Chapter 12 #2
I should deflect. Should change the subject back to work, back to safe territory. Instead, I tell him.
About Madeleine's phone call at the early morning hours. About waking Rowan up and watching his face change when he realized I knew. About the fight that followed—Rowan blaming me for working too much, calling Madeleine easier than me, all the cruelty that came out when he was cornered.
About packing my bags at one in the morning while he watched. About Kate's apartment and breaking down in her living room at two-thirty. About accepting Knox's project the next night, still raw and devastated but knowing I needed to choose myself for once.
Knox listens without interrupting, his jaw tight, his eyes never leaving mine.
"That's why you hesitated," he says when I finish.
"About the project."
"Partially. The complications were significant."
"And now?"
I look around the restaurant—intimate lighting, quiet conversations, the two of us sitting across from each other like this is something more than business.
"Now I'm here. Working on the biggest project of my career. Living in an apartment you arranged. Having dinner with my ex-boyfriend's brother." I laugh.
"It's absurd when you say it out loud."
"It's business," Knox says.
"Is it?"
I look at him directly, and something passes between us that has nothing to do with design or timelines or professional boundaries.
Knox holds my gaze. "What else would it be?"
I don't answer.
"My turn," Knox says.
"For what?"
"Confession. You shared. I should too."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
He tells me about failed relationships. About women who wanted the Sterling name and the lifestyle that came with it, but not him. About dates that felt like business transactions, carefully choreographed evenings where both parties were performing rather than connecting.
About a three-month relationship with someone named Alexandra Crane that ended because he felt nothing. About choosing work over connection because work was predictable, controllable, safe in a way relationships never were.
"That's lonely," I say quietly.
"So is being with someone who's cheating."
"Fair point."
Knox refills both our glasses.
"Why did you stay with him? Rowan?"
"I thought I loved him. Thought we were building something together. Turns out I was building alone."
"His loss."
I almost smile. "You have to say that. I'm designing your project."
"I don't have to say anything. And it's true. His loss."
The second bottle of wine is disappearing faster than the first. We're both buzzed now, the edges softened, the guards lowered.
The conversation has shifted completely. From professional to personal. From guarded to vulnerable. From designer and developer to just Knox and Winter, two people who've been circling around something for weeks without naming it.
"Can I ask about the family?" I venture.
"About why you and Rowan don't speak?"
"Don't speak is generous. We actively avoid each other," he quips.
"Why?" I ask.
Knox is quiet for a moment, turning his wine glass in his hands.
"My father expected me to take over Sterling Commercial," he says finally.
"He groomed me for it from the time I was old enough to understand what the company was. But I didn't want to build what he was building. Didn't want to be him."
"So you left."
"Ten years ago. Started Sterling Luxury from nothing. My father saw it as betrayal. Rowan was caught in the middle and chose to stay with Conrad, take the path I refused."
"And the rift never healed."
"No. Conrad doesn't forgive easily. And I don't bend."
I think about the family events I attended with Rowan over the past two years. The awkward dinners where Knox would show up, stay twenty minutes, and leave. The way Diane would watch him go with heartbreak written all over her face.
"Your mother tries," I say.
Knox nods. "She plays mediator. But she won't go against my father. Never has."
"That's why family events are so tense."
"Awkward is the word I'd use. But yes."
"I always wondered. You'd show up, stay just long enough to be polite, then leave."
Knox looks surprised. "You noticed?"
"Hard not to. Diane would look heartbroken every time you left early."
"Guilt is her specialty."
We talk for another hour. The food arrives at some point, and we eat without really tasting it. The wine keeps flowing. The conversation keeps deepening. The walls that have been carefully maintained for two months are coming down brick by brick, and neither of us is trying to stop it.
We're seeing each other now—really seeing each other. Two people who've been dancing around something unspoken since the day I walked into his office to sign that contract.
Eventually, the conversation circles back to work; to the penthouse and to the master suite that's been the subject of debate since our first site visit.
"The window seat," Winter says, leaning forward.
"It should be on the east wall. Morning light."
Knox shakes his head. "South wall makes more sense. Better view."
