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We had a time-out and now things are back to normal.

Everything is fine.

Except it feels like things changed between us last night.

Maybe it’s just me.

Then why did she run off? There could have been a simple explanation—maybe she forgot something back at her place. Or maybe Poppy called her and needed her to come over for some reason.

Or maybe she regretted the time-out. Regretted our night together.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. She just looked so beautiful, and I’ve enjoyed spending time with her so much that I was impatient to have more of her.

I’m an idiot. I’m an overthinking idiot. And this is why I keep my relationships with women separate from my business deals. There’s no doubt about it, Avril and I are in messy territory, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid.

But what I’m excellent at doing is faking casualness. I’m not saying that’s a good thing, I’m just saying I’m excellent at it. So that’s what I’m determined to be tonight—casual.

I take a breath in as I get to the entrance to the hotel.

I take in the lobby—which is beautiful—the Art Deco of midtown mixed with the cool downtown vibes. I start to head toward one of the receptionists when someone calls my name across the lobby. I look up and see Poppy. I smile and head in her direction.

“I just have to speak to someone before I go,” she says, as I kiss her on the cheek. “But go into the office over there.” She gestures to a door on the far side of the lobby. “Avril’s in there.”

I give Poppy a two-fingered salute and head to the office, my heart thundering in my chest like I’m halfway through the New York City Marathon.

Why am I nervous? I’ve met presidents, dined with A-list actresses, holidayed with billionaires, but Avril Huntington makes me nervous? It doesn’t make sense.

I knock on the door and open it, not wanting to appear too formal. I’m overanalyzing and overthinking everything.

“Hi,” Avril says, before I’ve even located her in the room.

My eyes finally settle on her over to the right. The light is coming through the window, highlighting her face. She looks ethereal, like a goddess or something, and my breath catches in my throat.

“I have an eyelash,” she says in explanation of why she’s standing with a mirror in one hand and poking her eye with the other.

“You want me to help?” I ask, stalking toward her.

As I reach her, she puts the mirror down and smiles. “All done.”

We’re close. Our bodies are as close as they can be without touching. Every breath seems to bring us closer.

She blinks over and over and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s trying to think of something to say or whether it’s because of her eyelash.

“You okay?” I ask, looking more intently at her.

“It was an eyelash,” she says, her gaze finding mine, and she gives me a small smile. “Of course I’m okay.”

But that’s not what I meant, or at least it’s not all of what I meant. I want to know how she’s feeling about last night. Because it felt different. Different to the first time, which was pretty bloody amazing, but also different to anything I’d ever experienced before.

I want to know whether she felt the same way.

Before I can gain any kind of clarity, the door opens and Poppy appears. Avril and I both take a step back from each other like we’ve been caught making out in the school playground.

Poppy’s gaze flits between us, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I had an eyelash,” Avril says, overexplaining our situation.

“I didn’t say anything,” Poppy replies.