Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Winter
The next day, I'm on the phone with the Brooklyn Heights clients discussing their brownstone renovation timeline when my email pings.
I glance at the screen while the client is talking and see a message from Marcus with the subject line:
Naples Travel Itinerary - Thursday Departure.
I click it open. Detailed flight charter information. Departure time from Teterboro Airport. Car pickup from my apartment at 6am Thursday morning. Return flight options for Friday evening or Saturday morning.
I shake my head at the reminder of this upcoming trip.
The client asks me a question and I refocus on the call, walking through material selections and installation schedules until we wrap up twenty minutes later.
Maya appears in my doorway as I'm hanging up.
"Do you have a minute?" she asks.
"Sure. What do you need?"
She steps inside, tablet in hand.
"I'm looking at your schedule for the rest of the week. You have three client meetings scheduled for Thursday and Friday. Do you want me to move them?"
I set down my pen. "Yes. I have to go to Naples for the Sterling project. Can you reschedule those meetings for next week?"
Maya's eyebrows raise slightly.
"Naples? That's a new development."
"The Sterling project is extremely demanding this week."
She doesn't push for more details, just makes notes on her tablet.
"I'll reach out to the clients and get everything rearranged. Anything else you need before Thursday?"
"No. That should cover it. Thank you, Maya."
She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.
I'm alone in my office, staring at the email from Marcus still open on my screen.
I take a deep breath. Then another. The thought of traveling with Knox makes my chest tight with anxiety.
I keep replaying Monday's team meeting. The way he looked at me across the conference room.
The way he pretended nothing happened between us when I brought the files to his office. Professional. Stoic. Detached.
I'm disappointed, which is ridiculous. It was a mistake, I tell myself. One night that shouldn't have happened. We're both professionals. We can move past it.
I close the email and pull up the next project file that needs my attention.
Later that afternoon, I'm reviewing fabric samples when my phone buzzes on my desk.
I glance down and see a text from Jake, the guy Amy introduced me to at The Vault.
Jake: Hey! Want to grab drinks tomorrow after work? There's a great restaurant bar near your studio. Low-key, good atmosphere.
I stare at the message for a moment.
Jake is nice. Successful. Attractive. Exactly the kind of person I should be interested in spending time with.
I type back.
Winter: Sure. What time?
Jake: 6:30? I'll text you the address.
Winter: Sounds good.
I set my phone down and return to work, trying not to think about why saying yes felt more like an obligation than excitement.
Wednesday evening, I meet Jake at a wine bar three blocks from my studio.
The place is intimate, dimly lit, with exposed brick walls and small tables clustered throughout the space. Jake is already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table with two glasses of red wine waiting.
"Winter, hi." He stands and gives me a quick hug.
"I ordered us a Malbec. Hope that's okay."
"Perfect. Thank you."
We sit and Jake launches into easy conversation. He asks about my day, tells me about a deal he's closing at work, asks if I've explored this neighborhood much.
I try to be present. Try to focus on what he's saying.
He's charming. Successful. Asks thoughtful questions and listens when I answer.
"So Amy mentioned you run your own design firm," Jake says, leaning forward slightly.
"That's impressive. How long have you been doing that?"
"About four years. I started it right out of grad school."
"Bold move. Most people play it safe with the big firms first."
"I didn't want to wait for someone else to give me permission to do what I already knew I could do."
Jake grins. "I like that. Confidence is attractive."
The conversation continues. He tells me about growing up in Chicago, about his move to New York two years ago, about the private equity firm where he works. I nod along, asking questions when appropriate, but I'm only half engaged.
He's nice. Perfectly nice.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
"Have you traveled much for work?" Jake asks.
"I imagine high-end clients have properties all over."
"Some. Mostly stay local to New York, but I've done projects in the Hamptons, Connecticut, a few in Miami."
"Miami's great. I was just there last month for—"
He stops mid-sentence, his attention caught by something behind me. I'm about to turn around when I hear a familiar voice near the entrance.
Knox.
My entire body goes rigid. I turn slowly and see him walking through the door with two other people—a woman in a sleek black dress and a man in a tailored navy suit.
