"What are you doing?"

"I was enjoying a nice glass of whiskey and conversation with new friends," Dom said, gesturing to the door.

"No, I mean, what are you doing here, in New York. What is all of this, Dom?" she said, hands on her waist. The pendant on her necklace glittered with the sharp rise and fall of her chest.

Dom maintained his outward composure, even though his heart rate was going uphill. "It is exactly what it looks like: we were in the market for properties, and you and I both know Sophie is one of the best in this city. I am not all-seeing, I couldn't have predicted that you would be working for her," he said, smoothing the front of his suit. I could have asked a private eye to look into your current whereabouts, though.

Her arms fell to her sides, and for a moment she looked as if she couldn't decide what to say. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Did she want there to be more, or was she relieved there was no other reason Dom would come back into her life? "Okay," she said after a long pause. "Okay," she rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, I've been a bit on edge."

Because of me?

"And it looked like you were grilling Owen in there, so I got worried that you'd come here because of me, expecting..." she trailed off into a chortle like a car that wouldn't start. "Never mind. I am silly. Of course, you wouldn't," she said and met his eyes. There must have been something there that made her pause. "Dom?"

"Expecting what?"

Red blotches blossomed up her neck. She turned away and hugged her elbows. "I don't know," she waved her hand. "Forget I said anything. We should get back inside," she made towards the door as Dom took a step towards her. They were almost eye to eye.

"Expecting what?" he repeated, his heart pumping as if he were sprinting.

Clara's glittering eyes took on a sad quality. "I don't know. Maybe... maybe expecting to fix what we'd broken. But that's neither here nor there, and certainly in the past. We are both professionals, and I apologize for all of this, it was a gross misunderstanding, and it won't happen again."

"And what if you were right?" Dom said. He hated showing his cards, but he also didn't know when—or if—there would be another chance.

She took two deep, long breaths. Whether calming ones or trying not to hyperventilate, he couldn't tell. Finally, she cursed. "Damn it, Dom," she started pacing. "This is exactly what I was talking about. I don't know what you were expecting coming here, but I am with Owen, and I have a good life and I love working with Sophie and living in Manhattan and not being reminded of...." she motioned in his general direction. At a loss or whether she didn't want to say it out loud, she dropped her hand.

"Of me?"

"Not just of you." Her jaw clenched and unclenched several times.

"Then what?" Dom prompted, stepping even closer.

She looked up at him. "Of everything we had to leave behind," she said. The because of your family part went unspoken.

"Clara," he started towards her, and she withdrew just as quickly. Her reaction felt like a slap, but he'd gotten too far to forfeit now. "Clara, our parents have buried the hatchet. Don't you think it's time for us to do the same?"

She crossed an arm over her body, chewing her bottom lip.

"At the very least," he said, "consider that we will be working together for a while. Can't we try and leave the past where it belongs? Try to start fresh?"

She shuffled her feet, keeping her gaze on her sandals that sparkled like Aztec gold. How was she not cold? She must've been. Without a second's hesitation, Dom shrugged his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him in surprise, caught off-guard. He was close enough to inhale nothing but her scent. Not just the perfume, but her. His thoughts were turning into mush.

"I don't understand how I am supposed to forgive. I could never forget, but I don't think I can forgive either," she said so quietly it was almost a whisper. Her eyes shone with the beginning of unshed tears.

Dom clasped her hand in his, so delicate and soft. Some part of his brain registered there was no ring on it and thought, good, I still have time. He brushed his thumb against the back of her palm. "Forgive, Clara. Forgive me," he said.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how," she whispered.

He brushed a rogue tear that caught in her lash and left his palm there. Clara drew a sharp breath at the contact but did not move away. He had to fight the urge to kiss her with every atom in his body.

They stood there, suspended in time and space, looking at each other, their eyes saying a million things, the silence a million more. Dom dropped his palm, and it was as if he'd put a cannonball through the hull a ship. He certainly felt like gasping for air.

"How about truce over dinner?" he attempted a smile and held his breath. "Or just dinner. No strings, no expectations, just get to know each other, and we take it from there?"

Clara's eyes roamed the planes of his face as if tracing the contours to draw later. "I'm sorry, Dom. I just can't," she said and turned to go when the door opened. "Sophie!"

"Hey, I was wondering where you'd gone," said Sophie lightly, but her tone belied the way her eyes narrowed as she looked between the two of them.

"Yes, I apologize, I wanted to talk to Mr. Cole—"

"It's my fault," Dom interjected. "I had some questions about a potential expansion, and I hijacked Clara to talk somewhere quiet enough to hear my own voice," he said as he joined them.

"Oh, that's awesome," Sophie said, her pupils dilating. Dom practically heard the cha-ching go off in Sophie's head.

"I've invited Clara to continue the discussion tomorrow over dinner," he said, turning to Clara. "I have to be on a red-eye, but perhaps we can make it early and keep it short. I'll send the car at five?" He knew he'd be in trouble later for putting her on the spot with her boss like that, but he was happy to get yelled at if it meant she was still talking to him.

Clara pressed her lips into a thin line before answering. "Yes, sounds good."

Dom reached for the handle before she had a chance to change her mind, or worse: ask Sophie to join. "Splendid. Now I must bid you, ladies, good night. I feel a bit cankered, I think I shall head back to the hotel."

The door hadn't fully swung shut behind him when Sophie grabbed Clara's elbow and pulled her into a huddle. "What's going on?"

Clara frowned, still a bit dazed.

"Did he say something inappropriate to you? If he did, I will string him by his probably perfect British balls," Sophie said in her pocket-sized mamma-bear tone.

"No, no," Clara shook her head. "Nothing like that. I've got a headache, so I wasn't exactly on top of my game." It was mostly true. She was not ready to tell Sophie about Dominic yet. She wondered if she'd ever be ready.

"Okay," Sophie said with a grin. "In that case, try to get some rest tonight, stay hydrated tomorrow, and go snag us an expansion," she said, slapping Clara's butt.

Clara yelped in surprise. "Sophie!" She cleared her throat. "Let's not get our hopes up, we don't even know what he wants," she said. That part was a flat-out lie. Clara knew damn well what he wanted, and it had nothing to do with real estate in Manhattan. The only real estate Dominic was interested in was in her heart, and that was not for sale.

"Yes, yes, curb your optimism, will you?" Sophie said sardonically, halfway through the door. "Make sure you shave."

"What?" Clara yelped.

"It's a confidence thing," shrugged Sophie. "When you shave, you feel sexy. When you feel sexy, you are confident and make more money."

"Thank you, for that... philosophy of life."

"Oh, wipe that sour face. Think about the bonus," Sophie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows and disappeared inside.

Alone, at last, Clara slumped against the wall. "Crap. Crap. Crapity. Crap!" She banged her back of her head on the bricks.

Did I really just agree to dinner with Dominic Cole?

His scent lingered on the air around her, making it hard to breathe.

Belatedly, she realized his jacket was still around her shoulders.