"And what is it that impresses you?" Winn asked.
Sharona’s lips parted into a smile as she rose gracefully from the chair. She moved with calculated confidence, the sway of her hips designed to make a man wonder if this was what power looked like. Winn swiveled slightly in his chair, his body angled toward her, tracking her movements with the cool, predatory interest of a man who never allowed himself to be cornered.
She leaned down, invading his space in a way most wouldn’t dare. "Let’s just say, it’s rare to find a man this successful and this good-looking." She straightened with a sharp adjustment of her blouse.
"See you on Friday. 8 p.m.," she declared with the assurance of a woman used to having men follow her lead. This content belongs to n0velfire.net
Winn didn’t give her the satisfaction of more than a flat: "Friday is not going to work."
Sharona tilted her head, assessing him. "Sweetie, if you show up on Friday, then I know this ’thing’ isn’t a one-way street."
"And if it is?" Winn countered, leaning back in his chair, one brow raised. He rarely asked questions he didn’t already know the answer to, but he wanted to hear her say it, wanted to hear the limits of her game.
"Then it is." She shrugged lightly, her smile never wavering. "I don’t do the pursuing, Winn. This is a first. And this is as far as I go." She paused. Then with a smile, she added, "Have a great day."
She pivoted, her departure as deliberate as her entrance.
Winn watched her go, his fingers drumming once against the armrest of his chair. She thought she had left him with a decision, but in reality, she hadn’t. His mind was already elsewhere, already circling the forbidden corner of his world. He knew he wouldn’t be seeing her on Friday.
Because Friday night, he had an appointment with his obsession. A date with a one-way screen at Commissioned. He would sit in the shadows, drink in hand, while Beyonce —worked the pole with a grace and fire she never allowed herself to show in daylight.
Ivy usually never left until Winn had gone home. It had become an unspoken rule in her short tenure at House of Kane — she wouldn’t clock out until her boss was done for the night. It wasn’t part of her job description, but she’d convinced herself it was professionalism. That’s why, when she looked up from her computer screen and noticed the glowing red digits of her clock flashing past 8 p.m., she frowned. Strange. Winn hadn’t walked past her desk. Worry and curiosity, pulled her to her feet. She slipped on the black flats she kept under her desk.
Gathering her courage, she padded softly to his office and pushed the door open. "Mr. Kane? Are you staying late tonight?" she asked.
He wasn’t behind his desk. Instead, she found him standing before a massive corkboard mounted on the wall. Pinned across the board were glossy photos of sprawling properties, sleek renderings, aerial views, all overlapped with notes scrawled in black marker. He didn’t turn immediately, just kept staring at the images.
"I’m not supposed to," he said finally, "but I cannot seem to make a decision."
"Do you need any help?" she offered.
"I have learned not to underestimate you," Winn said, "So come in."
Ivy stepped into the office.
"I can’t seem to get the perfect location for the mall," he confessed, gesturing toward the chaotic collage. "There’s always something lacking in each of the property pictures Trinity sent me."
At that name, Ivy blinked. "Trinity? As in Trinity Estates?"
Winn narrowed his gaze, curious. "You know of it?"
"Yeah, uh... Steve... my boyfriend... he works there now."
The word "boyfriend" tasted strange on her tongue. She felt Winn’s attention sharpen.
He turned fully then, one hand sliding into his pocket. His dark brows lifted slightly. "Your boyfriend," Winn repeated slowly, as if testing the word. "I guess you forgave him, uhn."
Ivy swallowed hard, her pulse jumping. Forgave him. As if it were that simple.
"I honestly don’t know yet," Ivy admitted, pressing her fingertips against her temple. "But let’s talk about this." She pointed toward one of the glossy photos in the cluster. "What’s wrong with this? It looks okay to me."
"I need an open place. Not too secluded, and yet not too busy either. Balance. We want to offer protection to the shoppers but also freedom. This one here—" he tapped the corner of the photo, his knuckle brushing hers by accident "—it’s too secluded. The entrance would be tucked into a residential street. It won’t work."
Ivy leaned in. Her finger skimmed across the glossy print, stopping at another corner. "What if the entrance is here instead of here?"
He exhaled, a sharp scoff. "There’s a building there already."
"Then buy it. Turn it into a reception hall. A place to welcome the shoppers first, screen them, register them, whatever you want. That way, the entrance isn’t a liability—it’s an experience. That will be your entrance."
Winn tilted his head, considering her. His gaze lingered on her lips before he forced it back to the picture. Damn it, she might be onto something. "It might work... if the owner wants to sell."
"I’ll look into it first thing in the morning," Ivy promised.
Winn, however, was not looking at the picture anymore. He was looking at her. At the determination that flashed in her eyes, the confidence in her posture. She had walked in here, and solved in minutes what had plagued him for hours.
"Why did you drop out of college?"
Ivy turned away quickly, pretending to fuss with the files on his desk so she wouldn’t have to look directly at him. Her hands busied themselves with neat little tasks—straightening his pens, slipping his laptop into its leather case—anything that would distract her from the intensity of his gaze.
"Uh..." She cleared her throat. "My parents got in an accident. My dad didn’t make it. My mom...she survived, but the surgery left her weak. Then she had a stroke a couple of months later. I thought I could juggle classes, her care, the bills, but that’s when I found out..." Her lips twisted bitterly, as if just saying it aloud left a taste in her mouth she couldn’t wash away. "My dad had a gambling addiction. Loan sharks, bookies, the whole mess. They didn’t give me a choice. I had to quit school and work full-time just to keep them from breaking down our door."