Page 33 of He Knows When You're Awake

I swallow hard, hating how needy my body feels... how desperate.

“Keep the necklace on,” he says as he turns to leave. “Think about what it means. What you want it to mean.”

At the doorway he pauses, looking back at me with an intensity that steals my breath. “And Sloane? If we do revisit this conversation—I can’t promise I’ll have the restraint to walk away. Remember that.”

The door closes behind him, leaving me alone with my reflection and a necklace that suddenly feels far heavier than before. My heart is racing, my body on fire with unfulfilled desire. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Cole Asher at this moment.

And he just walked away.

I drag a shaking hand through my hair, trying to understand what just happened. One minute we were on the verge of... something explosive. The next, he was gone, leaving me frustrated and confused.

But as my pulse slowly returns to normal, I realize what he did. He gave me space to think clearly. To consider what crossing that line would really mean.

I touch the necklace at my throat, feeling the cool metal warm against my skin.

Control. Surrender. Consequences.

Damn him for understanding my creation better than I do myself.

Chapter ThirteenCole

I’ve watched the studio footage so many times the time stamp is burned into my retinas. Not just replaying last night in my head—I’m not that far gone. Just the moments before. The way she looked at me when she realized what kind of piece she’d created. How her fingers traced those chains. The slight tremor in her hands when I asked her to put it on.

I should be reviewing the Q4 projections.

Instead, I’m remembering the shift that happened the moment we stepped into the penthouse. In Switzerland, there had been moments—the sleigh ride under the stars where I’d glimpsed the real Sloane. But the second we returned to New York, those walls came up. Professional. Distant. Polite.

I’ve seen her body language change whenever I enter the room—spine straightening, expression cooling, voice shifting to that carefully neutral tone. Even last night when we were working together, each time I moved too close, she’d find a reason to step away. Always maintaining that careful distance.

Until she didn’t.

Something had cracked in that moment with the necklace. I saw it in her eyes when our fingers brushed, felt it in the sudden catch of her breath. For a heartbeat, those walls came down.

The intercom buzzes. Knox.

“Your girl’s been in the studio since five a.m.”

“She’s not my—” I stop myself. I check the time—7:30. “Why didn’t you alert me earlier?”

“Because watching her dance to Mariah Carey while measuring silver powder is the most entertainment I’ve had on night shift in months.” A pause. “She’s on her third coffee. Probably needs intervention before she hits four.”

I pull up the studio feed. Sloane’s in silk pajamas, hair piled messily on top of her head, and she’s covered in metallic powder. Every surface she touches sparkles with metallic traces. The dancing has stopped, but she’s still humming—“All I Want for Christmas Is You” on endless repeat—while she measures something with intense concentration. I’ve memorized every detail of her workspace by now, but seeing it transformed by her chaos still gives me pause.

I check my watch, frowning. She should be working on the frost series bracelet by now, according to the schedule I’d laid out. Instead, she’s jumped ahead to the necklace components, completely disregarding the production timeline I’d carefully crafted.

“I’ll handle it,” I tell Knox, already standing.

Ten minutes later, I’m dressed in a charcoal cashmere sweater that fits exactly how I want it to—just tight enough to draw her attention without being obvious about it. My plan is to casually get coffee at exactly the same time—

“Oh shit!”

Sloane spins around, nearly dropping her empty mug. She’s even more of a mess up close—the metallic powder has gotten everywhere, in her hair, on her face, coating her hands. She looks like she rolled in stardust.

“I was just...” She waves the mug vaguely, leaving a sparkly print on its handle. “Coffee. Need coffee. Words better after coffee.”

I want to reach out and touch her, to see if the silver dust feelsas soft as it looks on her skin. But she’s tense now; her eyes keep darting to the cameras.

“If you’re wondering about...” She gestures to herself, shimmering particles cascading from her sleeve. “I’m trying this new technique with atomized metal. Don’t worry, it’s not toxic. It’s a specialized formulation with polymer coating that makes it safe to handle. The piece needed this specific texture, but it’s so fine it gets everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Pretty sure I’m going to be finding it in my hair until New Year’s.”