The ride back to the penthouse was quiet in the way thunderstorms were quiet. It was heavy with pressure, thick with things waiting to break apart. Alex sat angled toward the window, watching as Manhattan slid past in streaks of gold and white. The tension from the studio continued winding tighter beneath her skin.
The magazine shoot should have exhausted her enough to dull the sharp edges of the day, but instead, she felt overstimulated by every moment of it. Every touch and lingering glance replayed in her mind with irritating clarity.
Especially the way Callan had looked at her near the windows. There had been nothing calculated in it. Nothing distant. And that unsettled her far more than it should have.
Across from her, Callan remained focused on someone on his phone for most of th
