Page 66

We still have to work together in three different cities, and this tension between us has to end. But her reactions and remarks during this morning’s meeting made me think she has no intention of fixing it.

I spent the rest of the day in my office, pushing hard to catch up on work. By the time I left, I’d managed to get through everything that had piled up.

The guys did an excellent job while I was gone. Even though I feel guilty for making their already packed schedule even worse, I’m glad they handled it well.

I like working on this project, and I want to see my part through to the end.

With that thought in mind, I step into the elevator and press the button for Nick’s floor.

He never actually lived in his apartment here. By the time we moved from New York, he and Sierra were living together, so they decided to stay in the apartment he already owned until the houses were finished.

The best solution was for Selene to stay there for the entire duration of the work in London.

And I’ll stay in mine, one floor below hers.

The elevator opens directly into the living room, but she was notified that someone was coming up the second I selected her floor.

It’s pretty late, but I’ve postponed this conversation long enough. My head is finally clear, and I know exactly what I want to say, so tonight it happens, no matter what—or who—I find in her apartment.

She’s in the kitchen when I arrive, her back turned to me as she stretches to reach a mug on one of the upper shelves. No matter how much she extends herself, it’s just beyond her reach.

“Let me,” I say, walking over without hesitation.

She definitely hears me, yet she gives no sign that she knows I’m there.

Ignoring the silent treatment, I step beside her, take the mug from the shelf, and place it in her hand, resting one hip against the kitchen island.

Without a word, she walks to the tea machine, sets the mug underneath it, presses the button, and waits. The only sound is the quiet hum of the machine and the impatient rhythm of her foot tapping on the floor.

“Selene, I came here to talk to you,” I say calmly. “I want to ask you to forget everything that happened and start over from scratch. Let’s pretend tomorrow is our first day working together and the past few days never happened.”

The words come out exactly as I’d planned them in the elevator. I left the office determined to have this conversation, to ask her to act like the professional I know she can be.

I want my reputation to remain intact, especially in front of my employees, and that means we can’t keep taking shots at each other every chance we get.

Besides, we’re distracting the workers, and I genuinely want us to move quickly and finish this project on schedule.

“I’d like to be able to talk to you the way I would with a professional who knows how to behave in a workplace,” I add, my voice cold and measured.

For the first time, she reacts.

A tiny flinch runs through her body, as though my words land far harder than I intended.

Silently, I watch her draw several slow, shaky breaths, both hands planted on the counter beside the coffee and tea machines. Only after collecting herself does she turn around.

My eyes linger on her.

Something isn’t right.

It’s in the way she’s standing, as if simply remaining upright costs her effort. It’s in the distant look clouding her eyes, the exhaustion etched across her face, draining the life from her expression.

“Sure, Zayn,” she finally says. “We’ll start from zero. You can relax now.”

“Great.” I push away from the island. “That’s all. Thank you.”

I have no idea what’s happening with her, but she has enough people in her life to worry about her.

I’m not one of them.