Page 63 of The Silver Fox Brother

Winter slides into the car, and I close the door behind her. Walk around to the other side, get in beside her. The drive back is quieter than the drive here.

She looks out the window, her profile silhouetted against the passing city. I can see her thinking—the slight furrow between her brows, the way she's turning my business card over in her hands without seeming to realize she's doing it.

I want to ask what she's thinking. Want to know which way she's leaning. Want to push for an answer right now, in this car, before she has time to talk herself out of it.

But I don't. Instead, I give her what she asked for: time to think.

"What are you thinking?" I ask finally, breaking the silence as we cross back into Midtown.

Winter turns her head, looks at me.

"That this is a significant decision."

"It is."

"I need to weigh all the factors."

"Take the time you need," I say.

"But I need an answer by Monday."

Her eyebrows go up slightly.

"Monday? That's four days."

"Plenty of time to make a business decision."

She studies me for a moment.

"Is that what this is? Just business?"

The question catches me off guard.

I hold her gaze. "What else would it be?"

Neither of us answers that.

The car pulls up in front of my building on Madison Avenue. Victor parks, gets out to open Winter's door.

Winter gathers her portfolio, my business card tucked inside it now.

"I can get a car from here."

"My driver will take you wherever you need to go."

"That's not necessary."

"Consider it professional courtesy."

She doesn't argue. Just nods, steps out of the car when Victor opens the door.

I follow her out, stand on the sidewalk. Summer afternoon, people passing on their way to wherever people go on Thursday afternoons in Manhattan.

"Thank you for coming today," I say.

"For considering this."

"Thank you for the opportunity." Professional. Formal. The walls are back up, the ones that came down slightly when we were standing in that sunlight thirty floors above the city.