Killian fastened the last button of his shirt, then reached for his watch, the steady click of the clasp grounding him more than he cared to admit. The silence in his penthouse was broken only by the low hum of classical music playing from the speakers, though he hadn’t really been listening.
His thoughts kept going back to the evening at the beach house.
She sat across from him, holding onto the throw pillow, her gaze steady yet impossible to interpret. Her voice - quiet, certain - had carried more weight than any conversation they’d had before.
He’d wanted to tell her he liked her, more than he intended to, more than was probably wise. But she had spoken first. About work. About space. About not wanting to be in the spotlight.
And in that moment, her resolve had held him back. Maybe
