Page 34 of The Snowflake Effect

“Okay,” I say. “Let the dating begin.”

CHAPTER 14

KOLTON

A stack of sketches lands on my desk, and I roll my eyes, wishing for the millionth time we hadn’t set up shop in this old warehouse. I’d kill for actual walls, even one of those life-sucking cubicles. But we swore when starting this business we wouldn’t become corporate slaves wearing suits and ties in a fancy office.

Sawyer plants both palms on my desk, and I look up. “Can I help you?”

Before he answers, the intercom on my desk buzzes—the fucking intercom in this wall-less warehouse. The only things in this space are racks of sample clothing, plus our three desks: mine, Sawyer’s, and my assistant, Stella’s.

Her desk is close enough to speak to me without the intercom.

“Sawyer’s here to see you,” Stella says into the stupid communication device, sending her high-pitched voice through the space in stereo, then grins at me from a foot away. Her pink glasses and pinker hair are so glaring I have to blink.

I hit the button on my intercom and lean my lips so close they’re nearly touching it. “Send him in.”

She drops her head to her mouthpiece, too. “Sure thing, boss.”

She cackles as I curse Nico’s office-warming gift. I would’ve tossed it if he hadn’t threatened to stick me in jail. Every time he visits, he checks that his precious intercoms are connected.

I slump in my chair and grip the armrests. “That never gets old.”

Sawyer shakes his head at my sarcasm. “Never. You think Nico would notice if we chucked them?”

“Notice?” I cock an eyebrow. “Last time he was here, he played an imaginary spy game with Jackson. The two of them hid under the desks intercomming each other. We’re fucked. Forever.”

My intercom crackles with static. “To be fucked you’d have to be getting action.”

We both glare at Stella. She retaliates with a wink.

Maybe I can hang curtains from the ceiling.

Sawyer swings back to me. “Speaking of Goliath, you heard from him lately? I feel for the dude.”

“We talked the other day. He’s driving himself mad over this mess with Josh. If he spends any more time at the jail or doing his own detective work, the guy’s gonna implode.”

Sawyer grunts. I grunt. A moment of silence passes, then Sawyer says, “Anyway, Lily and I have been brainstorming, and I think you’ll dig what we’ve come up with.”

He sits on the corner of my desk, arms folded, while I grab his sketches and flip through them. “I assume Lily drew these.”

Sawyer nods, not that I need the confirmation. Each sketch centers on a hardcore woman with straight black hair and thick bangs or a wild beauty with a mass of curls. Brown curls. Eyes so large they’re cartoonlike. Lips so full you could kiss them for days.

Shay.

It’s been two months, and I think about her more, fantasize more. Imagine how she’d look without the layers of clothes that were always between us.

Terminator Shay.

“They’re good, huh?” Sawyer grins, smug as usual.

I blink and focus on the sharp lines and asymmetrical cuts coming to life on the page. I glance up from the sketch. “You know they are.”

“I’m telling you, Lily has her pulse on what women want. What’s fresh. We’re gonna kill it this season. The timing is perfect with the expansion.” He picks up a couple of sketches, beaming while he studies the designs.

I push the sketches around, my fingers settling on one of Shay in a vibrant green jacket, bold black lines breaking the color into intricate patterns up her sides. Something about the hard lines reminds me of her sketchbook—the edgy images I remember each time I turn down another design firm for our Toronto expansion.

I rest my hand on the curve of her cheek and tap my fingers once, twice. A third time.