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The refrigerator door groans as I yank it open and grab a bottle of water. He's not wrong to call me on it; we built our entire company on that kind of brutal accountability.

But having Nate order me away from Sloane when he's barely managing his own restraint? That takes some fucking nerve.

I drain half the bottle in one pull, but the cold water does nothing to settle my temper. Leaving it on the counter, I head toward the gym.

The penthouse is quiet, which suits me just fine.

Nate's still at the office, and Jace is probably buried in whatever engineering problem has caught his attention this week. With any luck, I'll have enough time to work through this shit before either of them gets home.

Stripping off my clothes in the hallway, I toss them into the laundry hamper outside the gym and change into a pair of shorts.

I load the deadlift bar heavier than I should, needing the punishment. The steel bites into my palms as I grip it, and for a few reps, the strain is all that exists. My breath, the pull through my hamstrings, the sharp groan of the weight leaving the floor. It's a clean pain, a controllable one. For a while, it almost works.

Then I make the mistake of resting between sets.

Sloane's face comes to mind without invitation.

More specifically, the expression she wore when she started explaining why the BRÉVÉ Étreinte bothered her.

She wanted someone present. Someone who could recognize what she needed without relying on a machine to make the decision for them.

And fuck if that hadn't hooked me.

I'd learn the difference between her nervous sounds and her excited ones. Whether she followed instructions because she enjoyed pleasing someone or because she enjoyed what happened when she didn't.

And when that sweet little doe finally decided to run?

Christ.

I bend over the bar, planting both hands against my thighs.

This is precisely why Nate told me to back off.

Sloane hasn't agreed to any of the things I've spent the afternoon imagining. She came to SOLAÉ for a job, and the last thing she needs is one of her bosses interpreting every curious question as an invitation.

But that knowledge hasn't done a damn thing to stop me from wanting her.

I finish my deadlifts and move through the rest of my workout, increasing the weight whenever my thoughts begin wandering. By the time I reach the flat chest press, sweat is running down my back, and my muscles complain.

Loading another plate onto each side of the machine, I settle onto the bench, plant my feet firmly against the floor, and wrap my hands around the horizontal grips.

The first few lifts are easy enough.

By the sixth, my chest and triceps are burning, but the strain is exactly what I need. I lower the handles toward my chest, controlling my movements before pushing the weight upward again.

"Looks like someone had a rough day."

My eyes close. Of fucking course.

"Out."

Jace laughs. Not loudly. Just enough to signal he's heard the warning and ignored it.

I finish my set and engage the safety catches before turning my head toward the doorway. He's standing there in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, one shoulder resting against the frame. His hair is a mess, and there's a familiar glint in his hazel-green eyes that immediately makes me regret coming home.

I know that expression, and more importantly, what usually follows it.

"That's a hell of a greeting," he says. "I was going to ask how your day went, but I'm starting to think I should've brought a helmet."