Page 49 of The Silver Fox Brother

"The meeting will be at Mr. Sterling's office on Madison Avenue. I'll send you the address."

I write it down, my handwriting steadier than I feel.

"Got it."

"Perfect. Mr. Sterling is looking forward to meeting with you, Ms. Hayes."

"Thank you."

I hang up. The phone sits on my desk. I stare at it, waiting for my brain to process what just happened. I lean back in my chair, looking at the note I just wrote. Madison Avenue. Thursday, 2 PM.

This is Rowan's brother. The family rift isn't some minor disagreement—it's a decade-old fracture that nobody talks about but everyone feels. I've done projects for Sterling Commercial, worked with Rowan's family's business. Knox knows that. He has to know that.

And he still reached out.

Why?

The question sits there, unanswered. I don't know enoughabout Knox to guess. He's a name I hear at family gatherings, a presence that's always conspicuously absent. Diane mentions him carefully. Conrad doesn't mention him at all. Rowan's voice goes tight when the subject comes up.

But I know his reputation. Everyone in the industry does. Sterling Luxury Developments is one of the top firms in Manhattan. Knox builds with the kind of precision and vision that gets written about, that changes skylines. Whatever he's working on, it's not small.

The curiosity gnaws at me—taboo, unwelcome, impossible to ignore.

I should call Rowan. Right now. Tell him what just happened before this becomes something I'm hiding.

But I already know how that conversation goes. He'll ask why Knox reached out. He'll want details I don't have. He'll make it about family loyalty, about sides, about complications that have nothing to do with my work.

And I don't even know what the project is yet.

I pull out my phone, open my calendar, add the entry. Thursday, 2 PM. Knox Sterling's office.

I stare at it. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll find out what this is about. Then I'll have actual information. Then I can talk to Rowan with facts instead of speculation.

That's reasonable. That's professional. (That's also avoiding the conversation I know I should have tonight, but I'm choosing not to examine that too closely right now.)

Maya returns to her desk, drops her bag, glances towardmy office. I must look normal enough because she just waves and goes back to her computer.

I turn back to the lighting specs on my screen, but my mind isn't on the Williamsburg loft anymore—it's on tomorrow, and what it will bring.

ChapterFive

Knox

At 1:47 PM on Thursday afternoon, I'm standing at my office windows looking at Manhattan spread below, and I'm not thinking about the city.

I'm thinking about the fact that in thirteen minutes, Winter Hayes will walk through my door.

The Sterling Tower presentation folder sits on my desk—architectural renderings, floor plans, market analysis, budget projections. I've reviewed it three times this morning. Everything is in order. This should be straightforward: present project, discuss scope and timeline, gauge interest, negotiate terms.

Except my jaw is tight, and I've checked my watch four times in the past ten minutes.

I treat billion-dollar investor meetings with less internal tension than this.

The summer afternoon light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the conference tableI had Marcus set up with the larger renderings. Everything is staged precisely. Professional. Controlled.

I turn away from the window, adjust my tie—a habit I don't usually have—and force myself to sit at my desk. Pull up emails I'm not actually reading.

At 1:52, Marcus appears in my doorway.