3. Kiara
— ? —
Kiara
I’ve been standing in the same spot too long. The tablet in my hands is a prop. I’m not reading it. I’m watching the entrance and trying to remember how to be a person.
Be professional. That’s all this has to be.
He’s a name on a contract and a signature I need, nothing more.
I’ve handled impossible clients before. I’ve smiled through worse than this and saved the falling apart for later, in private, where it belongs.
I can do it one more time. I’ll put out my hand and say his name without letting it cost me anything, and I won’t let my face give me away.
My pulse isn’t listening. It’s slamming along far too fast for a woman about to greet a guest. My palms have gone damp. I press them flat against my skirt, breathe in slow through my nose, and tell myself again that this is only a job.
It doesn’t help. In a moment, the man who left me at the altar in front of all of our guests is going to walk in, and I’m going to have to welcome him with a smile.
Breathe. Spine straight. You’re Kiara Reyes, and you’ve survived far worse than a man in a good suit.
The doors turn.
Jensen fucking Cole. He walks in like he owns the place.
Five years have hardened him. Whatever softness he used to carry in his face is gone, replaced by hard angles and the set jaw of a man who expects to win every fight he walks into.
The suit is flawless. His stride is certain, unhurried. He has never once doubted his welcome anywhere. Two assistants flank him with tablets, talking fast, and he moves through their words without seeming to hear one of them.
God, he looks good. He looks unfairly, infuriatingly good, and I hate that my body registers it before my anger does.
I scan the space behind him before I can stop myself.
Dark hair. Red lips. Her. Because the last thing I ever knew of Jensen Cole was his hand resting on Lauren Hayes and his mouth at her ear, and some starving part of me has to know whether she’s on his arm now, whether she got the life that was meant to be mine.
She isn’t here. It’s only him, the assistants, and the ordinary noise around us.
Then he sees me.
His stride breaks. A hitch, half a step, there and gone. The assistants keep talking, oblivious, but I watch the color drain out of his face.
I watch his eyes go wide and then absolutely still.
He knows me. Of course he does. He’s staring at me across all that marble with every scrap of his composure gone, and I’m staring back, and for one long breath neither of us is anything but the two people we were five years ago.
I square my shoulders, pull my composure back into place, and I walk toward Jensen Cole.
“Mr. Cole.” I put out my hand. My voice comes out level, which is nothing short of a miracle. “Welcome to the Grand Pennant. I’m Kiara Reyes, your liaison for the project.”
He takes my hand. His grip is warm. His eyes search my face.
“Kiara,” he says. My name in his mouth.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the executive suites we’ve prepared.” I release his hand and gesture toward the elevators. “Your advance team arrived earlier and has already begun setting up the conference facilities. I can walk you through the full accommodations whenever you’re ready.”
“Kiara.” He says it again. His assistants have gone quiet, sensing the shift.
“Is there a problem with the arrangements, Mr. Cole?”
“It’s been a long time.”
I meet his gaze without flinching. “The hotel has prepared everything according to your team’s specifications. If there are any changes you require, please direct them to me and I’ll ensure they’re handled.”
“Can we speak privately?”
“The executive suites offer complete privacy for business discussions. I’d be happy to...”
“Kiara. Please.”
The assistants exchange glances. I ignore them.
“Mr. Cole, I’m sure you have a demanding schedule. Perhaps we should focus on getting you settled.”
Deborah appears at my side, her timing impeccable. “Mr. Cole. I’m Deborah Strauss, Events Director. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to the Grand Pennant.”
Jensen shakes her hand without taking his eyes off me. “Thank you.”
“I see you’ve met Kiara. She’ll be your primary point of contact for anything you need during your time with us. Accommodations, events, meetings, catering. She has full authority to make decisions on your behalf.”
“Kiara will be handling everything?” His question is almost hopeful, and I hate how that makes me feel.
“Everything. She’s the best coordinator I have. You’re in excellent hands.”
Jensen is quiet for a moment. Then he nods. “I appreciate that.”
“Wonderful. I’ll leave you to get settled. Kiara, please show Mr. Cole to the penthouse suite.”
Deborah walks away. The assistants remain, waiting for direction.
“You can go ahead,” Jensen tells them. “Get the conference room set up. I’ll meet you there.”
The assistants hesitate, glancing at me, then at Jensen. Then they head toward the elevators.
We’re alone now. The staff has melted back to the far desk, close enough to be useful, far enough to give the client his privacy. They think they’re doing me a kindness.
But I want to call every one of them back.
“The penthouse is on the thirty-second floor.” I hear how level my voice is, and I hold onto it. “I’ll walk you up and go over the space.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at me, yes, but his eyes keep breaking away, sliding past my shoulder to the entrance, to the windows, to the guests crossing the floor, and returning to me only to break away again.
He’s holding himself too still, braced, a man who doesn’t believe he’s safe standing where he stands.
“I didn’t come here for the space,” he says. His voice is low, careful, and under the care, there’s a rawness he can’t hide.
I keep the tablet against my chest and my chin up, and the fury pressed down where he can’t see it, though it’s climbing my throat, hotter with every level word out of his mouth.
Five years I waited to stand this close to Jensen Cole and feel nothing at all. I feel everything.
And none of it’s soft.
“The suite has a private office, a conference room that seats twelve, and a terrace.” My nails are cutting half-moons into my palm, and I welcome the sting. “The kitchen is stocked to your team’s preferences.”
“Kiara.”
“Don’t.” It comes out before I can stop it. His mouth closes.
His eyes go to the entrance again. Then back to me. He shifts his weight, and I realize he’s angled his body between me and the room without seeming to know he’s done it, set toward the doors, braced for whatever might come through them.
It makes no sense. None of him does.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come. I want you to understand that.”
The words should be an apology.
Instead, they tell me he wishes he had never laid eyes on me, and years of fury come up all at once.
“How considerate of you.” My voice drops to nothing, which is worse than a shout, and we both know it.
“Let me make this simple, Mr. Cole, so you can stop watching that door for your escape. I can be professional. I’m very good at it.
Whatever happened between us happened five years ago.
It’s in the past, and it’s going to stay there. ”
“Kiara. Please.”
“I suggest you do the same. Move on. Run your build, sign your contracts, enjoy your suite. I’ll make every part of your stay flawless because that’s my job. It’s the only thing I owe you.”
The words hit him harder than I expect. He goes pale, actually pale, the color dropping out of his jaw, and his hand lifts halfway toward me before he catches it and lets it fall.
“You think I moved on,” he says, and his voice is wrecked. “You think that’s what this was.”
“You’re a client with a demanding schedule, Mr. Cole. Nothing more.”
His eyes cut to the door one more time, and the fear in them is real, aimed at nothing I can see, and I hate that I noticed it at all.
Because that’s the part I can’t file away.
A man who chose someone else doesn’t look at the woman he threw away with this much dread.
He doesn’t keep sweeping the room for exits.
He doesn’t go white when I tell him to move on.
None of it fits the story I’ve carried for five years, and I won’t, I won’t, let it make me wonder.
I step back and put distance between us.
“The elevators are behind you. The desk has your key cards. Your team is on the twentieth floor. I’ll look in on you later to be sure everything meets your standard.”
I turn before my face can give me away.
“Kiara.”
I stop. I don’t turn around. I can’t let him see what’s happening on my face.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he says, his voice barely holding. “I swear to you. I didn’t know.”
I hold still one moment longer, until I’m sure my composure will come with me.
Then I walk away, and I don’t look back.