Chapter 2 #2
"PR is down that hall," Miles said, gesturing. "That’s my territory. Finance is on thirty-six. Legal is thirty-seven. You’ll mostly be on this floor, which is executive."
"And your brother’s office?" I asked.
"End of the hall. Corner. Big windows. Can’t miss it." He glanced at me sideways. "You nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"Nah. He’s just… particular." Miles chose the word carefully, like picking his way across a minefield. "He likes things a certain way. Once you figure out the way, you’re golden."
I raised a brow. "And before I figure it out?"
"You’ll be fine. Probably." He grinned. "Mostly."
I took a long sip of coffee and decided not to pursue that line of questioning.
"So," Miles said, steering me down a corridor lined with windows that overlooked the city, "how was your weekend? Did anything fun happen after our meeting at the diner?"
"Define fun. The only thing I did was visit the Wynwood Farmers Market."
"Did it involve enjoyment of any kind?"
"Well, I showered and did laundry after I came back home."
"Riveting." He grinned. "Nothing eventful at the market? Bought a candle? Tried some overpriced jam?"
I hesitated. Then figured, why not tell Miles about the stranger I bumped into. "I got assaulted by a stranger, actually."
Miles’s eyebrows went up. "Assaulted?"
"Okay, not assaulted. More like… aggressively encountered.
" I waved my hand, trying to find the right word. "There was a collision. And a coffee explosion. And this guy, this insanely rude guy, he acted like I’d contaminated him. Pulled out hand sanitizer right in front of me. Wiped his mouth like I’d poisoned him.
Told me to never cross his path again. Real charming individual. " I told him everything.
"Ahh… So what did he look like?"
"Tall. Dark hair. Glasses. Gray eyes. Expression like he was heading to a funeral he was in charge of."
Miles had stopped smiling. Not in a bad way, more like a man watching a train approach a cliff and realizing he sold the tickets.
"That does sound horrible," he said, his voice a fraction too even. "Why do I feel like I know the person you bumped into?"
"You don’t. Trust me. You wouldn’t associate with someone that unpleasant."
"You’d be surprised." He said it quietly, almost to himself, and I was about to ask what he meant when I saw him.
At the far end of the corridor, walking toward a corner office with a stride that didn't waste a single step.
Same rigid posture. Same dark hair, immovable.
But the ruined linen was gone, and in its place was a charcoal suit tailored so close to his frame it barely shifted when he moved—shoulders, lines, all of it precise, like even his clothes had been given instructions.
The floor tilted beneath my feet.
No.
My coffee cup dipped in my grip. I felt the lid shift, the warmth sliding toward my fingers, and I caught it just before it spilled—because apparently the universe thought one coffee disaster with this man wasn't enough.
No, no, no.
I grabbed Miles’s arm. "That’s him."
Miles stopped walking. "Who?"
"Him." I pointed, not caring how unhinged I looked. "The pervert. The hand sanitizer guy. From the market. He grabbed my chest and called my coffee a weapon. What is he doing here?"
Miles looked at the man. Then at me. Then back at the man. Then he took a breath.
"Him, are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes. Him. Wait, do you know him?"
Something clicked behind his eyes. Miles let out a long breath through his nose, like a man finishing math he didn't want the answer to. "Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well. Hell."
"What? What does that mean? Why do you look like that?"
He didn’t answer. He just started walking toward the corner office where the gray-eyed stranger had disappeared, and I followed because I didn’t know what else to do, my coffee going cold in my hand, dread building with every step.
Miles pushed the door open.
The office was immaculate. Everything in its place, organized with a precision that bordered on obsessive.
Clean desk, aligned pens, a laptop positioned at an exact angle.
And behind it, standing with his back to us, was the man from the market.
He’d changed his shirt since Saturday, obviously, but the posture gave him away—that same rigid, coiled control.
He turned around.
Saw me.
His face went through recognition, disbelief, and what I could only describe as existential horror, all in the space of about two seconds.
"You," I gasped.
"You," he said.
Same time. Same tone. Same complete and utter dread.
His eyes went from my face to Miles to my face again. I watched his hands curl at his sides. Watched him take one step backward, like putting distance between us would undo the last forty-eight hours.
"Miles." His voice was low and very, very controlled. "What is this?"
Miles said, stepping between us with the energy of a man defusing a bomb, "This is your new executive assistant." He placed a hand on my arm and looked at me. "Anna, I’m gonna need you to stay calm when I say this."
"Say what?"
"This is Jace Hunter. My brother." He paused. Let it land. "Your new boss."
Nobody moved.
I stared at Jace across his pristine office.
My new boss. The man whose lips I’d accidentally kissed two days ago, whose hand had accidentally grabbed my chest, who had sanitized himself like I was a biohazard and told me to never cross his path again.
And here I was. Crossing his path. In his office.
Where I would be working. Every single day.
And underneath all of it—quiet, unwelcome—my lips still remembered how soft his mouth was.