Page 65 of He Knows When You're Awake

Now I check my watch while directing the last of the decorating crew. They’re efficient, I’ll give them that—in just under two hours they’ve transformed the dining room exactly as I’d specified. Crystal strands catch the light from thousands of tiny LED bulbs we’ve strung across the ceiling. The effect reminds me of ice forming on tree branches after a storm. White flowers cover every surface—lilies, roses, orchids—arranged in crystal vases that echo the pieces in Sloane’s collection.

“The temperature control is set,” my head of household staff confirms. “The flowers will stay fresh all evening.” She hands me the remote for the lighting system. “Will you need anything else, Mr. Asher?”

I’m about to dismiss her when I hear Sloane’s bedroom door open. “That’s all. Thank you.” The staff file out quietly through the service entrance as I turn toward the main hallway.

The sight of her stops me mid-motion. She’s wearing a white dress that seems to float around her, but it’s the collar that draws my attention—her newest creation sitting perfectly against her throat. The crystals catch the light as she moves, creating small flashes of brilliance against her skin.

Her steps falter when she sees the dining room. For a moment she just stands there, taking it all in—the lights, the flowers, the way everything sparkles. Then her face breaks into a smile that makes my chest tight.

“Cole...” She walks slowly into the room, reaching up to touch one of the crystal strands. “This is incredible.”

“I wanted it to complement your collection.” I move behind her, running my fingers along the collar. “Though this piece outshines everything else.”

She leans back against me, and I can feel her pulse quicken under the collar. “I still can’t believe you did all this.” Her fingers trail over the tablecloth where I’ve had dinner set up—fine China, crystal glasses, silver that catches the light from above.

“Dinner should be perfect—the chef’s preparing everything fresh.” I guide her to her chair, pulling it out for her. The sommelier I hired for the evening steps forward to pour the first wine, a rare vintage I’ve been saving. I watch Sloane’s face as she takes her first sip, the way her eyes close briefly in appreciation.

The first course arrives—a delicate creation of winter vegetables and fresh truffle that looks like frost patterns on glass. It’s theatrical without being pretentious, exactly what I’d specified. Sloane takes a bite and makes a small sound of pleasure that sends heat down my spine.

“Tell me about your day,” I say, partly because I want to know and partly because I love watching her talk when she’s excited about something. The collar shifts with each animated gesture, drawing my attention back to her throat.

“Well, Chloe nearly gave Knox an aneurysm,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “She kept trying to convince him to give her a full tour of the security setup.”

“I saw the footage. I particularly enjoyed when she tried to convince him she needed to inspect the roof for ‘marketing purposes.’”

“Of course you saw that.” She grins. “Do you just sit in your office watching security feeds all day?”

“Only the entertaining ones.” The chef appears with our second course—butter-poached lobster with champagne sauce. “Though I have to admit, your friend Hailey surprised me. She has good instincts.”

“About my designs?”

“About security. She noticed the camera blind spots within ten minutes of arriving. Knox was impressed.”

“Is that why he kept hovering around while giving her the security briefing?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You noticed that too?”

“Please. Even Chloe noticed, and she was too busy trying to sneak into restricted areas to notice much of anything.” She takes a bite of the lobster and closes her eyes. “Oh my god, this is incredible.”

“Thibeaux studied in Paris for fifteen years.” I watch her savor another bite. “But you’re changing the subject. Tell me more about what you’re working on with Hailey.”

She launches into an explanation of her latest designs, pausing only when the next course arrives—a small plate of perfectly seared scallops with winter citrus. Her enthusiasm is contagious. I find myself asking questions about the creative process, genuinely interested in how her mind works.

“You actually care about all this, don’t you?” she asks suddenly.

“Of course I do. Why do you sound surprised?”

“Most people’s eyes glaze over after about thirty seconds ofjewelry talk. Even my family starts checking their phones when I get going.”

“I’m not most people.” I signal for more wine. “Besides, I like watching you talk about things you’re passionate about. You get this look in your eyes...”

“What look?”

“Like you’re seeing something no one else can see yet. It’s...” I search for the right word. “Compelling.”

A slight blush colors her cheeks. “Now you’re just trying to charm me.”

“Is it working?”