13. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 13
Magnolia Steel
The rhythmic clicking of keyboards greets me as I step into Soul Sync’s office.
“Good morning!” Sophie’s greeting is unusually bright and cheerful.
“Morning.” I notice the coffee cup in her hand—the familiar logo from the café where Elijah sometimes surprises me with my favorite drink. I arch a brow, fighting a smirk. Sophie would never get coffee from there… unless Elijah made another visit to her room last night. It would explain the extra bounce in her step.
Not that I’m one to judge. After the night—and morning—I’ve had, I’m happier than a flea at a dog show.
I set my bag down beside my desk and fire up my computer, silently hoping for a quiet, uneventful start to the day.
No such luck.
Whitney appears out of nowhere, practically bouncing with excitement, her eyes wide and bursting with gossip. “You’re not going to believe this. Julius Caesar emailed me this morning. He said Cleopatra isn’t his match.”
My heart skips.
He did it.
He actually did it.
“What else did his email say?”
“He wants to pause the matchmaking process and take some time to figure out if this is really the right path for him. Can you believe that?”
Actually, I can. “Wow.”
Sophie’s expression is dazed. “That almost never happens. I can recall maybe a handful of people who’ve ever been unhappy with their match. It’s… odd, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. If he wasn’t feeling it with Cleopatra, he wasn’t feeling it. No point forcing it. I think he did the right thing.”
Sophie shrugs, still baffled. “I guess. But Cleopatra? She’s such a catch. If Julius Caesar knew what he was tossing aside, he’d kick himself.”
Would he though?
I didn’t meet Cleopatra or learn much about her beyond the surface details. Still, curiosity gnaws at me—what does she look like? Is she the poised, perfect type? The kind of woman who makes it hard to compete?
The thought stirs a faint jealousy in my chest. Silly, I know. He never even met her.
And he chose me. He’s mine for the next three months, and that’s all that matters.
I sit at my desk, scrolling through the Soul Sync profiles of the couple scheduled to arrive later this week. My notes are scattered across the top—color palettes, fabric swatches, and a few sketches for the dating suite decor. I tap my pen against the paper, brainstorming ways to make the space perfect for them based upon the profile I received.
The door suddenly swings open, startling me, as Elijah bursts in with far more energy than necessary. “Where were you this morning?”
I blink, momentarily thrown off. “ What ?”
“I brought you your favorite drink from the café. I waited outside your room, knocked several times, but you never answered. Didn’t even hear the shower running.”
A cold ripple of discomfort prickles down my spine. Was he seriously standing there, listening for me in the shower?
What the fuck is wrong with this guy?
I shove the thought aside and school my expression into something inscrutable. “There was an issue with my room. The hotel had to move me.”
Elijah’s frown deepens. “What kind of issue?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. I didn’t press for details.”
His arms cross over his chest, his displeasure unmistakable. “Where’d they move you to?”
“Several floors up.” There’s no way I’m giving him my new room number, let alone telling him I’m staying in the penthouse. The last thing I need is Elijah knowing where to find me.
His eyes narrow, clearly not satisfied with my vague response, but I hold my ground, meeting his gaze without flinching. If he’s fishing for details, he’s not getting them from me.
“Do they plan to move you back to the room near us?”
“I don’t think so. And honestly, I hope they don’t. The new room has an amazing view of the harbor.”
I battle the smile tugging at my lips. This morning’s view was easily the most breathtaking thing I’ve ever woken up to. But it wasn’t because of the harbor. JC, with his tousled hair and the sheet slung low on his hips, looked like pure, unapologetic sin. The way his dark eyes locked on mine, as if I was the only thing in the world he wanted, made the skyline disappear entirely.
“Being so far from Whitney, Sophie, and me will be a hassle for you.”
“Well, they did give me a free upgrade for the inconvenience. I think I’ll survive.”
Elijah doesn’t seem ready to drop the issue, but I am.
I lower my gaze to my desk, dismissing him. “I’m still pulling everything together for the new set. I’ll let you know later today when I’m ready to discuss it.”
“Sure thing.” With a small nod, he heads out of my office.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of color swatches and furniture arrangements. I lose myself in the design, piecing together how everything will come together for the new clients.
My small staging warehouse in Sydney isn’t nearly as stocked as the one in Charleston, and I’m missing a few key pieces that would make the space perfect. I’ll need to go shopping tomorrow.
