Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Winter
Friday morning, I wake up in my apartment with every muscle in my body reminding me of what happened last night.
I can still feel Knox everywhere. On my skin. Inside me. The phantom sensation of his hands gripping my waist, his mouth on my neck, his fingers—
I force myself out of bed and into the shower.
The hot water doesn't help. If anything, it makes it worse. Every drop feels like a touch, every sensation amplified because my body is still humming, still buzzing with the memory of him.
I get dressed, make coffee I don't drink, and head to my design studio by eight-thirty.
Maya is already at her desk when I walk in, and she looks up with her usual bright smile.
"Morning! You're here early."
"Big day," I say, setting my bag down.
"What's on the schedule?"
Maya pulls up my calendar.
“9am call with the Williamsburg clients about final furniture delivery. Ten-thirty is the new Brooklyn Heights inquiry—they want to discuss a full brownstone renovation. Lunch is blocked for the fabric vendor meeting, and you have a 2pm site visit for the Upper West Side project."
"Perfect. Let me know when the 9 am call comes through."
I retreat to my office and close the door.
My desk is covered with material samples for three different projects, but I force myself to focus on the work in front of me.
I grab my phone to check emails and see three text messages from an unknown number.
I open them.
Unknown: Please talk to me.
Unknown: I know you're getting these messages.
Unknown: Winter, I miss you. Can we please just talk?
Rowan.
I stare at the messages for a long moment, then set my phone face-down on my desk without responding.
My office line rings. Maya's voice comes through the speaker.
"Williamsburg clients on line one."
I take a breath and answer. "Good morning, this is Winter."
The next three hours pass in a blur of client calls, vendor negotiations, and project updates. I'm going through the motions—professional, efficient, making decisions and solving problems.
At noon, my phone buzzes on my desk.
I glance down.
Incoming call: Rowan Sterling
Not an unknown number this time. His actual contact, which I never deleted.
I watch it ring. Four rings. Five. Then it goes to voicemail.
Thirty seconds later, another text.
Rowan: I know you're there. Please pick up.
I turn my phone over and get back to work.
By 2PM, I'm at the Upper West Side site doing a walk-through with the contractor. We discuss timeline, material deliveries, the custom millwork that's being fabricated. I take notes, ask questions, make adjustments to the plan.
I leave the site at three-thirty and head back to the studio.
Maya stops me as I walk through the door. "Kate called. She said you're meeting her and Amy tonight at seven. Some lounge in the Meatpacking District. She texted you the address."
I pull out my phone and see the message thread.
Kate: Reunion drinks tonight! 7 PM at The Vault. Amy's back from Cali and I'm finally recovered from my work trip. We need to catch up properly.
Amy: I'm buying the first round. You better show up.
I type back quickly.
Winter: I'll be there.
"Thanks, Maya," I say, heading into my office.
The rest of the afternoon drags. I review renderings for the Sterling Tower project—the three-bedroom unit is nearly complete, the two-bedroom is in final staging, and the penthouse needs material approvals for the master bath.
I close the file and work on something else.
By 6pm, I give up on being productive and head home to change.
***
The Vault is packed by the time I arrive at 7:15pm. The lounge is all dark wood, leather booths, and ambient lighting. Music pulses through the space—not loud enough to drown out conversation but enough to create energy.
I spot Kate and Amy at a corner booth near the bar.
"Finally!" Kate stands and pulls me into a hug.
"We thought you bailed."
"Traffic," I lie, sliding into the booth across from them.
Amy pushes a martini toward me.
"Dirty martini, extra olives. Just how you like it."
"You're a saint." I take a long drink and feel the vodka burn pleasantly down my throat.
Kate leans forward, her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Okay, we need a real update. No deflecting this time. How are things going with all your projects? You've been so busy we barely see you anymore."
"Busy is good. The Sterling Tower project is ahead of schedule. The Williamsburg loft is wrapping up. I have two new inquiries this week alone."
Amy raises her glass. "To Winter Hayes, design queen of Manhattan."
We toast and drink.
"And how are things with Knox?" Kate asks, her tone casual but her eyes sharp.
I freeze for half a second before forcing myself to take another sip of my drink.
"What do you mean?"
