Page 106 of When Hearts Remember

Dayton pulls me in for a hug. “Call me if anything comes up. I’m here for you.”

His scent of aftershave and mint wafts to my nose and I inhale, slowly deflating when I realize my heart doesn’t palpitate the way it does when I smell leather and amber.

The cologne of a mysterious Anderson with stormy eyes. The so-called bore of the Anderson family, as Rex calls him, the ice monster of numbers. The man Dayton warned me about.

But they don’t know how he lights me on fire just with his mere presence. How I don’t sense danger or ruthlessness in his presence. Instead, I feel…safe.

Why?

A sharp pain stabs my head, and I wince. Damn headaches.

After Dayton and I part ways, I head toward Fleur Entertainment headquarters. The sharp bite of the wind causes me to pull the lapels of my coat tighter. Quickening my pace, my boots crunch over the dried leaves of brown and gold scattered over the sidewalk.

My mind shifts to my most pressing concern—the meeting waiting for me when I get back.

And the person I’ll see there.

Ethan.

I’ve avoided him like the plague for the past month since Mystique, opting to take the stairwell instead of the elevators or looping around the building instead of cutting through the lobby on the off chance I might bump into him. He’s swung by my cubicle a handful of times,but as soon as I saw him coming, I’d duck or pretend to be on the phone to avoid talking to him. But I didn’t miss the crestfallen slump of his shoulders or the muscle tic in his jaw as he spun around and walked away.

I don’t know what came over me that night at Mystique. Or him, for that matter.

My skin burns from the memories seared into my brain—the way our bodies moved together, the masculine rasp of his voice in my ear.

My first damn orgasm after I woke up from the coma, given to me by a man who’s driven me insane, and he did it without touching my pussy.

The way I shamelessly moaned and egged him on, my mind delirious with want. Howrightit felt to be in his arms, how my heart and body clamored to life in his presence. It makes no sense—he’s a little more than an acquaintance, right? Why am I responding to him this way?

“Shit. What were you thinking?” I groan, mortified at the wetness gathering between my legs.

I wish I could scrub the memories away.I can’t even blame the alcohol because I only had one drink at the club.

Dammit.

But I can’t avoid him any longer. I have a job to do.

After reviewing the financial data his team gave us—occupancy rates, revenue per season, customer demographics such as age and gender—the marketing team came up with a preliminary plan to go over with him in the first meeting for the joint project.

Otherwise known as Project Dreamer.

What a strange and whimsical name.When I asked Lana the meaning behind the code name, she gave me a brief, knowing glance, and said it was anonymously submitted by a team member.

I remember the breathlessness in my chest when I heard it for the first time.

But why? My life is full of whys now.

Followed by the damn headache again.

A cab honks in the distance, jolting me back to the present. I look up.

Oxygen flees my lungs, my feet rooting to the ground.

A grand Gothic structure looms to my left—it’s beautiful and stately, the dark exteriors standing out among the pale limestone or red bricks of the tree-lined street. The warm glow of lights behind the intricate stained glass windows beckons me closer.

Glancing at my watch, I notice I still have an hour before my dreaded meeting. I walk closer and look at the plaque by the entrance, an intense yearning gripping my chest.

Ravenswood Library.

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