LUKE'S POINT OF VIEW
"What are you doing?"
My voice came out colder than I intended. I grabbed Sloan's wrist tightly, pulling her away from the table. With one firm motion, I pinned her lightly against the wooden wall of the private dining room. Her eyes didn't flinch. Instead, a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips—calculated, amused, dangerous.
Sloan didn't back down. "You didn't know?" she asked, her voice sweet but laced with venom. "Or are you just pretending you don't know what's happening here?"
My jaw tightened. "We talked about this. I said I'd take it slow. Odette's not like any other woman, Sloan. If we dump everything on her too quickly, she'll shut down. She won't believe it. She'll push it away."
"You're talking like we have all the time in the world." She scoffed. "We don't, Luke. We have three months. Three. And you're crawling like a damn snail with your moves."