Page 81 of He Knows When You're Awake

Jasmine’s perfectly lined eyes narrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Delicate. Girly. Lacking edge.” She pauses deliberately. “Derivative.” Sloane takes a sip of champagne. “But you’ve seen the pieces on the models. I’d love your professional opinion on how they compare to your current collection. The one inspired by Van Cleef’s 1950s archive?”

I hide my smile behind my glass. The woman’s latest line is a blatant copy of the classic jeweler’s work, and everyone in the industry knows it.

“I see success hasn’t improved your attitude.” Jasmine’s voice has lost its fake warmth. “I hope you remember who gave you your first real experience in this business.”

“Of course.” Sloane’s smile is radiant. “Your company taught me everything I needed to know about what sells... and what deserves better.” Her eyes flick meaningfully to the models displaying her work. “Something original.”

I watch Jasmine’s face flush as she realizes she’s not dealing with the same young woman she once lorded over. My possessive pride wars with the urge to step in, to put this woman in her place. But Sloane doesn’t need my protection. Not anymore.

“Well.” Jasmine clutches her clutch tighter. “I suppose we’ll see how the market responds to your... unique perspective.” She turns to me, desperation making her bold. “Cole, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in discussing some investment opportunities in established brands?”

“Actually”—I keep my tone pleasant even as I shift closer to Sloane—“I’m exclusively focused on supporting genuine innovation in the industry. Speaking of which—Diana’s waving us over.” I touch Sloane’s back. “Jasmine, if you’ll excuse us.”

As we walk away, I lean down to murmur in Sloane’s ear. “That was impressive.”

“The part where I eviscerated my former boss or the part where I didn’t let you do it for me?”

“Both.” I press my lips to her temple, not caring who sees. “Though watching you destroy her while smiling was incredibly arousing.”

She laughs softly. “Down, boy. We still have a room full of much more important people to impress.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” And it isn’t. Because the woman beside me isn’t just wearing confidence like her jewelry—she’s earned it.

Chapter Thirty-OneSloane

My feet are killing me, but I’ve never felt more alive. Three hours of handshakes, subtle politics, and thinly veiled social warfare have left me exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. I catch Cole’s eye across a cluster of aging socialites who’ve been debating the merits of my spine necklace for twenty minutes, wondering if he’d notice if I kicked off these heels under my dress.

Probably. He notices everything.

I make my way to him, searching for a tactful way to suggest we leave without seeming ungrateful or overwhelmed. Maybe I could fake a headache? Though knowing Cole, he’d have a doctor here in ten minutes. Perhaps I could—

Cole’s entire demeanor shifts. The change is subtle—most wouldn’t notice—but I’ve learned to read him. His hand slides to my lower back, fingers pressing slightly harder than usual. His stance widens, angling his body partly in front of mine.

That’s when I see them. Three men in impeccable suits that somehow look wrong here, too sharp-edged for the polished wealth around us. They move through the crowd with practiced ease, but there’s nothing social about their approach.

“Ms. Whitmore.” The one in front smiles without warmth. “Quite a debut.”

Cole’s fingers flex against my back. His eyes are scanning theroom, and I follow his gaze just as it lands on Knox, who’s already moving toward us with controlled urgency.

“Cole... Julian sends his regards,” another one says, his accent vaguely Eastern European. “He wasn’t aware you hadanotherdesigner... for your line.”

My spine stiffens at his tone. Did Cole have another designer besides me at one point?

“To think,” the man continues. “Julian thought you were going to try to launch Claire’s designs this entire time. Instead you brought in”—he looks me up and down—“a body double.”

Cole remains quiet, but I can nearly feel the rage sizzling off his skin.

“I particularly admire that piece.” The first man gestures to my collar, his eyes lingering too long. “Is the line your design alone, Ms. Whitmore?”

“Why would you ask that?” I keep my voice steady, even as Cole’s hand tightens possessively at my waist.

Knox arrives just as the third man steps forward, speaking softly. “Julian just wanted to remind you that in this industry, the right connections are everything. And some connections”—his eyes flick to Cole, then back to me—“can become quite dangerous. For everyone involved.”

They melt back into the crowd before Cole can respond, leaving behind a chill that has nothing to do with the winter air outside. Knox moves closer, his expression grim.

“Time to go,” Cole says, and for once, I don’t argue about being protected.