Page 14 of Steel Beauty

Her professional smile doesn’t waver as she points toward a corridor down the hall. “Right this way.”

“Thank you,” I follow her, disappointment settling low in my gut.

Ridiculous. Here I am, paying an ungodly amount of money for this bespoke matchmaking experience, and I’m not even focused on the woman they matched me with. Cleopatra deserves better. Hell, I deserve better—better than getting caught up in someone I wasn’t even meant to meet.

I splash cold water on my face in the restroom, leaning on the sink for a moment, forcing myself to breathe. I’m not being fair to Cleopatra. She paid for this experience too.

Focus, Alex. Give her a real chance. That’s why you’re here.

It’s not her fault I’ve spent the entire evening comparing her to Charleston. And it’s not Charleston’s doing that she’s still stuck in my head.

The guilt gnaws at me as I straighten up, dabbing water from my face with a paper towel. Get back in there. Do what you came here to do.

With one last glance down the hall—just in case—I head back toward the suite, determined to give this date the effort it deserves. Even if my heart isn’t quite in it.

Cleopatra wraps up with the same polished farewell as last time, her words smooth and practiced like she’s done this a hundred times before. “I enjoyed our time together, Caesar. I’m looking forward to the next date.”

“Same here.” Even as the words leave my mouth, they feel hollow, like an actor reciting a line from a script I didn’t write. There’s no spark, no sincerity behind them—just an obligation fulfilled. When her footsteps retreat through her side of the suite, the air feels lighter, less stifling.

The door clicks shut, and I find myself standing still for a beat longer than necessary. A pull at the back of my mind, dragging me toward the exit, hoping—no, praying—that fate will throw me a bone. Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Charleston before I leave. Just one.

But there’s nothing. No familiar drawl, no accidental meeting. Just the hum of Soul Sync’s sleek, polished environment.

I stick around longer than I should, my gaze scanning every passing figure, hoping against hope to see a new face. But no luck. Just the same old staff, moving in their usual rhythms.

It’s irrational, I know that. But still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I was meant to see her again.

“Maybe next time,” I mutter under my breath, trying to convince myself.

The late afternoon air, cool and crisp, greets me as I step outside with the fading sun casting a golden glow over Sydney’s skyline. I pause for a moment, taking it all in—the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of passing conversations, and the steady rhythm of a city that never slows down.

As I walk away from the building, each step feels heavier than the last, a pang settling deep in my chest. I know it’s reckless, chasing a connection that wasn’t supposed to happen. But real or not, planned or not, that connection feels like the only thing in this whole process that makes sense. And somehow, I know I’m not ready to let it go.

Sydney’s skyline blurs as I walk to my vehicle, Charleston’s voice echoing in my mind. And then the thought slips in uninvited, but I let it stay—how perfect it’d be if she showed up tonight at the Rabbit Hole.

Just the two of us, tucked away in a hidden speakeasy without rules or dividers. Just conversation and whisky.

Maybe, just maybe, she’ll be there.

Chapter5

Magnolia Steel

There’ssomething special about Julius Caesar, and he lingers in my mind like a melody I can’t shake. His words carry a warmth, edged with uncertainty, like he’s piecing together a puzzle as he speaks. Thoughts of him keep slipping into my head at the worst times.

Clients aren’t supposed to get under my skin like this. And yet, here I am—completely mesmerized.

I shouldn’t be affected by a simple conversation. It was only small talk, nothing special. But somehow, it felt like… more. Not a struggle. Natural.

And today when he asked for me because he wanted to talk? I liked it. I liked it more than I should if I’m being honest.

You made things easier last time. Talking to you helped.

I’ve never thought of myself as the nurturing type. That’s not who I am. I was raised by Robin and Charlene Steel––my mom and grandma. The Dysfunctional Duo. Neither of them was around much. When they were home, they had their own lives to manage—jobs, having a good time, sometimes other women’s husbands. Scraped knees didn’t get kisses, and bedtime stories were someone else’s luxury. If I cried, I’d be more likely to hearsuck it upthanit’s gonna be okay. I learned early in life that if I wanted to be comforted, I’d have to find it somewhere else. Or more often than not, simply do without.

But with Caesar, something has shifted. When I heard that he wanted to talk to me again because I made things easier for him, it stirred something I wasn’t expecting. It made me feel needed even though I know better than to get caught up in it.

He’s a client, and I’m here to do a job. That is the beginning and end of it.

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