POV Mira "So," Amber's voice crackled through my phone speaker, "how was your first day at work?" I collapsed onto my bed like the day had drained every ounce of energy out of me. "Oh my God, he has so much attitude. Like... where was this yesterday?" "What do you mean?" I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Yesterday at your place he was playful. We were joking, he smiled at me-actually smiled. Today? Cold. Strict. Like... bordering on scary boss mode." Amber laughed. "Maybe he's just nervous around you." I scoffed. "Why would he be nervous? He didn't seem nervous yesterday when you were flirting with him like your life depended on it." "That's different," she said breezily. "Yesterday he was off-duty." "Amber, I kid you not, this man's personality changes like the weather in Seattle. In the morning during my interview, he was all business-short answers, clipped tone, no smile, kinda flirty or maybe that was just me being delusional. At your garden party, he was soft-spoken, teasing. Today? It's like someone pissed in his coffee." "So what exactly was he like today?" I sat up, gesturing wildly even though she couldn't see me. "Not cruel or yelling, but everything was so demanding. The kind of tone that makes you sit up straighter without even realizing it." "Mmh," Amber hummed, like she was weighing her next tease. "And it's confusing," I went on. "Because I remember him being... mysterious. A little playful. And-don't roll your eyes -seductive. So I thought maybe something happened to put him in a mood. Or maybe he's just more professional at work." "That would make sense." "Except..." I said, lowering my voice, "he wasn't exactly that professional." "Oh?" "There were these moments today," I admitted. "Like, the way he looked at me. I swear his gaze was heated. And once, he brushed his hand over mine when he didn't even need to be that close. It felt... intentional. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Maybe it's just the side effects of reading too many spicy books." Amber snorted. "Or maybe he's doing it on purpose to mess with your head." Before I could answer, my bedroom door flew open. "Dad!" I shot up. "How many times do I have to say it? Privacy!" From the phone, Amber's voice rose immediately. "Hi, Mira's dad! How are you doing?" My father gave me a flat look. "Hello, Amber. For the thousandth time, it's Mr. Kensington. I'm doing well." He made a motion with his hand, the universal wrap it up signal. I sighed into the phone. "I'll call you later." "Fine," Amber said. "Oh, and-" I hung up before she could finish and looked at my dad. "What now?" "We're having dinner with Leo tonight." I blinked. "Why? I literally saw him today. Do I need to see him again already?" My father adjusted the cuff of his shirt. "Leo's just returned, and I think it's important we all sit down together." My eyebrows furrowed. "Just returned? From where? I saw him today." He shrugged. "I don't know, I thought he went to New Jersey for a meeting, or that must have been last week or something. My memory's going downhill. Anyway-forty-five minutes. Wear something appropriate." And with that, he left, the door swinging shut behind him. I sat there for a beat, still trying to figure out how my father thought I hadn't seen Leo today when I'd spent the entire morning being bossed around by him. Either he was confused, or something wasn't adding up. Forty minutes later, I was at my mirror for the fourth time, checking my lipstick. Black dress-simple, fitted, safe. Hair down. Neutral makeup. I told myself it wasn't for Leo, but my reflection didn't buy it. Downstairs, the dining room was already set. My father was speaking to one of the staff when I stepped in, but my eyes went straight to the man at the table. Leo was already seated, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, watch glinting under the chandelier light. The minute my heels clicked against the floor, his gaze found mine. "Good evening, Mira," he said, voice low, warm. "Evening," I replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. I felt his eyes follow me down, lingering, tracing-like a slow hand. This was not the Leo from earlier today. This one wasn't distracted or detached. He wasn't glancing at his watch or keeping his tone clipped. He was present. Entirely. And he didn't look away. Not once. Not when the staff poured water. Not when my father took his seat. Not when conversation about business began. I tried to focus on the table, on the way the silverware lined up perfectly, on anything but the weight of his stare. But it was like trying to ignore the sun on your skin-you couldn't pretend it wasn't there. Earlier today, at the office, he'd been in my personal space but not locked on me like this. This was... consuming . I picked up my glass to take a sip, and my hand almost trembled. "So," my father said, looking between us, "Mira's first day. How was she?" Leo's mouth curved faintly. "She learns quickly." I glanced at him, pulse jumping. "I try," I said lightly. "She does more than try," he said, his eyes still on mine. "She listens." My father smiled, oblivious. "She's always been a good listener." I stabbed my fork into the vegetables on my plate, trying not to squirm under the layered meaning in Leo's tone. The conversation drifted between my father and him-market trends, mutual contacts, upcoming events-but even when he was speaking to someone else, his focus never truly left me. It was disarming. And... dangerous. At one point, I dared to meet his gaze head-on. It felt like we were having a conversation no one else in the room could hear. I dropped my eyes to my plate, heat creeping up my neck. This wasn't the careful, cool professional I'd been with hours ago. This was closer to the man from Amber's garden party-but more intense, more deliberate. Like he'd decided something and was silently letting me know. The food in front of me blurred. All I could think about was the way his eyes dragged over me, unhurried, claiming space without touching. My father laughed at something he'd said, but I didn't catch the joke. When I risked another glance, Leo was still watching me, gaze steady, no smile this time-just a dark, unreadable focus. I told myself it was my imagination, the influence of too many books and not enough experience. That any heat I felt was entirely one-sided. But then he said, softly enough that I knew it wasn't for my father, "I expect to see more of this side of you." My pulse stumbled. "What side is that?" His eyes dipped briefly, then came back to mine. "The one that doesn't look away." 30 Contents