With the deadline looming, I hand off the building portion of the set to Elijah, who, thankfully, doesn’t feel the need to talk it to death. At least when he’s busy building, he’s not hovering over me.
I’ll give him credit where it’s due—he’s good at what he does. He always aims to get things exactly right, double-checking every detail to make sure I’m pleased with the final product. And he’s never missed a deadline, which is probably why, despite all the reasons I have to complain about him, I know I’ll never be rid of him unless he makes the decision to leave.
Still, I’m relieved when Elijah is finally out of sight, leaving me alone with my sketches and plans.
My phone buzzes on the desk, lighting up with a message.
Hey, favorite. Got a business dinner tonight. Can I catch up with you afterward?
I smile, typing a quick reply.
That’s fine. I’ll grab dinner with my coworkers. Enjoy your meeting.
His response comes almost immediately.
Not likely. I’ll be with my father and some others from the hotel industry. I’d much rather have dinner with you.
A grin tugs at my lips as I type back, feeling a little daring.
Maybe you can come for dessert.
Or maybe I ditch this business dinner altogether and come for dessert now.
Patience, JC.
Patience isn’t my strong suit. I’m going to think about you every second until I see you again.
Same.
By the time the workday ends, I’m completely wiped. It’s always like this when new clients are scheduled to arrive—every single detail has to be flawless, from initial concepts to final touches. There’s no room for error and juggling it all leaves me drained.
By the time I shut down my computer and pack up for the night, I feel like I’ve been wrung dry.
Everyone else seems to feel the same. Sophie, Whitney, Elijah, and I exchange weary looks as we gather our things. None of us have the energy to catch a taxi, hunt down a restaurant, and then drag ourselves back late. It’s an unspoken agreement—we’ll stick to the hotel restaurant tonight.
Dinner as a group has become routine. None of us like eating alone, and it’s easier to stick together. Opting for the hotel restaurant means we can relax without the hassle of going out.
The food, as always, doesn’t disappoint. We exchange satisfied smiles between bites, all silently agreeing that staying in was the best decision. I swirl my wine lazily in its glass, letting the conversation flow around me as I take a moment to savor the calm.
And then I see him .
Across the room, seated at a table with a group of impeccably dressed older men, is JC. He’s deep in conversation as he commands the attention of everyone at the table.
He’s wearing a sleek black suit, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and powerful frame. The crisp white shirt beneath it makes the dark fabric stand out even more. But it’s the tie that catches my eye— hot pink.
I fight the grin tugging at my lips. Hot pink? I wouldn’t have pegged him as the type, but it’s breathtaking against his rich, warm skin tone, black hair, and those smoldering, intense eyes. The color somehow makes him even more striking.
I glance his way again, and our eyes meet. A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his wine glass in a subtle salute, his gaze locked on mine.
I arch an eyebrow, keeping my expression cool and composed. But inside my pulse is racing, and every nerve is humming with anticipation.
He is so damn hot. And for the next three months, he’s all mine.
I try not to look in his direction. I really do. But it’s impossible. Every time my gaze slips that way—and it slips often—JC is already watching me, his dark eyes unwavering, like he’s daring me to meet his stare.
The soft vibration of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance down, the screen lighting up with a new message.
You look beautiful.
I fight the smile threatening to break free and tap out a reply under the table, careful not to attract attention.
Thank you. I must admit, I’m a little surprised by the hot-pink tie. But it works.
I barely set the phone down before it buzzes again.
Are you wearing knickers?
My cheeks burn, and I cross my legs under the table, squirming in my seat.
Sorry to disappoint, but yes.
Another buzz, and I glance down quickly.
I’m going to walk by your table in one minute. Tell your coworkers you’re going to the toilet. Get up and follow me. You won’t be wearing those knickers for much longer.
A shiver runs down my spine, and my heart skips a beat. How does he do this to me? I press my thighs together, trying to keep my expression flat as excitement bubbles under the surface.
Yes, sir.
My phone buzzes immediately after.
Just so you know, I like it when you call me sir.
I glance across the room in time to see him push back from his table, standing with grace. His eyes find mine, and the look he gives me—dark, smoldering, and full of promises—makes my breath hitch.