Kate exchanges a look with Amy.
"We mean, how is it working with him? You're at Sterling Luxury offices almost every day now, right?"
"The project demands collaboration," I say, keeping my voice even.
"We have daily check-ins to stay on schedule."
"Daily check-ins," Amy repeats, smirking.
"That sounds intense."
"It's professional."
"Is it?" Kate tilts her head.
"Because you've been acting weird every time we bring him up."
"I'm not acting weird."
"You literally just froze when I said his name."
I set down my glass. "I didn't freeze. I'm tired. It's been a long week."
Amy leans back in the booth, studying me.
"You know what I think? I think you're deflecting."
"I'm not—"
"You are," Kate interrupts.
"Every time we try to talk about Knox Sterling, you change the subject or give us these vague professional answers. What's really going on?"
Nothing. Everything. I slept with him last night on a construction site and I have no idea what happens next.
"There's nothing going on," I say instead.
"He's a client. We're working together. That's it."
Kate doesn't look convinced, but she lets it drop.
"Fine. But if something does happen—"
"It won't."
"If it does," she continues, ignoring me, "you better tell us immediately."
I take another drink and don't respond. The conversation shifts to safer topics. Kate's work trip to London. Amy's family drama in California. The new restaurant that opened in Tribeca that we need to try.
I'm starting to relax, starting to feel almost normal, when suddenly, Amy clears her throat and exchanges a quick glance with Kate.
"Okay. Well. Moving along." She pauses, then adds quickly,
"I hope you won't be upset, but I invited someone here to meet you."
I look at her sharply. "What?"
Amy gives me an apologetic smile.
"It's too late now."
Before I can respond, she's waving someone over.
"There he is!"
A man approaches our booth. Tall, dark hair, good-looking in a clean-cut, investment banker kind of way. He's wearing a suit without the tie, sleeves rolled up, holding a beer.
I shoot Amy a look that clearly says we're going to talk about this later, but she just grins at me.
"Winter, this is Jake," Amy says, beaming.
"Jake, this is Winter. The incredibly talented interior designer I was telling you about."
Jake extends his hand and I shake it. His grip is firm, professional.
"Nice to meet you," he says, sliding into the booth next to Amy.
"Amy's been talking about you all week."
"All good things, I hope."
"Exclusively good things." He smiles, and it's a nice smile. Warm. Genuine.
We talk for the next hour. Jake works in private equity, just moved to New York from San Francisco, knows Amy through a mutual friend from college. He's smart, successful, clearly interested.
He asks about my work, and I tell him about the design studio, about the projects I'm managing. He asks intelligent questions, shows genuine interest, laughs at the right moments.
At some point, he pulls out his phone.
"I'd love to continue this conversation sometime," he says.
"Can I get your number?"
I hesitate for just a second, then rattle off my number. Jake types it into his phone and sends me a text so I have his contact.
Jake: Nice meeting you, Winter.
"I'll text you next week," he says.
"Maybe we can grab dinner?"
"Sure. That sounds good."
But even as I say it, I feel nothing. No excitement. No anticipation. No flutter of interest. Jake is exactly the kind of man I should be interested in. Successful, attractive, available, clearly not hiding a mistress for over a year.
But he's not Knox Sterling.
By 10pm, I'm exhausted. Kate and Amy are still going strong, ordering another round and debating which club to hit next, but I make my excuses and call a car.
"Text us when you get home," Kate orders, hugging me goodbye.
"And text Jake!" Amy adds. "He's perfect for you."
I nod and smile and promise to do both.
The car drops me off twenty minutes later. I take the elevator up, unlock my door, and step inside. The apartment is quiet. Empty. Just me and the fully furnished space that’s starting to feel like home a bit.
I drop my purse on the counter and check my phone; Three more messages from Rowan's number that I don't open and one text from Jake saying it was great to meet me.
Nothing from Knox.
I don't know why I was expecting anything. We’ve never really spoken on the phone. We barely exchanged words after what happened.
I change into pajamas, wash my face, and climb into bed. But I can't sleep. I grab my phone from the nightside and stare at the dark screen.
I could text Jake back. I could be normal and interested and available for someone who actually makes sense. Instead, I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling, as I eventually drift off to sleep.