The woman is laughing at something Knox said, her hand resting briefly on his forearm in a way that feels too comfortable, too familiar.
My stomach drops. Out of all the restaurants in Manhattan—hundreds, thousands of options—Knox Sterling just walked into this one.
The hostess greets them and starts leading them toward a table on the opposite side of the room. Knox is scanning the space as they walk, probably checking the layout, assessing the crowd the way he always does.
And then his eyes land on me. He stops walking.
Just freezes mid-step. Our eyes lock across the restaurant, and the air shifts.
Everything else—the low music, the murmur of conversations, Jake sitting across from me—it all fades into white noise.
There's only Knox, staring at me with an intensity that makes my pulse spike.
The man in the navy suit says something to Knox, gesturing toward their table. Knox breaks eye contact and continues walking, but I can feel the tension radiating from him even from across the room.
They sit down at a table with a clear sightline to where I'm sitting.
"Winter?"
Jake's voice pulls me back. I turn to face him, my heart pounding.
"Sorry, what?"
He's looking at me with slight concern.
"You okay? You just got really quiet."
"I'm fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew."
Jake glances over his shoulder toward where Knox is sitting, then back at me.
"Anyone important?"
"Just a client."
The lie comes easily, but my hands are shaking slightly under the table.
Jake doesn't seem to notice. He picks up his wine glass.
"So, as I was saying, Miami last month was incredible. Have you been to Wynwood? The art district there is—"
I nod along, forcing myself to focus on his words, but I can feel Knox's gaze on me.
I steal a glance across the room.
Knox is seated with his back partially to the wall, the woman to his left, the man to his right. They're reviewing menus, the woman leaning in to say something to Knox, but his eyes aren't on her.
They're on me.
The intensity in his stare is palpable, almost physical. Like I can feel the weight of it pressing against my skin.
I look away quickly and refocus on Jake.
"The charcuterie board here is supposed to be amazing," Jake says, setting down his menu.
"Want to split it?"
"Sure."
He signals the waiter and orders. The conversation shifts to food, to favorite restaurants, to travel. But I'm barely tracking any of it.
My mind is racing. Knox is here. Watching me. With a woman who's leaning too close, laughing too easily, touching his arm like she has every right to.
A strange, uncomfortable feeling twists in my chest. Something sharp and unwelcome.
Jealousy.
I hate that I recognize it. Hate that I'm sitting here on a date with a perfectly nice man and all I can think about is Knox Sterling sitting twenty feet away.
Jake asks me another question about design trends and I manage to give a coherent answer, but my attention keeps drifting.
I glance at Knox again. He's looking directly at me, not even pretending to focus on his dinner companions.
The woman says something to him and he nods, responding without breaking his gaze.
My skin feels too warm. My pulse is erratic.
Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of his presence.
I've been trying so hard to be professional.
To pretend nothing happened. To act like we can just move forward and work together without acknowledging what happened on that construction site.
But my body doesn't care about professionalism.
It reacts to him in ways I can't control.
The waiter brings the charcuterie board and Jake serves us both, talking about the different cheeses and where they're from. I eat without tasting anything.
Time drags. Every minute feels like ten. I steal one more glance at Knox. He's still staring, his jaw tight, his posture tense. The woman touches his arm again and something in his expression hardens.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jake signals for the check.
"This was great," he says, smiling warmly.
"I'd really like to do this again sometime."
"Sure. That would be nice."
The waiter brings the check and Jake handles it without hesitation, sliding his card into the folder.
We stand to leave and Jake helps me with my coat, his hand lingering briefly on my shoulder.
As we walk toward the exit, I can feel Knox's eyes tracking every step.
The weight of his stare is almost suffocating.
I don't look back. Don't acknowledge him. Don't give any indication that I'm aware he's watching. We step outside into the cool evening air and Jake turns to me.
"Can I get you a car?" he asks.
"No, I'm fine. I'll grab a taxi."
"Alright." He leans in and kisses my cheek.
"I'll text you soon. Have a good night, Winter."
"You too."
Jake walks off down the street and I pull out my phone, my hands still shaking slightly.
I don't look back at the restaurant. Don't check to see if Knox is still inside watching through the window.