Cole goes quiet, and my heart rate kicks up. “That makes sense,” he finally says. “Biology’s a bitch sometimes.”
“The worst bitch,” I whisper.
We’re quiet for a moment, just a door between us, and it’s weird how not-weird this is. I expected him to be smug about this, or at least uncomfortable enough to make it my problem. But he’s just... handling it.
“Look,” he says finally. “I know we’ve been assholes professionally. The vendor poaching, the competitive bidding, all of it. And I know you hate us.”
“I don’t hate you,” I say, then reconsider. “Okay, I strongly dislike you. Professionally.”
“Right, professionally.” I can hear the smile in his voice again. “What I’m trying to say is—truce for the duration? We’re stuck here together, you’re dealing with something uncomfortable, and the least we can do is not make it worse for the next few days.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“About that.” He pauses. “The storm’s worse than predicted. Malik just checked the forecast. We’re looking at three, maybe four days before the roads are safe.”
What…the hell…
Three or four days? That’s the drop. That’s the spike. They’re going to be trapped here with me during the most intense, out-of-control part of my heat?
My life is over.
I bury my face into a pillow and try not to scream.
“Sierra?”
“I hate everything,” I say into the pillow. “I hate this storm. I hate this booking error. I hate that you’re here. And I especially hate that you figured it out.”
“For what it’s worth, we’re not thrilled about the situation either.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
I get the strange sensation that my words make him smile.
“Look,” he says, “we’re all adults. We can handle this professionally. We’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of ours. We’ll make it work.”
I study the door. Cole Knightley, offering a truce. Cole Knightley from the same pack that smiled at me at the Sterling wedding reveal and said, “May the best planner win,” right before stealing my photographer.
But that was business. This is... something else entirely.
“Truce,” I say finally, and I’m surprised to find that I mean it.
I hear him shift, and something about his posture must relax because his scent softens slightly, too.
“Good. Okay. That’s good.” He pauses. “The tea’s chamomile, by the way. Should help with the pre-heat jitters. And if you need anything… more blankets, different food, us to blast music so you can’t hear us existing… just let us know.”
“You’d do that?”
“We’re trying not to be complete assholes, remember?”
“Right. The new, improved Knightley Pack.”
“Don’t get used to it. Once this storm is over, we’re going right back to destroying you in the competitive event planning market.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say, and I’m almost smiling.
“I’m going to head back now. The tray’s right outside your door. Just... yeah. Okay. Have a good night, Sierra.”
“Night, Cole.”
