Page 57 of Steel Beauty

His response comes almost immediately.

Not likely. I’ll be with my father and some others from the hotel industry. I’d much rather have dinner with you.

A grin tugs at my lips as I type back, feeling a little daring.

Maybe you can come for dessert.

Or maybe I ditch this business dinner altogether and come for dessert now.

Patience, JC.

Patience isn’t my strong suit. I’m going to think about you every second until I see you again.

Same.

By the time the workday ends, I’m completely wiped. It’s always like this when new clients are scheduled to arrive—every single detail has to be flawless, from initial concepts to final touches. There’s no room for error and juggling it all leaves me drained.

By the time I shut down my computer and pack up for the night, I feel like I’ve been wrung dry.

Everyone else seems to feel the same. Sophie, Whitney, Elijah, and I exchange weary looks as we gather our things. None of us have the energy to catch a taxi, hunt down a restaurant, and then drag ourselves back late. It’s an unspoken agreement—we’ll stick to the hotel restaurant tonight.

Dinner as a group has become routine. None of us like eating alone, and it’s easier to stick together. Opting for the hotel restaurant means we can relax without the hassle of going out.

The food, as always, doesn’t disappoint. We exchange satisfied smiles between bites, all silently agreeing that staying in was the best decision. I swirl my wine lazily in its glass, letting the conversation flow around me as I take a moment to savor the calm.

And then I seehim.

Across the room, seated at a table with a group of impeccably dressed older men, is JC. He’s deep in conversation as he commands the attention of everyone at the table.

He’s wearing a sleek black suit, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and powerful frame. The crisp white shirt beneath it makes the dark fabric stand out even more. But it’s the tie that catches my eye—hot pink.

I fight the grin tugging at my lips. Hot pink? I wouldn’t have pegged him as the type, but it’s breathtaking against his rich, warm skin tone, black hair, and those smoldering, intense eyes. The color somehow makes him even more striking.

I glance his way again, and our eyes meet. A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lifts his wine glass in a subtle salute, his gaze locked on mine.

I arch an eyebrow, keeping my expression cool and composed. But inside my pulse is racing, and every nerve is humming with anticipation.

He is so damn hot. And for the next three months, he’s all mine.

I try not to look in his direction. I really do. But it’s impossible. Every time my gaze slips that way—and it slips often—JC is already watching me, his dark eyes unwavering, like he’s daring me to meet his stare.

The soft vibration of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance down, the screen lighting up with a new message.

You look beautiful.

I fight the smile threatening to break free and tap out a reply under the table, careful not to attract attention.

Thank you. I must admit, I’m a little surprised by the hot-pink tie. But it works.

I barely set the phone down before it buzzes again.

Are you wearing knickers?

My cheeks burn, and I cross my legs under the table, squirming in my seat.

Sorry to disappoint, but yes.

Another buzz, and I glance down quickly.

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