Page 13 of When Hearts Ignite

“So, Grace Felicity Peyton, twenty-three years old, grew up in the Bronx, going to graduate from NYUC at the end of the summer…”

I gnaw on my bottom lip and wait for him to continue.

“You nervous?” he murmurs, the infinitesimal smile still gracing his face.

My pulse is thready, and I want to open the doors to let in some fresh air, even though the AC is at least five degrees cooler in here than out in the bullpen.

For such a cold man, he sure needs a lot of air conditioning.

“No,” I fib. My fingers twist around each other as I tilt my face up and sit up straighter.

Never let men see your fear.

Because once they do, they’ll back you in the corner like Marvin, another one of Mom’s exes, did at the burlesque club while we waited for Mom in the dressing room when I was sixteen. “Come on, honey, you and I can have a little bit of fun while your mom is at work.” I remember his beady eyes glued to my chest and how his slimy voice made my skin crawl. It was then I learned how effective a swift kick to the balls is for incapacitating handsy men who thought their money could buy the world.

“I’m just waiting to see if there’s a question attached to your statement.” I cock my brow despite the beads of sweat gathering behind my neck.

Steven laughs, the sound loud and jarring, but mesmerizing all the same. Breathing in slowly, my lips tug into a grin, the early ache in my chest slowly dissipating. A hint of the ocean and leather, no doubt an expensive cologne, wafts to my face.

An addictive, seductive scent. One I could see myself falling under the spell of.

The cologne, not the man.

For a moment there, the harsh angles of his face soften as the smile lingers on his lips. His eyes are lighter and brighter. His shoulders loosen, which I doubt he even noticed how rigidly he was sitting moments ago.

His chuckles fade into the silence once more and he frowns, as if surprised at something, and the strange stillness befalls us again.

“You’re one interesting woman, Grace. Fearless, even in the den of the wolves.”

“I intend to rule the den one day. Fear won’t help me on the journey.”

Steven cocks his head, a flash of admiration in his eyes, and nods, as if agreeing with my assessment. “I like your honesty. Don’t lose it as you move up the ranks.”

He steeples his fingers and leans forward, the glint in his eyes sharpening. A different energy filters through him as he focuses his attention on me, like I’m interesting. I find myself wishing I could keep the spark burning in those tawny irises always.

He clears his throat. “I called you in here because I want to know how an intern could notice something the rest of them didn’t see.”

Relaxing into my chair, I smooth out the wrinkles I inflicted on my pants, my body still on edge from our mere minutes in the same room.

When in doubt, I always go with honesty. “I grew up in the seediest part of the Bronx, so we needed to pay attention to everything, to keep our eyes out to make sure we didn’t end up as a target to be taken advantage of. And we needed to be on the lookout always, as three single women in one tiny apartment.”

Steven’s gaze is intent on mine, his intense eyes darkening at my brief description of the less savory parts of my childhood, probably reading between the lines on what I’m not saying. His hand taps a slow rhythm on the table before curling into a fist, but he doesn’t comment.

“Most of us don’t make it out of there without some battle scars. And even fewer of us end up graduating from college. So, I’m used to working hard, studying more than anyone else in class, and being meticulous in my work. I learned to read everything I could get my hands on, and to pay attention to details others may miss.”

“And so, you read the footnotes,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze never trailing away from mine.

“Yes,” I reply on an exhale. “I memorized the details.”

“And familiarized yourself with every word but also understood everything that was unwritten.” His voice almost comes out as a rasp, his eyes still pinned on mine, his hand gripping the pen tightly in his palm.

My rioting pulse is now an unsteady drum in my ears, all my senses attuned to the mysterious man before me, the thickness and intensity in his voice drawing me in like a lure. I release a shuddering exhale and whisper, “When some things appear too good to be true, they usually are.”

The AC hums to life in the background, the burst of air sending a chill down my body. I shiver despite the strange heat gathering in my chest. My tongue dips out to wet my lips again, a nervous tic, but Steven misses nothing, his eyes flaring slightly, darting to the movement. His gaze drags down to my chest, pausing for a brief second, then flickers back to my eyes once more.

He stands up abruptly, strides to the coat rack by the bookshelves, retrieves the suit jacket I saw him wearing earlier, then hands it to me, his eyes darting down my torso before looking away.

I glance down, noticing my thin bra doing little to hide the pebbled nipples protruding against the damp fabric, and I gasp, quickly snatching the jacket from him and wrapping it around my body.

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