Page 36

Ethan’s eyes flare as we stare at each other.

I can’t shake the feeling he’s trying to tell me something with his gaze.

But his message is in a foreign language, one I haven’t mastered.

Or have you? my mind whispers.

Debbie’s voice comes across the speakers.

“Sir, I just checked your calendar. Are you sure? Your guest this week is Michael Phel—”

“Have him come back another week.”

He hangs up the phone.

“Why are you meeting with Liam in the office? And did you just cancel a scheduled swim meet with one of the most decorated Olympians in history?” My voice sounds screechy.

What in the twilight zone is going on?

“But everyone says you’re a stickler to your schedules.”

Ethan grabs a notepad and a few pens from his desk and strides back to the table.

“Liam is taking care of an investigation for me.”

Ah.

The financial situation he mentioned before.

“And yes, I like my routines. Twenty laps in the pool each morning and ten additional laps with a professional on Wednesday afternoons to give me a boost to get through the rest of the week.”

He levels his stormy eyes at me.

This time, there’s a bit of warmth inside them, like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

“But I can’t have our intern failing, can I? And…I’m rooting for you, Lexy.”

My breath stalls at the fervency in his voice.

He swallows and continues, “I know I’m not an easy person to be around. I don’t say the right things. But I’m on your side. Always. ”

His words burrow deep inside of me.

It’s not a passing comment—he means it.

And this knowledge has my pulse scattering wildly in my veins.

“Well…thank you.” I curl a lock of hair behind my ear and touch my lucky hummingbird earrings, my fingers trembling.

Why am I so nervous?

I’m never nervous with the Andersons, not even with Maxwell, who’s the recluse of the family.

Why Ethan?

“You’re still wearing them.” His eyes darken.

“The earrings.”

“Y-Yeah. They feel special. I like them. You said they represented joy, positivity, resilience, and love, right?” That’s what he told me that day in the hospital.

“You remembered.” His fingers fiddle with his cuff link, a pleased smile on his face.

“You still don’t know how you got them?”

“The earrings?” Why are we still talking about the earrings?

I shake my head. “No. Still no clue.”

“I see.”

The warmth vanishes from his eyes.

A muscle twitches on his temple and he slides the cuff links from his shirt and places them on the table.

Then, he slowly rolls up his sleeves—inch by inch—revealing muscular, corded arms and a map of veins that writhe with each movement.

My mouth dries, my breasts feeling tingly.

I never knew I had a thing for arm porn.

I’m thrusted back into that night, which is not an alcohol induced illusion.

I bite my lip when suddenly he stops his movements.

“What are you staring at?” His voice is deeper.

Hoarse.

Is he remembering that night too?

My gaze flickers back to his, finding his eyes pinned on my mouth, and the room becomes ten degrees warmer.

My tongue dips out to wet my lips, and he strains a breath.

“N-Nothing.” I clear my throat.

“Before we start, I want to apologize.”

Ethan frowns .

“Back when I was in the hospital, I implied you were successful because of your last name. I was wrong.”

A ragged exhale escapes him.

“Where’s this coming from? Did you remember…something?”

I shake my head.

“Lana told me you worked your way up from the bottom. I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.”

Ethan rolls his lips inward, his shoulders slumping.

He looks crestfallen.

“Right, of course. Don’t worry about it. I already forgot what you said.”

Silence falls, but my pulse ratchets and my muscles tighten, like I want to jump into action.

To do what?

“Um. You were going to tutor me?”

“Come closer.” He motions to the paper in front of him.

“I can see just fine from over here.” In fact, I scoot farther away.

I don’t want to know how the proximity will impact me if my body is going haywire over him staring at me and flexing his forearms.

Something suspiciously sounding like a snort tumbles out of him.

Without warning, he reaches over and yanks my chair, hauling me within breathing distance of his towering frame.

Like I weigh nothing.

I shriek and cover my mouth, my pulse thundering in my ears when my nose is assaulted with the heady scent of leather and amber again.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach.

My core throbs and my nipples bead.

Traitorous body.

“You can’t see from over there.” He uncaps his pen and writes out an equation.

“Break even point equals fixed costs divided by an amount equal to room rate minus variable cost per guest. This is oversimplifying it, but you can use this formula to calculate the number of guests you’ll need to break even for a project. Then, using an average occupancy rate per month, you can project the time it’ll take to break even. ”

His voice is velvet, like he’s murmuring sweet nothings into my ear.

Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I fight the urge to rub against him like a cat.

Focus, Lexy. Focus.

I think I’m seeing a rare side of him—a side he hides from his family.

“Sounds confusing, huh?” He chuckles.

“It’s not that hard when you—”

“Hold on.” Something tugs at me, a whisper in the back of my mind.

I pick up a pen and diagram on the paper.

“Wait—this makes sense. I think. If I were building a house, I’d have fixed costs like labor or land, but as I lay bricks, those are variable costs. So, the question is, how many bricks I need for the house to stand on its own? Will that work?”

I don’t know what I’m saying, but I actually understand it, like my brain has figured it out before my conscious mind registers it.

“Huh.” I smile at the house I drew.

“It’s like a story. If I imagine the formula as a story, it makes so much sense. How did I come up with that?”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, his fingers tighten around the cuff links on the table, his mouth parting, nostrils flaring.

“Right,” he rasps. “Good job, Alexis. You’re exactly right.”

His smile is bittersweet.

Pained. Like I tore it from him.

I frown. “Are you okay, Mr. Anderson?” Calling him by his first name feels too…

intimate.

“Ethan.” He leans forward, raising his index finger toward my face before stopping himself.

His finger curls inward, and he drops his fist back on the table.

Leaning back, he exhales.

“Call me Ethan. Please. Don’t call me Mr. Anderson. I think we’re past that, right?”

My breath stalls.

Is he talking about the night that shall not be named?

“Ethan,” I whisper, spellbound by the passion in his voice.

He sounds like he’d die if I call him by his last name.

“Yes?” His gaze darkens, his eyes roving over me hungrily .

I swallow. “That night at the club.”

Ethan’s gaze shutters and his jaw works.

“It shouldn’t have happened. I was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

The air swooshes out of my lungs.

“Oh. Right. That’s what I was going to say.” I force out a smile.

“Forget it ever happened?” My chest tightens.

I should be happy, not disappointed.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

The door swings open.

A tall man with blond hair and a friendly smile strides in.

“I heard you were here with the intern.”

He extends his hand.

“Trey Donovan. VP of Finance. You must be Alexis.”

Wiping my hands on my skirt, I stand and shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you. Everyone’s been very helpful.”

“My door is always open, you know. I taught this guy,” he jabs his thumb toward a smirking Ethan, “everything he knows. And I’m much nicer.”

I grin.

Trey seems easygoing.

I bet the finance staff goes to him for questions instead of the brooding man sitting next to me.

Trey turns to Ethan.

“Anyway, Debbie told me you held your calls and canceled your swim meet. Thought I’d check in to see if I could help and get your dinner order while I’m at it. The usual turkey club? What about you, Alexis?”

“Uh, I just had lunch. I don’t think I’ll need dinner.”

“Because you’re normal. Unlike someone who eats dinner at five p.m. sharp every day.” He rolls his eyes.

“Ethan, need me to take over the training?”

“I got it.”

Trey cocks his brow.

“ Okay. And you want the turkey club? Why do I even ask?” He sighs and turns around.

“Actually, order a rib eye and a Pintzer from Carlisle’s for me,” Ethan murmurs.

“It’s been a long time. ”

Trey whips his head back, his eyes widening.

“A steak and beer? On a Wednesday? Who are you and what did you do with Ethan Anderson?”

Rib eye.

Carlisle. Pintzer.

The words jostle inside my brain.

Why am I so hung up on them?

Why. Why. Why. I’m so sick of having more whys and no answers.

Sharp jabs hit the base of my neck.

I hiss out a breath, cold sweat beading my forehead soon to follow.

Shit, another one of those headaches.

This time, it seems like it’ll be much more severe than before.

“Alexis, dinner’s on us. Take it home if you need to. The least we can do for you for putting up with this asshole.” Trey snickers.

The office lighting behind him flares and brightens.

I wince, the halo making me dizzy.

The jabbing morphs into brutal sawing and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“Alexis?”

“S-Sure. Uh. Anything Italian?”

Ethan murmurs, “Luigi’s then. It’s inside The Orchid too. Trey, get her a triple cheese lasagna. With gorgonzola crumbles on top.”

I freeze, his words temporarily distracting me from my burgeoning headache.

Between the honey lavender iced tea and the lasagna, he’s either a clairvoyant or he knows my tastes.

