d told me that his brother was successful. But then, the whole Sinclair family was wealthy. I'd been so swept up in Carter I hadn't really paid too much attention to it. Quite frankly, I'd tried

ot to, it's no use fighting the urge. I'm disarmed under his deep, indigo gaze. "I didn't have anything to say to you-or Carter," I snap. It's crazy that Beck and Carter are brothers. They're complete opposites. Carter is tall, but the tone to his muscles weren't super defined like Beck's. He preferred running over lifting weights. Most of all, he preferred to golf eighteen holes with his elitist friends. Or fuck anyone that wasn't his actual girlfriend. He was probably getting a decent workout judging by the amount of people he was screwing a week that were not me. Did Beck know Carter wasn't faithful? It doesn't matter. Carter and I are done. I thought by never seeing Carter again I'd never see his brother, either. I'd certainly never expected to have to call him boss. Carter is tall, but Beck is taller. Where Carter has muscles from his rigid diet and obsession with cardio, Beck has more defined muscles everywhere. Underneath the sleeves of his tailored suit there are biceps that I'd dreamt to sketch one day. During that weekend with his family, I caught a glimpse of what he hides underneath his button-up shirt. His abs are the wet dream of any artist. Painter, sketch artist, sculptor-anyone would love to be front and center with his six-pack. Or is it an eight? He clears his throat. When I pull my gaze from the delicious veins of his hands, I find him smirking at me. "Are you done?" He's blunt, even if there is a tinge of amusement laced in his voice. I've been alone in this conference room with him only for a few moments, and the tension between us could already be cut with a knife. "Done with what?" "Eye fucking me." I almost fall out of my chair at the boldness of his words. "I wasn't-" A corner of his full lip twitches. "You totally were, Violet. Don't pretend like you weren't." My jaw snaps open and shut. Why is he using that name again? Why do I still love it? I have no freaking clue how to respond to him. Again, he's my new boss. Or at least I think he is. That's what Emma called him. Darla seemed to be under the same impression. I need to know how long he's been in charge. And why is he here? Most importantly, why is he staring at me like he wants to have his way with me? "My name's not Violet." He runs his thumb over his plump bottom lip. "I know." Shaking my head, I wonder if maybe I had more wine last night than I remember. Am I dreaming? This entire scenario can't be real. "I'm sorry," I begin, taking a deep breath. "I'm just wondering why you're here? I'm a little confused on what's happening..." Sighing, he pushes the chair far enough from the table that he can cross one leg over the other. His ankle rests on the opposite knee, his perfectly shined shoes catching the light from the windows. "You were ignoring my calls," he explains, seemingly annoye