Page 136 of The Silver Fox Brother

Jake doesn't seem to notice. He picks up his wine glass.

"So, as I was saying, Miami last month was incredible. Have you been to Wynwood? The art district there is—"

I nod along, forcing myself to focus on his words, but I can feel Knox's gaze on me.

I steal a glance across the room.

Knox is seated with his back partially to the wall, the woman to his left, the man to his right. They're reviewing menus, the woman leaning in to say something to Knox, but his eyes aren't on her.

They're on me.

The intensity in his stare is palpable, almost physical. Like I can feel the weight of it pressing against my skin.

I look away quickly and refocus on Jake.

"The charcuterie board here is supposed to be amazing," Jake says, setting down his menu.

"Want to split it?"

"Sure."

He signals the waiter and orders. The conversation shifts to food, to favorite restaurants, to travel. But I'm barely tracking any of it.

My mind is racing. Knox is here. Watching me. With a woman who's leaning too close, laughing too easily, touching his arm like she has every right to.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling twists in my chest. Something sharp and unwelcome.

Jealousy.

I hate that I recognize it. Hate that I'm sitting here on a date with a perfectly nice man and all I can think about is Knox Sterling sitting twenty feet away.

Jake asks me another question about design trends and I manage to give a coherent answer, but my attention keeps drifting. I glance at Knox again. He's looking directly at me, not even pretending to focus on his dinner companions. The woman says something to him and he nods, responding without breaking his gaze.

My skin feels too warm. My pulse is erratic. Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of his presence. I've been trying so hard to be professional. To pretend nothing happened. To act like we can just move forward and work together without acknowledging what happened on that construction site. But my body doesn't care about professionalism. It reacts to him in ways I can't control.

The waiter brings the charcuterie board and Jake serves us both, talking about the different cheeses and where they're from. I eat without tasting anything.

Time drags. Every minute feels like ten. I steal one more glance at Knox. He's still staring, his jaw tight, his posture tense. The woman touches his arm again and something in his expression hardens.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jake signals for the check.

"This was great," he says, smiling warmly.

"I'd really like to do this again sometime."

"Sure. That would be nice."

The waiter brings the check and Jake handles it without hesitation, sliding his card into the folder. We stand to leave and Jake helps me with my coat, his hand lingering briefly on my shoulder. As we walk toward the exit, I can feel Knox's eyes tracking every step. The weight of his stare is almost suffocating.

I don't look back. Don't acknowledge him. Don't give any indication that I'm aware he's watching. We step outside into the cool evening air and Jake turns to me.

"Can I get you a car?" he asks.

"No, I'm fine. I'll grab a taxi."

"Alright." He leans in and kisses my cheek.

"I'll text you soon. Have a good night, Winter."