Did I know him in those four forgotten years?

Even so, it didn’t seem like we’d be close friends.

Liam and Charles certainly said nothing about that.

Trey repeats the order.

I interject, “No gorgonzola, please. I hate the taste of it now.”

They say personalities or tastes sometimes change after a traumatic brain injury.

I’m still learning who the new Alexis Vaughn is.

Ethan shifts next to me and I turn to him, finding those gray eyes roving over my face again.

This time, instead of tethered fire, I sense sadness again.

“No gorgonzola. Got it,” he whispers .

“Sounds good. Don’t work too hard.” Trey raps his knuckles on the door and the sound reignites my pain.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The office lights flicker and the room spins.

“Stop it!”

“Give it to me. You know you have it.”

“No!”

Bang.

Bang. Bang.

A white-hot spike drives into my skull, and this time, I’m unable to stop the cry ripping from my throat.

I clutch my ears, my head splitting apart.

A fresh wave of pain buries me, and I brace against the table, dry heaving.

“Please, let me go!”

More lights.

Screams. I can’t breathe.

Water. So much water.

“Alexis!” My name sounds muffled.

Like it’s coming from far away.

“Lexy!”

Someone shakes me, but I can’t respond.

My head feels like it has been sawed open and mutilated.

Water. I can’t get out.

Everything hurts.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images to go away.

“Lexy!”

The smell of leather and amber reaches my nose.

I rake in a greedy inhale.

Safety. The smell of safety.

Then I feel a wall of heat.

Firm muscles wrapping my trembling body.

The loud drumming of heartbeats, a rhythm seeming so reassuring and familiar.

“Lexy, I’m here. Don’t scare me. Please don’t scare me.”

Ethan.

The strange visions slowly fade, and with them, the sharp agony eventually dulls.

A tsunami retreating to the sea .

I heave out a deep breath, then another.

Gentle hands rub my back.

Ethan murmurs soft words under his breath and pulls me tighter against him.

Eventually, my senses recalibrate, my forehead damp with sweat.

I open my eyes, realizing Ethan has tucked me against his chest, cradling me like I’m precious, all the while whispering, “Shhhh…I got you. You’re safe. I got you.”

His hand circles my arm now and for one wild moment, I’m tempted to snuggle deeper into his warm body.

I feel safe. I am safe.

“Ethan?” I’m parched, and suddenly, a cup of water appears in front of me.

“Drink this.” Ethan tips my head back and our gazes lock as I take a sip.

Those startling gray orbs, the tiny striations reminding me of stars in the nighttime sky.

Stars.

I wince, an aftershock blitzing me.

His eyes widen with alarm.

He looks like he’s one second away from carrying me to the hospital.

“You okay? I can take you to the doctor’s.”

I shake my head, and the movement makes me seasick.

“No. I’m fine. It’s not the first time.”

“Does this happen a lot?” He eases me up and I wipe my damp forehead, the rest of the room slowly coming into focus.

A small crowd has gathered at the door.

Trey’s face is ashen, his eyes alarmed as he stares at me.

Debbie and a few other girls whisper to each other, their hands covering their mouths in obvious shock.

Shit.

“Sorry, I’m…I’ve had these weird visions, then there’s the headache—”

“Visions?” Ethan grabs my forearms, his voice urgent.

“W-What?” Why does he look like I’m the answer to his problems?

Another flash of pain and I whimper .

“Shit. Ignore me.” Ethan turns to the crowd, and barks out a command, “Guys, back to work! Nothing to see here.”

The group slowly disperses, except for Trey, who lingers behind.

“Alexis, take care of yourself.” Trey’s eyes hold mine for a beat before he looks at Ethan and strides away.

“You sure you don’t need me to call the doctor for you?”

“It’s probably the side effects from the meds, but I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, another headache radiates from my skull.

I squeeze my eyes shut and grab Ethan’s arm.

“Fuck. Alexis, please let me take you to the doctor.” His voice is tense, his fingers gripping mine as I ride through the pain.

I shake my head. “No. I-I’m fine. It’s going away.”

Sweat beads on my upper lip, but eventually, the sharp pain is nothing more than a dull ache.

My mind whirs as the events of the last few minutes come back to me.

Slowly, I open my eyes, finding Ethan’s dark gazed pinned on me, a muscle throbbing against his temple.

“Ethan,” I whisper, “are these visions memories? Why is the past so painful?”