Chapter 14 #2
The following week arrives and Monday comes with a full inbox and back-to-back calls. I'm on the phone with a developer in Boston discussing acquisition terms when Marcus appears in my doorway, waiting patiently for me to finish.
I wrap up the call and look at him.
"What do you need?"
"Confirming your business dinner Wednesday evening with the Richardson Group. 6:30pm at Per Se."
"Confirmed."
Marcus makes a note on his tablet.
"Also, the weekly team meeting is scheduled for late morning in the main conference room. Full staff attendance."
"I'll be there."
He leaves and I return to my calls. The next two hours pass in a blur of negotiations, contract reviews, and strategic planning discussions. By the time I finish my last call, it's nearly time for the team meeting.
I grab my notes and head to the main conference room. The room is already filling when I arrive. Department heads, project managers, senior staff—everyone settling into their seats around the long table.
And then I see her.
Winter is at the far end of the conference room, sitting between Tom and one of the junior architects. She's reviewing something on her tablet, completely focused.
Just the sight of her makes my chest tighten. I take my seat at the head of the table and Marcus begins distributing the agenda.
"Let's get started," I say, and the room settles into silence.
Tom presents first—construction updates on three active developments, timeline projections, contractor performance metrics. I listen, ask questions, make notes.
But my eyes keep drifting to Winter.
She's taking notes on her tablet, her expression professional and focused. Every time I glance in her direction, I catch myself noticing details I shouldn't notice. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The curve of her neck. The way her fingers move across the screen.
Fletcher presents next, updating on the Riverside project. Strong progress, no budget concerns, presale interest exceeding projections.
Winter looks up at one point and our eyes meet.
Just for a second. Maybe two. Then she looks away.
But it's enough to make my cock twitch in my pants.
I force my attention back to Fletcher's presentation, but it's a losing battle.
Every few minutes, my gaze drifts back to Winter.
And more than once, I catch her looking at me too as the presentations continue.
Marketing updates. Financial projections.
Investor relations. Finally, Winter stands to present.
"Tribeca luxury residential project update," she says, and her voice is steady, professional, completely controlled.
She pulls up renderings on the screen at the front of the room. The two-bedroom unit, nearly complete. The three-bedroom, in final staging. The penthouse, moving into custom fabrication phase.
I watch her present with the same command and confidence I've seen since day one.
She knows this project inside and out. Knows every material choice, every timeline milestone, every design decision.
And all I can think about is the way she looked two nights ago with her dress pulled down and my hands on her body.
My cock is hard now, straining against my pants, and I'm grateful for the table hiding the evidence. Winter catches my eye again during her presentation. This time the look holds longer. There's something in her expression I can't quite read—awareness, maybe, or challenge.
I shift in my seat and force myself to focus on the renderings. She finishes presenting and sits down. The room is quiet for a moment before I speak.
"Thank you, Winter. Excellent work." I scan the rest of the table.
"Thank you all for the updates. Everything is progressing well across the board."
I pause, then add, "One additional note. I'll be making an emergency site visit to Naples at the end of the week. There's a contractor issue that needs immediate attention. I'll be leaving Thursday morning and returning Friday evening or Saturday morning."
A few people nod. Marcus makes a note.
"That's all for now. Back to work."
The room begins to empty. People gather their materials, conversations breaking into smaller groups as they file out.
Winter stands and starts packing up her tablet.
"Winter," I say, and she looks up.
"Bring the updated Tribeca files to my office. I need to review the penthouse material specifications."
She nods without speaking and walks out with the rest of the group.
I return to my office and settle behind my desk, trying to focus on the emails that have piled up during the meeting.
Ten minutes later, there's a knock on my door.
"Come in."
Winter walks in carrying a folder of files. She crosses to my desk and I stand. She extends the folder toward me. Our hands brush as I take it. She pulls away immediately.
I refocus and open the folder, scanning the material specifications and timeline documentation inside.
"Walk me through this week's schedule," I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Winter steps closer, pointing to specific items in the file.
"The three-bedroom custom millwork installation is happening early in the week. The two-bedroom gets final furniture delivery mid-week. Penthouse tile selections need final approval by the end of the week to stay on fabrication schedule."
"And you'll have those approvals ready?"
"Yes."
I close the folder and look at her directly.
"I want you to accompany me to Naples at the end of the week."
Winter's eyes widen slightly. "What?"
"The Naples development. I want you to see some of the design concepts. Get your perspective."
"No."
The word is immediate, definitive.
I raise an eyebrow. "What's the issue?"
"I have an actual business to run. I have clients and other projects that require my attention."
"I should remind you of the stipulations in your contract—"
"What does another project in Naples have to do with the Tribeca project?" Winter interrupts, her voice sharp.
I'm making this up as I go, reaching for justification.
"The design approach could inform future phases of the Tribeca development. It's relevant to your work."
Deep down, I know there's a bigger reason I'm asking her to come. But I'm not ready to examine it too closely.
Winter crosses her arms. "I need to check my schedule. Coordinate with my other clients."
"This isn't a request."
Her eyes flash. "Excuse me?"
"We leave Thursday morning. I have my private jet. We'll return Friday evening or Saturday morning depending on how the meetings go."
Winter stares at me, and I can see the war happening behind her eyes. Anger. Frustration. Something else I can't name.
"I don't appreciate being ordered around like I'm one of your employees," she says, her voice tight.
"You signed a contract that includes travel as needed for project consultation."
"This is ridiculous," she says.
"This is business," I say sternly.
We're locked in a stare, neither of us backing down. The air between us is charged, electric, the same tension that's been building since the construction site.
Winter turns abruptly to leave and without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm. The move is involuntary, instinctive. My hand wraps around her wrist and she stops mid-step.
She turns back to face me, and suddenly we're standing close. Too close. Our eyes lock. Her breathing quickens, matching mine. We're inches apart, close enough that I can smell her perfume, can see the rapid pulse at her throat.
We're breathing the same breath, the space between us disappearing.
I should let go of her arm, but I don't move.
Neither does she. For a suspended moment, it feels like we're about to kiss.
Like the only logical conclusion to this tension is for me to pull her against me and finish what we started at the construction site.
Winter's lips part slightly.
"Fine," she says, and the word comes out slow, deliberate.
She pulls her arm from my grasp with measured control, turns, and walks out of my office. The door closes behind her with a sharp click. I'm left standing there, my heart beating out of my chest, my cock hard and straining against my pants.