Page 12 of When Hearts Ignite

“Mr. Kingsley wants to see me.”

“Oooo, don’t want to be you. The man terrifies me. Good luck. Break a leg.”

I snort, thinking how I said the same thing to Taylor before.

Standing up, I smooth my hands over my clothing, my fingers pausing at the large damp spot on my sweater. I curse myself for not being extra prepared and bringing a change of clothing just in case.

But who the heck would think you’d need a change of clothes for a desk job at an investment bank?

I shrug out of the damp outer layer, goosebumps pebbling my arms from the chill of the AC, which apparently is always adjusted to a balmy sixty to sixty-five degrees for the men in their suits, another interesting tidbit I learned online. My shirt didn’t escape unscathed from the tea, but at least it’s not as wet like the sweater in question.

This will have to do.

Tucking in the large blouse so it appears to fit more properly, I hurry toward the corner office, keenly aware of the pairs of eyes trailing me on my journey, no doubt wondering why an intern is meeting with the head of the investments department.

Straightening my back, I knock on the frosted door, and am met with a terse, “Come in.”

I swallow the ball in my throat and step into his large office, which is bigger than our apartment at home. The faint scent of eucalyptus hits my nose. Steven sits behind a sturdy oak desk, his cell phone tucked by his ear as he finishes a conversation. He motions me in with one regal flick of his hand.

Nodding, my eyes sweep the room. The blinds are drawn up over the floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in warm rays of sunlight. At one hundred floors above ground level, there’s an impressive view of Wall Street and surrounding buildings; the city laid out like glittering crystals and sharp planes of glass.

A dark leather sofa and black marble table atop a navy-blue carpet are on one side of the room. A backlit wet bar completed with a stainless-steel refrigerator is tucked away in the corner. The office is decorated mainly in navy and black, the shelves immaculately organized, the books stacked by height, and various placards and photo frames shine under the warm overhead lights. It’s masculine and tasteful and even without knowing him, I’d bet he picked every piece of furniture in this space.

I’d also bet there’s not a speck of dust in the place and everything is arranged in its precise order.

The room is even colder than the bullpen and I shiver, my hands rubbing my arms as I take a seat in front of the enigmatic man who’s now typing something on his computer, his eyebrows pinched in concentration.

“You won’t regret it. I’ll call you with good news. Golfing next weekend?” Steven chuckles, his voice raspy, almost like a soft caress, and I sneak another glance at him, my hands on top of my thighs, and notice him staring at me, all the while conversing with the person on the other line.

His hazel eyes glow in an ethereal shade of amber as a ray of light from the windows hits him at precisely the right angle, highlighting the sharp planes of his face, his strong nose and thick lashes that have no business being on a man, and while his lips are curved into a smile, his soft laughter reverberating around the room, the merriment doesn’t reach those brilliant pools.

If I were to close my eyes and listen to this conversation, I wouldn’t have known he was putting on an act. But now, sitting mere feet away from him, it’s obvious.

My chest constricts at the coldness on his face, and I wet my parched lips. There’s something about him that makes me want to stare at him some more and figure him out.

To find out why a man who looks to be on the top of the world with everything he could possibly want, appears so…unhappy and unsatisfied with life.

Someone who looks empty. Lonely.

It’s almost heartbreaking.

I pinch my wrist, mentally slapping myself across the face at the strange, whimsical thoughts crossing my mind.

He’s probably just like the other rich men you’ve met in the past—a different woman each week, shirking responsibilities just because he can.

Steven mutters some nonsense about golfing and sports. His brows furrow as he glares at the desk before him, as if the pens scattered on the tabletop annoyed him somehow. His nostrils flare as he picks up all the blue and black pens, leaving only one of each, aligned precisely next to his writing pad, and places the extras, sorted by color, into his pen holder. Then, he stacks the various binders on his desk, red ones on one side and black ones on the other.

I stare at his motions, my mouth slightly agape, as if watching some transcendental meditation in progress, the thudding of the papers and binders sounding like ASMR therapy. A few moments later, his desk is clean. Impeccable. Cleaner than my entire apartment has ever been, even before Mom brings her new boyfriends to visit for the first time.

Steven lets out an inaudible exhale, the lines between his brows relaxing. He hangs up and sits back in his chair, the fake smile he was doling out toward the end of the call promptly slipping off his face. His veneer is guarded as he twirls a fountain pen around his fingers and swivels his chair, leaning further back, and props his ankle on top of his knee.

We stare at each other for the next few seconds, and I hear the clock on the far wall ticking, separating the next few moments in a barrage of staccato fragments—me trying not to fidget under his intense gaze, my breath coming in quick pants, my skin feeling feverish. Him looking as cool and as beautiful as a statue in the Louvre, one arm on top of the handrest of his armchair, his fingers lightly tapping his jawline as if he’s trying to solve a mystery.

The moment stretches on, a strange tension hums in the background, the air feeling thin in the room, and we engage in this silent, staring contest, my hand gripping my pants while I fight to remain still, to keep eye contact while maintaining a soft smile on my face.

Whatever he is trying to prove here, I’ll pass with flying colors.

His lips slowly curve into a smile, a real one this time, a glint of amusement appearing in those tiger stone eyes.

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