"Who said anything about seeing him?" he snaps. "Pick up the damn phone and call him."
"Like I told you," I begin, inhaling deeply to keep my pulse steady. "I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you and me to meddle in Elle and Cal's business."
"Hannahismy business," he says, softer this time. "She’s my niece. If we can do something to help, why wouldn’t we?"
"We?" I snap this time. "This might have been your idea, but I’m the one who has to implement it. If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to catch hell for it."
"Just do it!" he barks, turning on his heel and walking away. I watch him until he reaches Cal's front door. The man is gorgeous. And I'm an idiot for not telling him to go to hell.
***
I try to focus as I zip up my overnight bag, preparing for my weekend with Vince. The last two days have been a blur. Between work, eating, and sleeping, I’ve had little time to think about what this weekend means. Vincent is a good man who cares about me, and the only reason we haven’t taken our relationship to the next level is because I’ve been holding back. And my hesitation? It has a name. Nate Callahan.
Why does he affect me this way? Why did I have to kiss him that night under the mistletoe? His hands on me, his lips on mine—heaven.
The doorbell jerks me back to reality. I grab my bag and meet Vince at the door.
“You look beautiful,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. “Ready?”
I smile and lean in for a kiss.
“Yes,” I say, but truth be told, I’m not ready. Not at all.
Vince takes my bag and wraps an arm around my waist. His hands are big and strong, but they're as soft as a baby’s bottom—nothing like Nate’s rough, calloused ones. Ugh! Get it together, Tina!
As we head toward the limo parked in the driveway, I glance toward Cal's house. There’s Nate, leaning against his truck, arms crossed over his chest, feet casually crossed at the ankles. He looks relaxed at first glance, but then I catch the sharp set of his jaw and the dark intensity in his gaze, burning a hole right through me.
"Is everything okay?" Vince asks, his voice pulling me back to the present.
"Of course," I reply, offering him a soft smile before climbing into the limo.
***
"And this is my office," Vince says, ushering me through the heavy double doors that open into an expansive, carefully curated space that exudes both power and refinement. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming in from large windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The walls are painted in a muted, elegant shade of gray, providing a dramatic backdrop to the stunning, one-of-a-kind executive desk in the center of the room. Made from rich, dark walnut, the desk radiates luxury. It’s clear that Cal poured hours of craftsmanship into the design, every curve and corner exuding meticulous attention to detail. Flanking the desk are two high-backed, tufted leather chairs in a sophisticated shade of deep mahogany, their brass legs gleaming like polished gold.
Behind the desk is another of Cal's pieces: a walnut credenza, featuring softly rounded corners and unique, hand-carved drawer pulls that showcase Cal’s skill with woodworking. The smooth, polished surface displays a few select objects—a crystal decanter with amber whiskey, a sleek pen holder, and a few luxurious books arranged in careful order. And two photos. Meghan at her college graduation, beaming with pride, and Hannah's first school picture.
To the left of the desk is a comfortable seating area, featuring a small leather sofa, a low coffee table made from oak and two accent armchairs. A plush area rug in soft shades of gray and beige anchors the space, adding warmth and texture to the otherwise sleek modern aesthetic.
As my eyes scan the room, everything feels perfectly balanced—luxury without excess, modernity without coldness.
Vince stands off to the side. “Not too bad, huh?” he says with a grin, clearly pleased with the way everything fits together.
"It's perfect," I say, leaning against the desk as Vince strides toward me until I'm caged between him and the desk. I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me off the floor and gently lowers me onto the desk before kissing me. His lips are warm, experienced in the art of seduction. I've said this before, and I'll say it again, this man is like a perfectly aged bottle of very expensive wine. Something I could never afford. I get lost in the sensation, enjoying the taste of his lips as he deepens the kiss. I lean back on the desk, bringing one hand down to brace myself. Myfingertips graze the lip of the desk, and I feel what might be engraving.
"Hold on," I whisper against his lips. "What's this?" I step off the desk to get a better look. The letters JRC are delicately engraved in the corner, near the edge of the wood. They’re subtle, almost hidden in the wood grain, like a signature only meant for those who know to look for it.
I run my fingers over the letters again. "JRC?"
"It’s the craftsman who built the desk," he says after a beat. His voice carries an edge that gives me pause.
He knows.
"Vince," I begin, glancing up at him. "Do you know who built the furniture for this place?"
"Honey," he replies, stepping a bit closer. "Not one nail gets hammered into something I own without me knowing who’s holding the hammer. When I approved the final designs for the building, I had every name on the contract checked. I already knew these were the pieces I wanted. When I found out the craftsman was Cal, I was pleasantly surprised. In no way did our history affect my decision. I like his work. He’s talented, and I’m pleased with everything he’s done."
"It sounds like you know everything about the people who ultimately answer to you, one way or another," I begin, realizing this is the moment.
