Willow Winters

The little spark of an idea invites an asymmetrical grin to play at my lips. A mere instant later, the plan is fully plotted out in my mind—a way to use the information I’ve gleaned before our meeting and maximize the resource I’ve been gifted in the beautiful and surprising Miss Raven Hill.

There’s a reason Evan’s one of the best at making enemies in this industry. And you know what they say, the enemy of my enemy is… well, I’d take Raven as more than just my friend

She stands to greet me, stretching out her hand. I expect her skin to be cold, or maybe clammy, after the emotional upheaval, but it’s simply warm in mine as we shake professionally. Her touch, though… is like fire. My heart races, and heat surges through me as I release her and unbutton my jacket.

“May I sit?” I ask wryly, and Raven blinks and smiles while tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her smile is even more enchanting, and as I take my seat, I can feel myself falling under her spell. “Tell me about yourself. Not what I can read on your resume, but tell me about you.” I should mean professionally. I absolutely mean personally… intimately.

Raven considers me, her gaze searching my face. I can clearly see the pain and sadness in her eyes as she understands the unsaid truth. She can’t work for me. Not after a relationship with Evan Faulkner. As beautiful as she is, I’m not that rash. Or stupid.

"I don’t have the job at Sharpe.” It’s not a question, but rather a blunt statement of the facts as she sees them.