Page 25 of Steel Beauty

Not Robin or Charlene. They’d both say the same thing: the guy has money, so go for it.

There’s only one person in the world I can trust with this information—someone who will give me real advice, not tell me what I want to hear.

My phone rests on the nightstand, and I grab it, taking a deep breath. If anyone can help me figure this out, it’s Violet.

She picks up almost immediately. “Mags? What the hell are you doing up this late? It’s the middle of the night down under, isn’t it?”

“One a.m.,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “But your day’s just starting, right?”

“Oh yeah, it’s Fri-yay, baby!” she laughs, and I hear papers shuffling in the background. “You must be having one hell of a night if you’re still up.”

“Not exactly.” Tonight has been a lot. “I need to talk.”

Violet’s concern cuts through immediately. “Uh oh. Wait, is this about Elijah? Did something happen?”

The image of him slipping out of Sophie’s room, looking rumpled and guilty, flashes in my mind. But I don’t want to get into it with Violet. Not tonight. “No, it’s not about Elijah.”

The words spill out of me, more like a confession than a story—something I need to release before it takes over. I tell her everything: how I met Caesar in the dating suite, how we talked longer than we should have. I recount every detail—from the way he asked me to help calm his nerves to the conversation that stretched on until his match finally arrived.

“Gabby asked us to take on extra roles for this assignment, so when Caesar asked to talk, I felt like I had to say yes. I was doing my job.”

Saying it aloud doesn’t make me feel any better.

“At least, that’s how it started. Then I found myself drawn to him. But I swear, I never intended to act on it.” The words make everything feel that much more real—and that much more dangerous.

I press a hand to my temple, trying to calm the chaos swirling in my head. “But then today, after we talked again, just as I was leaving the suite, he blurted out where he’d be tonight—like he wanted me to know, like it was an invitation.”

“And you went.” There’s a hint of disbelief simmering beneath her words.

I sigh, feeling like a huge turd. “Yeah, I went.”

“Oof.” She inhales sharply, that familiar sound of hers—the way she always sucks in air through her teeth when things are about to get messy. “Damn, girl. That’s next-level crazy… but also kinda iconic.”

I let out a tired laugh, knowing she’s right. “I know.”

“Okay, so what did you think of him?”

I fall back against the pillows, letting out a soft sigh. “We didn’t get much time to talk. It was already late by the time I got there. But oh, Vi…” I trail off, a grin tugging at my lips.

Violet’s laugh crackles through the line. “Don’t you dare stop there! Spill it, Mags. Is he gorgeous? What’s he like? I need details.”

My pulse quickens at the thought of Caesar. “He’s half Swedish, half Samoan, with this inherent beauty… and black-ink tattoos.”

I’ve always had a type, and he fits it so perfectly it’s almost unsettling.

I can still picture him in that crisp white button-down, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, the open collar displaying the edge of his tattoos—dark patterns curling along his golden-brown skin, warm and sun-kissed, like endless summers and ocean sunsets. “The way his skin contrasted with that white shirt…” I shake my head, a soft laugh escaping as I get lost in the memory. “God, it worked. And his glossy black hair—just messy enough to make you want to run your hands through it. And his dark eyes? Flawless, Violet. Chef’s kiss.”

There’s a beat of silence before Violet speaks, her teasing edge unmistakable. “Wait… are you saying Dak might’ve slipped to second place?”

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “I haven’t thought about Dak once since I met this guy.”

“This is huge,” Violet says, exaggerating every word with playful dramatics. “You never get excited about guys.”

“That’s because I’ve never metthisguy,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.

I shift against the pillows, my smile widening. “He’s rugged, Vi, exactly the way I like ’em. Not some polished pretty boy. He’s got an edge about him—just rough enough to be dangerous but in all the best ways. And his voice––” I let out a small laugh. “That smooth, deep Australian accent could make anything sound like an invitation.”

It could charm the panties right off a girl.

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