Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Hugh leans one shoulder against the doorframe, his attention never deviating from the woman seated behind the desk. “Would you happen to have a minute?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t,” Evelyn says, rising to her feet with one smooth motion. “I’m late for a meeting.”
His brow ticks up. “Are you now?”
“Yes,” she says with a cool smile. “Whatever it is will have to be discussed at a later time.”
Something that looks suspiciously close to amusement flickers across Hugh’s face as he takes half a step farther inside the office. “I think you’ve been avoiding me.”
“That’s not true at all. I’ve been busy.”
“With team business?”
“With life,” she says flatly.
His gaze drifts over her face, as if it’s possible to pick through her private thoughts and figure out the truth. “Those aren’t the same thing.”
For one second, the cool polish in her expression cracks. “I’m sure whatever this is can wait.”
Hugh’s mouth curves, but there’s only sadness in his expression. “That’s the problem, Evelyn. It’s already waited long enough.”
The atmosphere turns even more tense. I just want to escape before the situation becomes any more uncomfortable.
Have I heard rumors about the team owners? Sure. But I’ve never put much stock in the gossip. Only now do I realize I might be wrong about that. These two have enough chemistry to blow the world to smithereens.
Although, I’m not interested in sticking around and watching that happen.
I clear my throat. “So, I’m, ah, going to take off. Thanks again, Ms. K.”
Neither glance my way as I slip into the hall and close the door. For a second, I stand in the corridor before pulling my phone from my pocket and checking the notifications.
No new messages.
The urge to call Chey and hear her voice hits hard and fast. Just to check in and make sure she’s okay. And maybe because I want to.
Fuck.
Instead of giving in to temptation, I shove the phone back into my pocket and head for the exit, picking up my pace.
What I want right now is to get home.
Back to the penthouse.
Back to her.
And the fact that it no longer feels strange?
That might be the craziest part of all.
31
Cheyenne
The penthouse is quiet except for the music floating through the space. I’m standing near the windows with my phone in hand, the instrumental track spilling through the speaker as I repeat the same verse for the third time.
Outside, the city glows in the fading light, but in here it’s just me, the lyrics, and the stillness I’ve been craving all day.
Singing has always been the one thing in my life that makes everything else fall away.
No cameras, producers, or expectations.
It’s just the melody and the way it settles inside me when I stop thinking.
I close my eyes and start again, softer this time. Instead of focusing on the technical aspects, I lean into how it feels. The notes rise, and I let them stretch, filling the room until there’s nothing left but the music and the quiet ache threaded through it.
I hold the last note longer, letting it fade slowly into silence.
“Wow. That was amazing.”
I jump and nearly bobble my phone before spinning around, only to find Knox standing near the kitchen, his bag slung over one shoulder.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “How long have you been there?”
He shrugs, setting the bag down on the floor. “Long enough.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “You should have said something when you came in.”
His mouth twitches as he saunters toward me. “You were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
I cross my arms, suddenly self-conscious. Singing in front of a crowd is one thing. Singing bare and unguarded is something else entirely.
“It was a little off,” I mutter in embarrassment.
He stops a few feet away before shaking his head. “No, it wasn’t.” His voice dips. “I’ve heard you sing before, but never like that.”
I blink at the admittance. “You have? Where?”
He glances away, jerking his shoulders. “I might’ve watched the show.”
I stare at him in shock. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you’ve watched the show?”
He shifts. “Maybe a few episodes here and there.”
My brows rise as I cock my head. “A few? What are we talking about? One or two episodes? Or one or two seasons?”
His jaw tightens as he admits, “It might have been a couple seasons.”
“Oh my God.” I laugh. “Are you secretly a Cheyenne Benson fan?”
Even though he snorts, color rises in his cheeks. “Guess it’s turning out to be not so secret.”
The pleasure that floods through me is enough to catch me off guard. Not only did this man notice me before I crashed into his life, he was paying attention.
I grin. “Wow. I never would’ve guessed.”
He’s close enough for me to see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the last traces of bruising beneath his eye. That bruise should tug me back toward guilt and fear and everything ugly that’s happened lately. But all I can think about is how beautiful he is standing here, looking unexpectedly vulnerable because he admitted one small truth.