"Views aren't everything. It's about how the light feels when you wake up."
"You're wrong."
I sit back, eyebrows raised.
"I'm not wrong. It's literally my job to know these things."
"It's my building. I know every inch of it."
"So do I. I've measured that space six times."
"Then you measured wrong."
The challenge hangs between us, electric and charged.
"We can go look tomorrow," I say. "I'll show you."
Knox doesn't break eye contact. "We can go now."
"Now?" I glance at my watch. "It's almost ten."
"The site is five minutes from here. I have keys."
"You're serious."
"Why not?"
It's a dare. Wine and vulnerability and nearly two months of tension all compressed into two words. I should say no. Should suggest we table this discussion until tomorrow when we're both sober and thinking clearly.
"Fine," I say instead. "Let's go."
Knox signals the waiter for the check. The waiter brings it, Knox handles it without discussion, and within minutes we're standing outside the restaurant in the warm night air.
"This way," Knox says, and starts walking.
I follow behind him as he flags a taxi on the corner.
Knox opens the door and I slide into the backseat. He follows, and suddenly we're in close proximity, closer than we've been all evening. Both of us buzzed from wine, the air between us charged with something that's been building for weeks.
The five-minute ride feels longer.
Neither of us speaks. The silence is heavy, electric. Knox's thigh is nearly touching mine. I can feel the heat from his body, smell his cologne in the confined space. My breathing is shallow, my heart pounding harder than it should be for a simple taxi ride.
The taxi pulls up to the construction site.
The street is dark and quiet, as most of the surrounding buildings are already closed for the night.
Knox pays the driver and we get out. He unlocks the site entrance with a key card, and we step inside.
The lobby is dim, lit only by emergency lights casting long shadows across the unfinished space.
Knox leads me to the construction elevator. We step inside, and he presses the button for the penthouse level. The elevator ascends in silence, the industrial rattle of the machinery the only sound. The tension is mounting with every floor we pass.
The elevator reaches the penthouse level and the doors open.
The area is mostly dark except for emergency lights positioned at intervals along the perimeter.
Knox walks to the electrical panel near the elevator and flips several switches.
Work lights flood the space, illuminating the raw, unfinished bones of what will eventually be the most spectacular residence in the building.
I walk into the master suite, my footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. Knox follows.
"Here." I point to the east wall.
"Window seat goes here."
"You're still wrong."
I spin to face him. "I'm not—"
Knox is close. Closer than I realized. Maybe two feet away, standing in what will eventually be the bedroom, the night quiet around us except for the sound of our breathing.
"Knox," I say, and his name comes out barely a whisper.
"Tell me to leave," he says as he steps even closer.
"What?"
His eyes are locked on mine, as he steps closer.
"Tell me to walk away right now and I will."
I should tell him to go. Should maintain the professional boundaries we've been carefully navigating for two months. Should remember that this is complicated, that he's Rowan's brother, that we're working together, that crossing this line changes everything.
"Winter." His voice is rough now, strained.
I stare into his hypnotic eyes, and my breath catches as I feel like I’m swimming in them.
"I can't.
That's all he needs. Knox closes the distance in two steps and pulls me to him. His mouth finds mine—hard, demanding, two months of restraint breaking all at once.
I kiss him back just as hard. My hands go to his hair, fisting in it, pulling him closer. He pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged.
"We should—"
“—Don't." I cut him off.
"Don't think. Don't stop."
"This is—"
"I know. I don't care."
His mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is forceful, consuming, like he's claiming something he's wanted for weeks.
I kiss him back with everything I have. It's maddening, ferocious—weeks of restraint detonating between us.
The heat that's been simmering since the day I walked into his office is finally bubbling over, and neither of us can stop it.
Knox's hands grip my waist and he lifts me onto the edge of the long counter cabinet like I weigh nothing. He steps between my legs, one hand sliding up my thigh and under my dress while his mouth never leaves mine.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more contact. His lips move to my neck, his tongue tracing a path that makes me gasp. He buries his face there, kissing and sucking down to my cleavage, and I feel the scrape of his stubble against my skin.