I lean forward, setting my wine glass down with deliberate ease. “Please excuse me for a moment. I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
Without waiting for a response, I stand, slipping my phone into my bag as my heart races.
But as I move away from the table, Whitney pushes her chair back too. “I’ll go with you.”
I falter, scrambling for a response. “Oh, uh—no need! You should stay and enjoy your wine.”
She waves me off, already standing. “Nah, I need to use it too.”
Dammit. Whitney is going to ruin this for me.
With Whitney trailing behind me, I silently pray to every higher power that JC notices her and realizes she’s with me. At the same time, I pray Whitney doesn’t notice him or, worse, recognize him as a client.
As we round the corner toward the restrooms, I find him leaning casually against the wall, exuding that sexy-as-fuck confidence like he owns the place… which, technically, he does.
His dark eyes lock on to mine, and I feel my pulse quicken. Widening my eyes in a silent warning, I give the tiniest shake of my head.
Don’t. Say. A. Word.
But, of course, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face, and before I can stop him, he opens his mouth to speak.
“So, Whitney,” I say quickly, cutting JC off and turning abruptly to face her. “Did I tell you I had to move rooms?”
She nods, looking confused. “Yeah, we talked about it earlier.”
JC’s eyes dart to Whitney, and his expression shifts. It’s subtle—just a flash—but I catch it. Without missing a beat, he quickly turns his back to us.
“Oh yeah. Silly me, I forgot.”
I risk a glance at JC. He’s holding his phone to his ear now, and as we pass by, I catch the low murmur of his voice: “Well, damn. Cockblocked.”
My cheeks flush, and I pretend not to hear him as Whitney chats away beside me. I bite my lip, suppressing the grin threatening to break free. As I step closer to him, our pinkies brush for the briefest second—a fleeting, innocent touch that’s nowhere near enough but will have to do for now.
Whitney pulls open the bathroom door, and I pause by the entrance, waiting until she disappears inside and is safely out of earshot. Only then do I tilt my head toward JC, lowering my voice to a soft murmur. “You should probably stretch… because I’m going to ride you so hard tonight… s ir .”
His smile breaks wide, dark and wicked. “Oh, you naughty, beautiful little thing.”
I lean in, close enough to whisper, “And before I ride you, I’m going to suck your cock so hard you’ll see stars.”
His eyes smolder with desire, and before I can pull away, he delivers a quick, playful smack to my bottom. “You might want to call off work for tomorrow.” His words are a low, dangerous promise. “You won’t be able to walk.”
I glance back at him with a smirk. “Don’t make promises unless you plan on keeping them.”
As I step into the restroom, his voice follows me, deep and sure. “That’s one promise you can count on.”
I lean into the mirror, smoothing on a fresh coat of lip gloss, giving myself a quick once-over. Just as I snap the cap back in place, Whitney emerges from the stall and heads to the sink, humming as she washes her hands.
“Did you hear what that guy on the phone said when we walked in?” She glances at me with a playful grin.
“What guy?”
“The muscular guy in the suit. I didn’t see his face, but with a body like his, I don’t need to.”
I fight the urge to grin. “No, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
She pulls out her lipstick for touch-up. “He told whoever he was talking to that he got cockblocked.” She shakes her head with a smirk. “I’d be more than happy to fix his problem.”
Whitney obviously doesn’t realize who he is—if she had, there’s no way she’d be tossing around words like that so casually.
I force a casual smile though the thought of Whitney anywhere near JC sparks a prickle of annoyance. “Would you consider a short-term relationship with a guy here? Like, knowing it’s only for a few months and then it’s done when we go back to Charleston?”
Whitney adds a final swipe of lipstick with practiced ease. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t want a fling with a hot Aussie guy?”
Her answer eases my tension, leaving me feeling oddly reassured. “Right. Who wouldn’t?”
We step out of the restroom and back into the hallway. He’s still there, leaning casually against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, looking like he owns not only the hotel but the whole damn world.
He catches my eye, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “Listen, possum. I’ll be at your hotel room as soon as this business meeting is over. Does that work for you?”
I slip my hand behind my back as we walk away, giving him a discreet thumbs-up.
Whitney glances at him, then leans closer to me with a smirk. “Some lucky bitch is getting laid tonight.”
I grin, trying to suppress the giddy feeling bubbling up inside me.
It’s me. I’m the lucky bitch.