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I gasp, swiveling my head toward him, finding his eyes glittering with intensity—like the secrets of the universe are hidden among those light striations and dark depths.

He smiles and places his hand on mine, and I jolt from the explosion of tingles spreading through my body.

When he withdraws his touch, I’m bereft.

I want it back.

“Ready, and action!”

Forcing a smile on my face, I turn to Ethan and begin the questions the team put together.

“Mr. Anderson, can you tell us a little about your role at Fleur?”

Intros. I can do this.

Ethan leans back in his seat and smiles. “Ethan, please. Mr. Anderson is my dad.”

My heart skips a beat at the teasing expression on his face. It’s like coming across a rainbow during a storm or finding a four-leaf clover in Central Park.

“I’m the chief financial officer, which is a fancy title for the man who heads up the numbers—dollars and cents, approving budgets, reviewing financial results. My team makes sure we’re headed in the right direction with revenues and profits for the company and our investors.”

We spend the next ten minutes chatting about the usual things one expects to be in a marketing or PR campaign to demystify the C-suite management for the younger generation—his hobbies (reading and swimming), where he likes to stay when he travels (boutique hotels or bed and breakfasts), how he got to his position at a young age (hard work and grit—even though there was a fiasco of him spilling coffee on his shirt during an important presentation).

Ethan is easygoing in our interview, reminding me a bit of Rex, but from where I sit, I can see a muscle twitching on his temple, his smile a little too broad, and his fingers continuously tugging his cuff links.

He’s faking it.

I wonder ifDelaneyfaked it when he worked his way up.

Something about the thought niggles at me, and my breath stalls, but I don’t have time to mull over it, because I have the rest of the interview to finish.

“What do you want The Strata to represent for young people entering the real world after college?”

He wets his lips and my eyes snare at the action. I snap my rubber band again and his brow twitches as if he wants to call me out on being distracted.

“I want them to see it as a place where anything is possible. A place where they can belong, even if they don’t know their place in the world yet.” There’s a wistfulness in his voice that holds my attention.

“What’s the feeling you hope people take away from their stay at The Strata?”

“That even in the busiest city in the world, there’s a place for them. A home away from home. When they walk through those doors, they don’t have to be lost anymore.” He leans forward, trapping me in the magnetic draw of his voice.

“If you have to sum up this project in one word, what would it be?”

I hold my breath, every atom inside me clamoring for his answer. I don’t know why, but it seems important. I just know the next word out of his mouth will be meaningful.

Ethan holds my gaze, his voice dropping into a quiet rasp, a bittersweet smile on his lips. “Haven.”

I gasp. My heart slams itself against my rib cage.

A haven.

The same word Polaris mentioned in his email a while back. The same warmth rushes up my spine—curling around me like the biggest hug.

The same feeling—but ten times stronger.

This is silly, Lexy. It’s a common word, everyone uses it.

But the words don’t click. I barely notice myself leaning forward and him doing the same, like we’re opposite sides of a magnet, finally in proximity to each other.