His Accidental Bride

Sharp edges

Chapter 2: Sharp Edges

Maya spent three straight nights redoing the same concept.

Her studio smelled like coffee and spray adhesive. Sketches covered the floor, the table, one taped crookedly to the fridge where she kept the version she liked best, just so she'd see it every time she reached for milk. By Thursday night she had four finished boards, two backups, and almost no sleep.

By Friday morning she had a headache and a folder she was proud of.

She told herself the nerves in her stomach were about the pitch. Not about seeing him again.

LumenTech's lobby looked the same, glass and steel and too much light, but this time she walked through it like she belonged there. The receptionist waved her straight up. Apparently surviving one meeting with Ethan Cole earned her that much trust.

He was standing when she walked in this time, not sitting behind the table like a wall between them. Jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, like he'd been pacing before she arrived.

"Ms. Castillo."

"We agreed on Maya."

"I didn't agree to anything," he said, but there was something almost warm under it. "You informed me."

"Same result." She set her folder down and started pulling out boards before he could argue. "Ready?"

"Go ahead."

She walked him through it fast, the way she always did when she believed in something, words tumbling out quicker than she planned. Warm tones instead of cold silver. Recycled wood fiber with a texture you'd actually want to touch. A shape that curved instead of a rigid box, so it looked less like hardware and more like something you'd want sitting in your living room.

Ethan didn't interrupt once. He stood with his arms crossed, eyes moving from board to board, and the silence started to feel loud.

"Well?" Maya finally asked, because she couldn't stand it anymore.

"You didn't sleep much this week."

That was not the reaction she expected. "Excuse me?"

"Your handwriting on the notes." He nodded at the corner of one board, where she'd scrawled a reminder to herself in shaky, tired letters. "It gets worse as it goes. Neat on Monday. Barely readable by Thursday."

Heat crawled up her neck. "You're analyzing my handwriting instead of the actual concepts?"

"I'm doing both." He looked up, and there it was again, that focus that made her feel like the only person in the building. "The concepts are good, Maya. Better than good. You solved a problem my entire design team has been stuck on for two months."

Relief and something else, something warmer, unfurled in her chest. "So you're impressed."

"I didn't say that."

"You basically did."

"I said the work is good." A small, almost reluctant curve touched his mouth. "I didn't say I was surprised."

"That's practically a love letter, coming from you."

The word love hung there a beat too long between them. Maya felt it land the second it left her mouth, an accident, the kind of thing you said without thinking and then couldn't take back.

Ethan's gaze flickered, something sharpening in it, and for a second neither of them moved.

Then he cleared his throat and looked back down at the boards, all business again. "I want this direction. Full production timeline, budget, and material sourcing by next week."

"You've got it."

"And I want you presenting it to the board yourself. Not through my team."

That startled her. "You want me in the boardroom?"

"You made the case to me in ten minutes. I want you to make it to twelve very skeptical people who think spending more on materials is a waste of money." His eyes met hers again, steady. "I think you'll enjoy proving them wrong."

Maya laughed before she could stop herself, surprised and a little delighted. "You know me well for someone I've met twice."

"I pay attention." He said it simply, like it wasn't a big deal, like he hadn't just made her pulse skip. "It's a useful skill in my job."

"Must be exhausting."

"You have no idea."

They packed up the boards together, and for a few minutes it felt easy, comfortable in a way she hadn't expected two professional strangers to feel. He carried the heaviest case to the elevator without being asked. She let him, which surprised her more than his offering.

At the elevator, he pressed the button and then didn't step back the way he had the first time. Close enough that she caught the clean, expensive smell of his cologne, close enough that the air between them felt different than a normal client goodbye.

"Maya."

"Yeah?"

"Thursday night." He was watching her carefully now, like he was choosing each word before he let it out. "Whatever kept you up that late working. It's rare, finding someone who cares that much about getting something right."

She didn't know what to say to that. It sat too close to something true, something she usually kept buried under jokes and deadlines.

"I like doing good work," she said finally, quieter than she meant to.

"So do I." His eyes held hers a second too long. "It's rare I get to watch someone else do it this well."

The elevator doors opened behind her. She stepped in, and he didn't move, didn't look away, right up until the doors slid shut between them.

Maya pressed her back against the elevator wall and closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow down. It refused.

Three floors above, Ethan Cole stood alone in the hallway a full minute after she'd gone, replaying the way she'd said the word love, the way her whole face had lit up arguing for something she believed in, the way he'd wanted, for one reckless second, to close the distance between them and find out what she tasted like.

He had not felt anything like that in three years. Not since Sophia.

He told himself it was nothing. A professional admiration, nothing more.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and the name on the screen made his stomach drop.

Sophia Grant.

He hadn't heard from her in over a year. And she was calling now, the same week Maya Castillo had walked back into his life and made him forget, for twenty whole minutes, how to keep his guard up.

He stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the answer button, and felt the ground shift under him for the second time that day.