Talia didn't mean to pace.
But she was.
All around Ethan's penthouse, barefoot in her oversized hoodie, one hand gripping her phone, the other clutching a half-finished sketch.
Vanessa Hart.
She'd heard the name befor, on magazine covers, gossip sites, in whispers when Ethan's name was mentioned in fashion circles. But seeing her name flash across *his* phone? That was a punch to the gut she wasn't prepared for.
"I'm not jealous," Talia mumbled. "I'm just… cautious."
"You're talking to yourself again," came Ethan's voice, startling her.
Talia whipped around, pretending she hadn't been mid-rant. "Oh? I hadn't noticed."
Ethan raised a brow. He stepped inside, jacket tossed over his arm, hair slightly tousled from the wind. His presence, calm, intense, confident, always filled the room.
"You okay?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Peachy," she replied, too quickly.
He walked over, glanced at the sketch in her hand, then lifted her chin with two fingers.
"Talia."
