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Then my concentration slips—and that woman appears in my head with no invitation whatsoever.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the closed laptop in front of me. I can still picture the cream dress she wore when I first saw her in the library. It followed the shape of her body without looking as if it had been chosen to attract attention, which somehow made it worse. She’s around five foot seven, tall enough that the heels only emphasized the length of her legs. Dark, wavy hair had been pinned loosely at the back of her neck, leaving a few strands near her face.

Then there are her eyes: Blue. Clear enough that I noticed them before I had any reason to be looking that closely.

My attention had gone lower after that. To her mouth. The curve of her waist. The full weight of her breasts beneath the dress.

I remember the way she leaned over the table when she was working and how quickly I had to drag my attention back to whatever she was saying before I made my interest obvious.

That irritates me more than the attraction itself. I don’t lose track of conversations because a woman is attractive. Yet I remember exactly how she smelled when I stepped close enough to shake her hand. Something faintly floral, but cleaner than perfume usually is. It could have been her shampoo. It could have been something on her skin. I’m not entirely sure, which is probably why my mind keeps returning to it. I rub my thumb once along the edge of the folder beside me.

Her confidence was also part of the problem. She didn’t become nervous when I challenged her. She didn’t soften her answer because of my name, and she didn’t overplay the disagreement simply to prove she wasn’t intimidated. She explained why she thought I was wrong, looked me directly in the eye, and waited for the evidence to settle the matter.

Then it did.

I should be thinking about the New York call in twenty minutes. Instead, I’m remembering how her lips moved when she said reliability didn’t make the ledger infallible.

My cock responds before I have any interest in encouraging it. I shift in the chair and exhale slowly through my nose, annoyed by how immediate the reaction is.

This isn’t complicated. I find her attractive—I’ve found plenty of women attractive—but none of them has followed me out of a library and into a business meeting three days later without actually being present.

I reach for my phone when it vibrates against the table. Sebastian’s name appears on the screen. For half a second, I consider ignoring him. Then I answer.

“What?” I say.

Sebastian laughs immediately.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

I stand and button my jacket with one hand as I walk toward the windows.

“What do you want, Sebastian?”

“Lunch,” he replies.

“Unless Kensington Holdings collapses if you leave your desk for forty minutes.”

I look out across the grey London afternoon, already aware that my brother is going to be irritating before he even arrives.

“Come up,” I tell him.

“I’m downstairs.”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because making you answer seemed more entertaining.”

I end the call before he can say anything else. The screen goes dark in my hand.

Sebastian arrives ten minutes later carrying two takeaway containers and the expression of a man who already expects to irritate me. He drops one container onto the edge of my desk and takes the chair opposite mine.

“You’re welcome,” Sebastian says.

I glance at the container. “I didn’t ask you to bring lunch.”

“You also didn’t ask me to save you from another afternoon of coffee and bad decisions,” he replies as he opens his own container.

I sit and pull mine closer. “What is it?”