Page 59 of Steel Beauty

“Did you hear what that guy on the phone said when we walked in?” She glances at me with a playful grin.

“What guy?”

“The muscular guy in the suit. I didn’t see his face, but with a body like his, I don’t need to.”

I fight the urge to grin. “No, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

She pulls out her lipstick for touch-up. “He told whoever he was talking to that he got cockblocked.” She shakes her head with a smirk. “I’d be more than happy to fix his problem.”

Whitney obviously doesn’t realize who he is—if she had, there’s no way she’d be tossing around words like that so casually.

I force a casual smile though the thought of Whitney anywhere near JC sparks a prickle of annoyance. “Would you consider a short-term relationship with a guy here? Like, knowing it’s only for a few months and then it’s done when we go back to Charleston?”

Whitney adds a final swipe of lipstick with practiced ease. “Absolutely. Who wouldn’t want a fling with a hot Aussie guy?”

Her answer eases my tension, leaving me feeling oddly reassured. “Right. Who wouldn’t?”

We step out of the restroom and back into the hallway. He’s still there, leaning casually against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, looking like he owns not only the hotel but the whole damn world.

He catches my eye, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “Listen, possum. I’ll be at your hotel room as soon as this business meeting is over. Does that work for you?”

I slip my hand behind my back as we walk away, giving him a discreet thumbs-up.

Whitney glances at him, then leans closer to me with a smirk. “Some lucky bitch is getting laid tonight.”

I grin, trying to suppress the giddy feeling bubbling up inside me.

It’s me. I’m the lucky bitch.

Chapter14

Alex Sebring

The leather sofafeels too soft beneath me, like it’s trying to swallow me whole. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, fidgeting with the band of my Rolex—a habit I can’t break when I’m here.

The room around me is calm with warm lighting. Every detail is designed to put me at ease. There’s psychology behind design choices.

Charleston taught me that.

My thoughts circle back to last night with her. The way her laugh felt like it belonged to me, the way her fingertips traced along my skin, her voice soft and teasing… until it wasn’t teasing at all. She didn’t disappoint—not in the slightest. She kept her word, just as I did. And when she called me sir in that breathy, almost playful way, it unraveled every last thread of my composure.

I still feel the ghost of her touch, haunting me just beneath the fabric of my shirt, as if my skin refuses to forget.

I exhale slowly, dragging myself back to the present.

The door opens, pulling me from my thoughts. Dr. Whitfield steps inside, his usual warm, easy smile in place. He takes a seat across from me, notebook balanced on his knee, and leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed and inviting.

“Good to see you, Alex.” He always speaks with the practiced ease of a therapist. “Tell me how things have been since our last session.”

That familiar old discomfort creeps in, the one that always shows up when I have to talk about my feelings. It’s not that I had a bad childhood. Far from it. I grew up in a wonderful family, but we weren’t exactly the type to sit around and share our emotions. Feelings weren’t ignored. They just weren’t discussed much.

And on the rugby field? Emotions were a liability. There was no room for vulnerability in a game built on brute force and discipline. You played hard, kept your head down, and if something was bothering you, you dealt with it quietly on your own.

I shift slightly in my seat, fidgeting with my watch. “Things are good. Really good actually.”

“Sounds like a new development in your life.” He nods thoughtfully, giving me a moment. “Tell me what’s making you happy.”

I can sum it up in one word: Charleston.

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