine. Why?"
She shrugs, too casual to be genuine. "Just curious. You and Atticus seemed... intense during dinner."
"We were discussing the community integration plan," I lie smoothly.
"Uh-huh." Her green eyes sparkle with mischief. "With your eyes? For two hours?"
Before I can formulate a denial, Callum approaches, tablet in hand. "Morning, Ms. Parker. Ms. Ellison." His professional demeanor cracks slightly when he spots the pastry box. "Are those...”
"Pain-au-chocolat," I confirm, pushing the box toward him. "Help yourself, Callum. And for the hundredth time, it's Sloane, not Ms. Parker."
He takes a pastry with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ms. Sloane." He glances between Brynn and me. "The mock-ups are ready for the final review. Mr. Morgan approved the red accent version last night."
"Did he?" Brynn's eyebrow arches knowingly.
"He said it was the strongest design," Callum continues, oblivious to the subtext. "Oh, and he asked me to give you this." He hands me a sleek envelope embossed with the Blackwood logo.
"What's this?" I ask, turning it over in my hands.
"No idea. But he said to deliver it personally."
My pulse quickens as I slip the envelope into my pocket. "Thanks, Callum. I'll look at it later."
After Callum returns to his desk, Brynn edges closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Secret notes now? This is getting interesting."
"It's probably just work stuff," I insist, though the weight of the envelope feels significant against my hip.
"Right. Because the CEO always sends 'work stuff' in fancy envelopes delivered by hand." She shakes her head, amused. "You know, it's okay to admit there's something happening. The chemistry between you two is obvious to anyone with eyes."
I'm saved from responding by the arrival of Jenna, pink-cheeked from the cold, a stack of files clutched to her chest. "Morning, ladies! The council representatives just called, they're moving up the presentation to nine instead of eleven."
"What? Why?" I check my watch; 7:48 AM.
"Something about needing to assess storm damage on the north side afterward." Jenna sets down her files, helping herself to coffee. "Don't worry, everything's ready. Atticus has been here since five reviewing the slides."
Of course he has. Typical Atticus, processing emotions by burying himself in work.
"I should go check on him," I say, grabbing his coffee. "Make sure he's not revising font choices for the twentieth time."
Brynn and Jenna exchange knowing glances as I head toward the glass conference room, where I can see Atticus standing at the wall-mounted screen, back to the door.
He's wearing the navy sweater from yesterday, the one that softens his corporate edge without diminishing his natural authority.
His hair is slightly tousled, as if he's been running his fingers through it, a sure sign he's overthinking something.
I knock softly on the glass door before entering. "Brought reinforcements," I say, holding up the coffee and pastry box.
He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face makes my heart stutter. "Savior," he says, crossing to take the coffee. "I was about to send Marcus on another coffee run."
"No need to torture poor Marcus when you have me." The words come out more loaded than I intended. "I mean...”
"I know what you mean." His voice drops lower, eyes meeting mine over the rim of his cup. "Thank you."
We stand there, the air between us charged with everything we're not saying. He looks good, too good for someone who's probably been up since dawn overthinking our kiss as much as I have.
"Sleep well?" I ask, aiming for casual.
"Not really." He takes a sip of his coffee. "You?"
"About the same."
His eyes soften. "We should talk about...”
"The presentation?" I interject quickly, aware of the glass walls surrounding us. "Absolutely. Jenna says the council moved it up to nine."
He accepts the deflection with a slight nod. "I've been reviewing the community commitment slides. I think we need to emphasize the local hiring initiatives more prominently."
"Good idea." I move to his side, setting down the pastry box to look at the screen. "We should also highlight the partnership with Spencer's team, it shows we're supporting existing businesses rather than bringing in outside contractors."
We fall into our familiar rhythm, passing ideas back and forth, making adjustments to the presentation. This is what we've always done best, working as a seamless team, anticipating each other's thoughts, building on each other's ideas. It's comfortable. Safe.
Except now there's a new undercurrent, an awareness that hums between us with every accidental brush of hands, every moment our eyes meet. I'm conscious of his proximity, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way he wets his lips when he's concentrating.
"What's in the envelope?" he asks suddenly, nodding toward my pocket.
"I don't know yet. Your minion Callum delivered it rather mysteriously." I pull it out, turning it over in my hands. "Should I open it now?"
A hint of nervousness flashes across his face. "If you want."
Curious, I slide my finger under the seal and extract a heavy card stock invitation. My eyes widen as I read: "The Charity Auction Committee cordially invites Ms. Sloane Parker to attend as the special guest of Mr. Atticus Morgan."
Below, handwritten in Atticus's precise script: Claiming my prize. Dress will be delivered this afternoon. No arguments.
"You didn't," I breathe, looking up at him.
The corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile I find unfairly attractive. "I believe the terms of our bet were clear. Loser wears whatever the winner chooses."
"I was thinking flannel for you. Not..." I wave the invitation. "Whatever this is."
"You'll find out this afternoon." His confidence would be infuriating if it wasn't so damned appealing. "Consider it my way of showing commitment to Hope Peak's social calendar."
"How generous of you."