Page 131 of The Silver Fox Brother

But sitting here in the country club with Fletcher, eating lunch and drinking scotch, I already know the answer.

I want her again.

And that's a problem I have no idea how to solve.

***

The following week arrives and Monday comes with a full inbox and back-to-back calls. I'm on the phone with a developer in Boston discussing acquisition terms when Marcus appears in my doorway, waiting patiently for me to finish.

I wrap up the call and look at him.

"What do you need?"

"Confirming your business dinner Wednesday evening with the Richardson Group. 6:30pm at Per Se."

"Confirmed."

Marcus makes a note on his tablet.

"Also, the weekly team meeting is scheduled for late morning in the main conference room. Full staff attendance."

"I'll be there."

He leaves and I return to my calls. The next two hours pass in a blur of negotiations, contract reviews, and strategic planning discussions. By the time I finish my last call, it's nearly time for the team meeting.

I grab my notes and head to the main conference room. The room is already filling when I arrive. Department heads, project managers, senior staff—everyone settling into their seats around the long table.

And then I see her.

Winter is at the far end of the conference room, sitting between Tom and one of the junior architects. She's reviewing something on her tablet, completely focused.

Just the sight of her makes my chest tighten. I take my seat at the head of the table and Marcus begins distributing the agenda.

"Let's get started," I say, and the room settles into silence.

Tom presents first—construction updates on three active developments, timeline projections, contractor performance metrics. I listen, ask questions, make notes.

But my eyes keep drifting to Winter.

She's taking notes on her tablet, her expression professional and focused. Every time I glance in her direction, I catch myself noticing details I shouldn't notice. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The curve of her neck. The way her fingers move across the screen.

Fletcher presents next, updating on the Riverside project. Strong progress, no budget concerns, presale interest exceeding projections.

Winter looks up at one point and our eyes meet. Just for a second. Maybe two. Then she looks away. But it's enough to make my cock twitch in my pants. I force my attention back to Fletcher's presentation, but it's a losing battle. Every few minutes, my gaze drifts back to Winter. And more than once, I catch her looking at me too as the presentations continue. Marketing updates. Financial projections. Investor relations. Finally, Winter stands to present.

"Tribeca luxury residential project update," she says, and her voice is steady, professional, completely controlled.

She pulls up renderings on the screen at the front of the room. The two-bedroom unit, nearly complete. The three-bedroom, in final staging. The penthouse, moving into custom fabrication phase.

I watch her present with the same command and confidence I've seen since day one. She knows this project inside and out. Knows every material choice, every timeline milestone, every design decision. And all I can think about is the way she looked two nights ago with her dress pulled down and my hands on her body.

My cock is hard now, straining against my pants, and I'm grateful for the table hiding the evidence. Winter catches my eye again during her presentation. This time the look holds longer. There's something in her expression I can't quite read—awareness, maybe, or challenge.

I shift in my seat and force myself to focus on the renderings. She finishes presenting and sits down. The room is quiet for a moment before I speak.

"Thank you, Winter. Excellent work." I scan the rest of the table.

"Thank you all for the updates. Everything is progressing well across the board."