“It’s the speed. It shoot past all those floors. Just like going in an airplane. Come this way.” She took off briskly down the hall.
“This floor is for executive offices,” she said as we walked past several glass-walled suites. Each of them had a waiting space outside, a secretary at a desk, sometimes a couch. The offices themselves were expansive—some half the size of my apartment—all with floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Your office will be here too,” Roxie said, and I almost tripped. She chuckled. “Not one of the fancy ones, I tell you that now. But pretty good. Better than mine. I let Weston show you that. He wants to give you the tour.”
We passed a bigger office then; this time the walls were mirrored. Smart windows, I guessed. The kind that, at the press of a button, the glass changes so that the person inside can look out and no one can look in. It was probably Weston’s office.
I battled another wave of nausea at the thought of being so near to him. So near to confronting what kind of relationship we were going to have.
“Meanwhile,” Roxie said, “I’m supposed to take you to the upper lounge to wait for him. He’s running just a few minutes late.”
We’d reached the end of the hall now where four steps led up to two double doors and another area sectioned off with mirrors—or smart windows—for walls. I followed my guide into a large room with modern teal sofas, black lounge chairs, and the most breathtaking view of the city I’d ever seen.
“Is this where you entertain new clients?” I asked, looking around at the liquor cabinet and the coffee cart. There was also a full-size kitchen and a flat-screen TV fastened to one of the glass walls.
“And new employees,” Roxie said with a grin. “You will see enough of me over the next few days. I will set you up with Human Resources and get you a security card and a secretary and everything else you need before you start work on projects next week. This afternoon, you enjoy the view. Mr. King be here soon.”
I thanked her and promised to have Weston show me where her desk was before I left for the night so I could find her in the morning if she didn’t find me first. After she was gone, I walked over to the windows and drank in the scene. The Town Center was high enough that it had an unblocked view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn, and beyond.
Giddiness surged through me, starting like a pinprick at my center and moving out through my veins in all directions until even my fingers and toes felt warm.
I was really here.
I made it.
It wasn’t the way I thought it would be, but in the end, it still came out of my time at Harvard. I’d always known that connections made the difference in a career, and here I was. Finally. At the top of the world, looking out.
I couldn’t stop grinning.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” a male voice came from behind me.
Still smiling, I glanced up and caught his reflection in the window.
And everything disappeared.
The world that had buzzed below, the beautiful scene, the excitement that had unfurled through my body—all of it evaporated and all that existed in its place was a pale, hollow shell of myself and the man in the perfectly tailored suit behind me.
I turned to look at him directly. Our gazes smashed together, and my legs nearly fell out from under me.
“Donovan,” I rasped. It was a miracle that I managed to find enough voice to say that much.
And there was so much more that had to be said. So much more that I hadn’t prepared for. Which was ridiculous since I’d talked to him so many times in my head over the years, practiced so many conversations, but never did he show up out of the blue looking so dastardly handsome in a dark gray three-piece suit, his face rugged with scruff, his eyes hazel and earnest despite the playful smirk on his lips.
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I wasn’t even sure how to breathe anymore.
He broke our gaze to nod out the window at the skyline, walking toward me as he said, “I’m sure you found the Empire.”
Though his focus was now on the scenery, I didn’t take my eyes off him as he approached. He didn’t stop until he was right beside me. So close our shoulders would touch if I coughed. Tension ran off him like foam spilling over from a mug of beer. Good tension. Bad tension. I wasn’t sure if there was a difference when it came to Donovan.
Which was why I was screwed if he was here.
Why the hell was he here?
“I thought you were in Tokyo.” I couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d gotten more refined with age, and rougher at the same time. His hair was short and his curls gone, giving him a polished look he lacked before. The lines by his eyes were more defined and his expression seemed harder than I’d remembered. It made him sexier.
As if he was a man who needed to be sexier than the one I knew.
“I came back two months ago,” he said offhandedly. “That’s it right there.” He leaned his face in close to mine as he pointed to the famous structure. “Do you see it?”
Fuck if I cared about the Empire. I was in Donovan Kincaid’s orbit. What else was there in the world?
“And that’s the One World Trade Center in line behind it.” He reached around me to point over my other shoulder, caging me in against the glass without touching me at all.
God, I couldn’t just smell his cologne, I could also smell him. The musky scent of his maleness, and even after a decade, my body reacted against my will. My nipples budded, and my panties felt slick. Every part of me tuned to him despite how my mind cried to resist him.
“Over there’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” His breath skated against my neck, hot, but I had to fight not to shiver.
He knew what he was doing. He had to.
“Donovan…” My voice trailed off, drawing out his name when what I really meant to say was please.
Please what? I didn’t even know. I wanted relief. I wanted to cry, and saying his name was as close as I could get.
In the window, I watched as his reflection finally looked away from the goddamn Brooklyn Bridge and stared down at me. His eyes closed momentarily.
“Leave it to Weston to be the one to bring you here,” he said quietly.
I inhaled sharply.
But that was all the time I had to process before Weston burst into the room. “You two found each other!” he said excitedly.
Donovan and I turned simultaneously to face our intruder.
“I suppose we did,” Donovan said, meeting my eyes once more, punctuating his words.
Had we found each other? What did he mean? What did any of this mean?
Then Donovan was gone, our connection broken when he crossed the room toward the liquor cabinet.
Weston hurried toward me, taking his place in my focus. “Sorry, I was running late. Did you find the building okay?”
“Yes. I took a cab.” My voice was thin and unsteady, but I forced a smile and hoped he didn’t notice.
He put his hand on my arm. It was friendly. More than friendly was the way his fingers stroked my elbow. “And Roxie—?”
“Was very welcoming.” I looked down at his fingers then up at his face. He was letting me know. About him. About us. That he expected us to be a thing. And I did too. Except—
“Sabrina?” Donovan called, making my heart trip in my chest. “Can I get you something to drink?”