Chapter 14: YOUR AN ARTIST?

         Alan stood behind me, his expression stable. Droplets of water clung to his skin—he had just come out of the shower, once again half-naked.

Heat rushed to my face as I quickly turned away. "I-I'm sorry."

My grip tightened around the tray. "I wasn't snooping," I added hastily, gesturing toward the food. "I brought your breakfast, but the door was already slightly open."

"And you forgot to knock?" His voice was cool, edged.

I stayed silent.

He let out a low chuckle. "You don't have to turn around. Haven't you seen a half-naked man before?"

Of course, I had—your brother—and you!!!

"Face me."

I swallowed, hesitating before slowly turning back around. My gaze stayed fixed on the tray as I extended it toward him.

"Your breakfast."

His gaze flicked to the tray, uninterested. "Put it anywhere."

I exhaled sharply, setting it down on the table. But as I turned back to him, the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

"I didn't know you were an artist."

For a second, his face was blank. Then his jaw tightened, his entire posture shifting.

"Of course you didn't," he said, voice sharp. "You're not supposed to."

His tone hit me like a slap. Cold. Distant.

I blinked at him. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I did something wrong." I frowned, searching his face. "Like you're trying to push me away."

His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smirk. More like a forced, humorless stretch. "You're imagining things, Samantha."

But I wasn't. I could feel it.

And Samantha? I hardly hear him call me that.

Something had changed between us overnight, and I didn't know why.

A thick silence settled between us. Alan turned away, grabbing a towel and running it through his damp hair, acting like I wasn't even there.

I lingered, shifting on my feet. "Did I do something wrong?"

He didn't answer. Just kept drying his hair, his movements sharp, deliberate.

I swallowed. "Alan."

His shoulders tensed slightly at his name, but he didn't turn around.

"You're acting different," I pushed, my voice quieter now. "I don't understand—"

"There's nothing to understand," he said flatly. "You brought the food. You can go.

I stared at his back, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. I should have left. Should have turned around and walked out like he clearly wanted.

But then he let out a sharp exhale, running a hand through his damp hair. "You're acting like we're familiar with each other. We've known each other for less than three days, and you're already being too pushy."

Something inside me cracked.

Pushy?

The word stung, piercing straight through me like a blade.

I felt my face heat—not from embarrassment, but from something sharper, something closer to anger.

A bitter laugh slipped past my lips before I could stop it. "Right. I'm the pushy one?" My voice wavered, but I didn't back down. "That's rich, coming from you."

His head turned slightly, like he hadn't expected me to fight back.

"You're the one who keeps—" I sucked in a shaky breath, shaking my head. "You flirt with me every time you see me. You look at me like—like you know exactly what you're doing to me. You—” My voice caught, my chest rising and falling unevenly.

"You make my heart race, Alan, and I don't even know why, yes we have known each other less than three days and had very few conversations but you have made it feel like more than a week and longer conversations."

The words hung between us, too raw, too real.

His shoulders went rigid.

I swallowed hard, suddenly realizing what I had just said—what I had just admitted.

Oh God.

I felt the blood drain from my face. My own words echoed in my head, slamming into me with the force of a storm.

Alan finally turned around, his expression surprised, his mouth slightly parted—stunned maybe, but I couldn't tell.

"I-" I sucked in a breath, shaking my head quickly. "I'm sorry. Th...that just... came out."

His eyes searched mine, but I didn't wait for a response.

Before he could say anything, before I could embarrass myself any further, I took a shaky step back.

"Enjoy your breakfast," I mumbled, then turned and hurried out the door.

I didn't look back.

But even as I walked away, I felt his eyes on me. And I knew he was thinking about it just as much as I was.

I barely remembered making it back to the kitchen. My heart was still pounding, the words I had just blurted out to Alan replaying in my head like a humiliating echo.

You make my heart race, Alan.

I groaned, pressing my hands against my burning face. What was wrong with me? Why did I say that?

The kitchen was quiet, like the whole house was holding its breath, waiting for me to process what just happened. I exhaled shakily and moved to the counter, my eyes falling on my untouched plate of food.

It had gone cold.

Great.

As if I wasn't already miserable enough.

Sighing, I grabbed the plate and placed it in the microwave, punching in a time before leaning against the counter, arms crossed. I needed to pull myself together.

This wasn't me.

I didn't just go around confessing ridiculous things to men I barely knew—especially not ones who were clearly trying to push me away for reasons unknown to me.

The microwave beeped, snapping me out of my thoughts. I grabbed the plate, setting it back on the counter before sinking into the chair.

But as I picked up my fork, my appetite was nowhere to be found.

All I could think about was Alan.

His reaction.

The way he had turned to me, shocked, as if he never expected me to say what I had said.

The way his eyes had lingered on me as I left.

I shook my head and stabbed at my food, forcing myself to take a bite. I had to stop thinking about him.

But as I chewed, my thoughts betrayed me again.

Because now, I wasn't just thinking about Alan.

I was thinking about Blake, too.

About the way his voice had softened when he asked about my writing. The way he had cupped my face when he noticed my lips. The way he had looked at me with concern, not as his employee, but as something else—something I didn't have the words for yet.

A humorless laugh slipped out of me as I rested my forehead against my hand.

What was happening to me?

And more importantly—

What was happening with them?

I pushed my plate away with a sigh, my appetite completely gone. My body was here, but my mind? It was still stuck in that room with Alan. In Blake's office. In all the moments between them that I couldn't explain.

I needed a distraction.

Something—anything to keep me from spiraling into thoughts I shouldn't be having.

Cleaning.

That always helped.

I stood up, grabbing my plate and rinsing it under the sink. As the warm water ran over my hands, I let my mind drift to safer things—like the way the sunlight filtered into the kitchen, or the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

But it didn't last long.

Because just as I was drying my hands, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

I stiffened.

Nadia was still out, and Blake had said he wouldn't be around. Which meant—

Alan—again.

I wasn't ready to face him again. Not after what I had just blurted out like an idiot.

But when I turned, I froze.

It wasn't Alan standing there.

Standing before me was a woman—petite, with wavy brunette hair cascading over her bare brown shoulders, and striking black eyes that locked onto mine with a mix of curiosity and surprise.

She looked effortlessly elegant in a fitted beige coat draped over a deep emerald blouse, dark jeans hugging her frame in a way that made her look both casual and refined, bringing out her dark skin.

I barely had a second to process my surprise before she spoke.

"Who are you?"

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