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Skylar.
Christ almighty.
She's a vision in a deep blue dress that hugs every curve. Her dark hair cascades over one shoulder, and her striking eyes confidently scan the room. She's no longer the awkward teenager I remember, but a stunning woman who commands attention.
Including mine.
A jolt of electricity courses through me, catching me completely off guard. I shouldn't be looking at her like this. And yet, I can't tear my eyes away.
“Beautiful, isn't she?” George beams, oblivious to my internal struggle. “I can't believe my little girl's all grown up.”
I grunt in response, unable to form words. He rushes forward to embrace her, leaving me rooted to the spot, still reeling.
As Skylar gracefully works the room, a new worry gnaws at me. Her public profile as an influencer and art promoter, her connection to Apex Solutions through George—she's exposed, vulnerable. Could the Scarpettas see her as a pressure point? The thought makes my blood run cold.
I force myself to circulate, nodding mechanically as a Senator drones on about market trends. But my attention is constantly drawn to Skylar.
She laughs at something someone says, the sound carrying over the crowd. It's musical, carefree–and it hits me like a punch to the gut.
Suddenly, she's making her way toward me, and my heart rate spikes. So much for years of special ops training keeping me calm under pressure.
“Garrett,” she says, those blue eyes locking onto mine. “It's been far too long.”
I clear my throat, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. “Welcome home.”
Skylar's lips curve into a smirk. “Thanks. You haven't changed a bit, you know. Still brooding in corners at parties.”
I can't help the low chuckle that escapes me at the reference to our last meeting. “Some things never change.”
“And some things do,” Skylar counters, her gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin prickle with heat. “I'm not the kid you remember, Garrett.”
No shit. The thought races through my mind, followed quickly by guilt. This is George's daughter, for Christ's sake. My best friend's little girl. Off limits in every way that matters.
I clear my throat, searching for safer ground. “Congratulations on your graduation. I thought you were studying to become an artist. But you changed direction?”
She smiles. “That was the plan, but I discovered I have a knack for bringing people together, for seeing the big picture. It just clicked. So I started organizing shows instead.”
“Your father tells me you're making waves as an art promoter.”
Skylar's eyes glimmer with a playful, almost dangerous energy.“Small ripples for now. But I'm working on it. I've got a big exhibition coming up that could really launch my career. It’s art that’s going to push some boundaries, though.”
There's a slow, languid way she toys with the rim of her glass that tells me exactly the kind of boundaries she's talking about. Nothing safe. Nothing tame.
“What do you mean?” I ask, although I already suspect the answer.
She smirks, glancing up at me through her lashes. “Let's just say, it isn’t the type of gallery showing you bring your more conservative relatives to.”
Her lips curl with that deliberate teasing, the kind that tells me she knows exactly where my thoughts are going.
I keep my expression neutral, but my chest tightens. Whatever she's curating, it's going to stir more than intellectual debates. A high-profile event, Skylar in the spotlight–it's exactly the kind of vulnerability I've been worrying about.
But before I can voice my concerns, she continues. “I think you'll appreciate it. It challenges the typical notion of restraint and release.”
“Sounds interesting,” I manage, my voice steady despite the heat coursing through me.
“That's the idea.” She grins. “Art should challenge people, make them uncomfortable sometimes. Don't you think?”
I'm struck by the irony. Here she is, talking about making people uncomfortable, completely unaware of the turmoil she's causing in me.
