Chapter 16
Chapter 16:
Miles studied her — not the way men usually did. Not as a woman, not as an ex-wife or a socialite. He looked at her the way one looks at a peer. At a weapon.
“Agreed,” he said. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to Project Phoenix p>
They worked for six hours without stopping. No small talk. Just science. It was the most present June had felt with another person in years.
“Lunch,” Miles announced at two o’clock. “You haven’t eaten p>
“I’m not hungry p>
“Your glucose levels affect your cognitive function. I need your brain at full capacity. We’re eating.” It was not a request. He guided her out of the building to a French bistro around the corner.
When the waiter arrived, Miles spoke before June could open her menu.
“We’ll have the grilled salmon. No black pepper, no chili flakes, sauce on the side. Steamed vegetables, soft. And warm water with lemon p>
June stared at him. “How did you p>
“I reviewed the medical files for my core team,” Miles said, smoothing his napkin. “You had abdominal surgery recently, and your history indicates a sensitivity to inflammatory foods.” He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “You should be resting, not revolutionizing cancer treatment p>
A lump formed quietly in June’s throat. Cole had not learned about her allergy to strawberries until their third year of marriage. Miles had known her dietary needs after a single day.
𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳і𝘦s 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗐𝗼𝗻’𝘁 p𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝘰w𝗇 оn
“I can’t rest,” June said softly. “Not yet p>
“Then eat,” Miles said.
After lunch, Miles insisted on driving her home.
“My car is here,” June said.
“You’re swaying on your feet, June. I’m driving you. You can collect your car tomorrow p>
He led her to a silver Aston Martin DB11 and opened the passenger door, his hand hovering near her head as she lowered herself into the seat.
As Miles rounded the car to the driver’s side, a flash went off from somewhere across the street. June caught it in the side mirror — a long lens, trained on them.
She did not care. Let them look.
Miles drove her to Steinway Tower and pulled up to the curb.
“Thank you, Dr. Prescott,” June said.
“Miles,” he corrected. He took her hand — did not shake it, but turned it over and pressed a quiet, unhurried kiss to her knuckle. “Get some sleep, June. That’s an order p>
Cole stepped out of the shower, a towel around his waist, and reached for his phone.
A message from Blair: Moved on fast, didn’t she? Nice car.
He opened the attached photo. High resolution. June stepping out of a silver Aston Martin, a man in a well-cut suit holding her hand and bending to kiss it. Handsome, distinguished, older.
Cole zoomed in on the car. Aston Martin.
“Who is he?” he muttered, his wet hair dripping onto the screen.
A wave of nausea moved through him. He had convinced himself that June was destitute by now. Struggling. That it was only a matter of time before she came back, quietly and with nothing. Instead, she was stepping out of supercars with men who looked as though they owned entire islands.