Page 54 of For the Plot

Chapter 11

Skye

I’m tangled in my sheets, unable to sleep wearing nothing but Reece Blackwood’s lingering stare. It’s stupid. Reckless. Delusional, even. But I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me tonight.

Like he forgot where we were. Like he forgot who we were.

I roll onto my stomach and press my cheek into the pillow, a ridiculous grin spreading across my face like I’m sixteen again and just got asked to prom by the—I squeeze my eyes, my stomach dropping for a second when I’m reminded that I actually did do this same thing… when I was sixteen… about his son.

God, I’m pathetic and completely fucked up.

But also? So fucking turned on from tonight’s interaction with Reece. My entire body is humming. I feel like I swallowed a dozen butterflies and washed them down with champagne. Warm, fizzy, impossible to ignore.

The second he walked into that gallery, I felt his eyes on me.

I knew the dress was a risk, bare-backed, satin, scandalously short. No bra. But Maya said I looked like a “classy slutty angel,” and that felt like exactly the vibe I needed. And I sure as shitdidn’t know Reece would be there. Didn’t know how it would feel to see him out of that office. God, the man in a suit is lethal.

Unfair. Truly unfair. And then he spoke to me.

I close my eyes, replaying every second like it’s a scene from the rom-com I’ve apparently decided we’re starring in.

“Distracted.”

The way his voice dipped low on that word, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to scold me or devour me. I bit my lip. I remember that. Because I wanted to say something flirty, something coy. But I was too busy trying not to melt into a puddle of want.

The moment hangs in my mind like a portrait in a museum, framed, lit just right, unforgettable.

God, what if he had kissed me?

What if, instead of holding himself back like I know he was, he’d just reached out and tugged me close? Slid a hand down my bare back and tilted my chin up with that confident, no-bullshit grip I know he’s capable of?

Is that what this is about? Does he want me to be the one to make the first move? Would that give him the absolution he needs considering who his son is?

I shiver under the covers, imagining if I had reached up onto my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his.

He’d whisper something filthy, wouldn’t he? Rough, the evidence of his control slipping in my ear—You knew exactly what this dress would do to me, didn’t you?

And I’d breathe out something bold like…I hope it makes you lose control,and then we’d be against the nearest wall, his mouth hot on my neck, his thigh sliding between mine, and I— “Jesus, Skye,” I groan, burying my face in the pillow.

This is not normal. This is not professional. This is not sustainable. In fact, it’s mildly fucked up but add in that ex’s dad factor and it catapults into aJerry Springerstyle category.

But tonight cracked something open. Or maybe it magnified what was already there. He looked at me like I was dangerous. And I liked it.

I roll onto my back, kicking one foot out from under the sheets, trying to cool down. But all I can think about is how his gaze dropped to my thighs. How his voice had a sharp edge to it, like he was warning himself more than me.

I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know if I care. Because for a few stolen minutes tonight, I felt… wanted and desired. Not tolerated. Not pitied. Not compared to the girl I used to be. Justseen.

And it wasn’t some drunken frat boy or a guy swiping right for a hookup. It washim.The man who reads people like spreadsheets. The one who’s built a fortress around him for decades. And he wants me. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me out of my not-so-innocent fantasy spiral. I reach for it and see a text from Maya.

Maya:You get home okay?

Maya:Also, you were 100% correct, that dress is illegal. Pretty sure I watched a silver fox nearly have an aneurysm trying to hold himself back from devouring you tonight.

I snort and type back.

Me:I got home, changed into pajamas, and totally did not spend the last hour replaying a 90-second conversation with said silver fox.

Maya:Liar.