Page 41 of He Knows When You're Awake

“There’s always a choice, Sloane.” His hand slides to my lower back, the pressure firm and possessive. “You just made the right one. Ready to see where I’m taking you?”

He leads me down a narrow staircase I didn’t even know existed. The temperature drops as we descend. At the bottom of the stairs, a wine cellar stretches before us. Antique crystal sconces cast intimate light across walls lined with vintage bottles. A heavy wooden table dominates what looks like a tasting area, its surface reflecting the warm glow from above. The space feels both opulent and intimate, like a secret tucked away beneath the bustle of the city.

“Where are we?” I ask, taking in the rows of bottles that seem to stretch endlessly into the shadows.

“My private collection.” Cole’s voice is different down here—softer but somehow more intense. “Welcome to my favorite room in the building.” He moves through the space with easy familiarity, trailing his fingers along bottle labels, at home among the vintage wines in a way I haven’t seen him anywhere else.

“This Bordeaux,” he says, selecting one, “took three years to acquire. The owner refused to sell until I convinced him I’d appreciate it properly.” He glances at me. “I can be very persuasive when I want something.”

“Three years for one bottle?” I glance at him, remembering how skillfully he’d negotiated our own deal. “I can believe it. I’ve seen your powers of persuasion firsthand.”

His eyes darken at that. “Have you?”

“Though I’m curious what methods you used on the wine seller.”

“Some secrets I need to keep.” He runs a finger along the bottle’s label. “For now.”

He pours the wine with the precision of a man who’s done this a thousand times before. Every movement becomes deliberate, practiced. His fingers brush mine when he hands me the glass. His body shifts closer as he explains the vintage, using words I’ve only heard on cooking shows. His eyes follow my lips as I taste it.

A bottle on the far wall catches my attention—one he mentioned earlier. I step closer to examine it, my fingers hovering nearthe label without quite touching. My hands feel clumsy, my movements too big for this delicate space. The wine in my glass sloshes dangerously close to the rim with each breath, and I find myself overthinking every small motion. Which of course is exactly when disaster strikes.

The wineglass slips. Time seems to slow as I watch it fall, my brain helpfully supplying a montage of every clumsy moment I’ve ever had. The crash when it hits the floor makes me jump.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, mortified. “The wine—I can’t believe I just—” I look at the spreading puddle of red against stone. “I need something to clean this up. Where’s the—”

He catches my wrist as I start looking around. His thumb traces circles against my pulse point. “Sloane.”

I try to pull away. “No, really, if we hurry we can save the—”

Cole releases my wrist, picks up his own glass, and deliberately lets it fall. The crash echoes through the cellar.

My jaw drops.

Has the man lost his mind?

But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, the casual display of destruction just to prove a point.

“Stop apologizing.” His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer. “Stop trying to be perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then trail down my neck. “You’re more interesting when you’re not.”

I reach for him. “It’s just... I’m sorry, I should be more—”

“What did I say about apologizing?” His voice has an edge that makes my skin tingle. He tilts my chin up. “Unless, of course, your goal for the night is to do exactly that...please me.” He studies my face. “Is that what you’re doing, Sloane?”

I meet his eyes. Everything else falls away—the broken glass, my nerves, all my earlier doubts. There’s only this moment, this man, and the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once.

A knock breaks through the tension. We both turn toward the stairs.

“Mr. Asher?” A staff member calls down. “Dinner is ready to be served.”

“Shall we eat?” His voice is rough. “I had them set up down here. No cameras.”

I nod, trying to steady my breathing as he leads me to where covered dishes await us on the far end of the table.

“I thought we deserved a proper meal after both working all day.” He pulls out my chair. “And I need to make sure you actually take the time to stop and eat.” The way he says it is both teasing and protective, like he’s already learned this about me.

Cole lifts the silver covers from our plates, revealing perfectly seared steaks with roasted vegetables.

“So this is how you impress all your business partners?” I pick up my fork. “Private wine cellars and intimate dinners?”