Page 88 of The Silver Fox Brother

This is it. Once I send this message, everything changes. I'm committing to the biggest project of my career, to working with Knox Sterling for the next six months, to a decision that will reshape my firm's future.

I press send before I can second-guess myself.

The message shows as delivered immediately. I set the phone down on the desk and take a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden rush of nerves coursing through me.

I wait.

One minute passes. Then two.

My phone buzzes.

I grab it so fast I nearly knock over my coffee mug.

The message on the screen is from Knox.

Knox: Monday. 9 AM. My office. We'll finalize everything then. Looking forward to working with you. - Knox

I read the message twice, my heart doing something complicated in my chest that I don't want to examine too closely.

It's professional. Appropriate. Exactly the kind of response I expected.

But something about seeing his name on my phone screen, about knowing that in three days I'll be sitting across from him again, makes my chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with nerves about the project.

I'm hurting. I'm broken. I'm devastated by what Rowan did and what it means for the life I thought I was building.

But I just made the best business decision of my career.

And despite everything else, that feels like winning.

Chapter Eight

Knox

The conference room is ready by eight-thirty. I've reviewed the contract three times since Friday, made Marcus verify every detail twice, and now I'm standing at the windows watching the city wake up while I wait for Winter Hayes to arrive. She accepted the project via text Friday night. Professional, concise, exactly what I'd expect from her.

Marcus appears in the doorway.

"Ms. Hayes is here."

I turn from the windows. "Send her in."

Thirty seconds later Winter walks into the conference room wearing a navy dress that hits just above her knees, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She's carrying a leather portfolio and looks completely composed.

"Good morning," she says, setting her portfolio on the conference table.

I cross the room. "Thank you for coming in."

We sit across from each other. I slide the contract toward her along with a folder containing the project specifications, timeline, and budget breakdown.

"Eight point five million dollar budget, six-month timeline from contract execution to final installation," I say, opening my copy.

"Full creative control within the parameters we discussed, with approval required on selections over fifty thousand dollars per item."

Winter opens the contract and begins reading. She doesn't skim. She actually reads, her finger tracking down the pages, her expression focused. After several minutes, she looks up.

"The timeline has penalties for delays beyond two weeks. I want that extended to three weeks given the custom fabrication required for the penthouse pieces."

I lean back slightly. "Three weeks is generous."