Page 36 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

The one underneath it, the one I’m not examining, is that she is twenty-four years old and laughs with her whole face and walked into a conference room in black with red bottom shoes and glasses and I’ve had to rebuild my self-discipline from scratch every time she’s been in the same room since.

I want to fuck her.

I’m aware of how that sounds. I’m aware of every reason it’s a problem. She’s Sophia’s best friend. She works for me. She’s twenty-seven years younger than I am. I’ve been keeping this in a locked room in the back of my mind and not opening the door and tonight is not the night I open the door.

Tonight I have rounds to do.

I work the terrace the way I work every event, moving from conversation to conversation, present without being a fixture, asking the right questions and saying the right things and genuinely caring about none of it because I built this business to stand on its own and nights like this one confirm that it does.

I’m midway through a conversation with a couple from Lyon who’ve been coming to Thorne Estates for eleven years, when I feel it before I see it.

The particular weight of Evelyn’s presence entering a room.

She comes through the terrace doors with Monica and I excuse myself smoothly from the Lyon couple and intercept them before they can get into the crowd and start doing what Evelyn does at events, which is locate the most valuable conversations and insert herself into them.

“Evelyn. Monica.”

“Killian.” Evelyn tips her cheek toward me in the way that means I should kiss it, which I do, because we’ve been doing this dance for over two decades and the steps are automatic. “Beautiful evening. The terrace lighting is a vast improvement over last summer.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

“You should.” She accepts a glass from a passing server and looks across the terrace. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the Brooks girl.”

I keep my face exactly where it is. “Harper.”

“Yes. I think you should be careful, Killian. A young woman in that position, with access to your people and your events and your inner circle— I just wonder about her intentions. What do you actually know about her?”

“Enough,” I say.

“She turned up with Sophia out of nowhere⁠—”

“She’s Sophia’s closest friend of six years, Evelyn.”

Monica is looking across the terrace with the tight, controlled expression she’s worn since the night in Vine. “She’s certainly made herself comfortable with the men in your life,” she says. “Asher especially.”

I don’t respond to that.

Evelyn’s voice drops into the register she uses when she’s being reasonable. “I only mean that a girl like that, no real career, no stability, showing up at a billionaire’s vineyard in the south of France— one has to wonder what she’s actually looking for. And you’ve given her access to everything.”

“I hired a qualified events coordinator for the summer season,” I say. “That’s what I’ve given her. If you have concerns about the staffing decisions I make on my own property, I’d suggest bringing them to the board meeting where they belong.”

Evelyn opens her mouth.

Sophia’s voice cuts across the terrace. “Dad!”

She’s crossing toward us with Lorenzo a step behind her and she’s radiant in the way she gets when she’s had a good week and knows it’s going to keep being a good week. She reaches me and I fold her in, because I always do, and she presses a kiss to my cheek.

“The terrace looks incredible,” she says. “Mallory and Harper completely outdid themselves.”

“They did.” I pull back and look at her and feel the specific warmth that twenty-five years of this person hasn’t made ordinary. “You look beautiful.”

She waves a hand. “I know.”

Lorenzo extends his hand and I shake it and hold it a beat longer than necessary. “Lorenzo.”

“Señor Thorne.”

“I imagine at some point in the not too distant future you’ll want to speak to me privately about my daughter.” I say it pleasantly. “I want you to know I’m available for that conversation whenever you’re ready to have it.”