Chapter 54
Rowan's POV
I didn't go home.
Left Colin's place around five, told Jack to drop me at that quiet bar on Ninth Street—the one with the good whiskey and bartenders who know when to keep their mouths shut.
"Just here, sir?" Jack asked, glancing at the nondescript entrance.
"Yeah. I'll call when I need you."
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Three drinks in, I had to laugh.
Actually laugh, sitting there alone in a leather booth like some kind of pathetic cliché. The whiskey burned pleasantly on the way down, but it didn't do much for the absurdity of the situation.
Running away from your own house. Hiding from your own wife at a lakeside retreat like a fucking teenager.
I signaled the bartender for another pour.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I knocked back the fourth glass faster than I should have.
Two years. Two years of a clean business arrangement. That's what I'd told myself when we signed. That's what I'd kept telling myself every time I walked past her closed bedroom door, every time I caught myself watching her across a conference table, every time I woke up alone and wondered what she was doing down the hall.
Just a contract. Just an arrangement. Mutually beneficial. No complications.
Except now it was ending, and I was hiding in a bar like a coward.
The bartender materialized with another pour. I didn't remember ordering it, but I didn't wave him off either.
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By the time I pulled out my phone, the room had acquired a pleasant, fuzzy quality around the edges. Not drunk—I knew drunk, and this wasn't it. Just... loose enough that the knot in my chest had finally started to unravel.
I stared at Jack's contact for a long moment.
Then I called him.
"Sir?" His voice was professionally neutral, but I caught the note of caution underneath. Probably wondering why I was calling from a bar at nine PM.
"Come get me."
"Of course. I'll be there in fifteen minutes—"
"No." I cut him off, the word coming out rougher than I intended. "Call Lena. Tell her to come."
Dead silence on the other end.
I could practically hear him choosing his words carefully. "Sir, I don't think that's necessary. I can drive you home myself, there's no need to bother Mrs. Reynolds at this hour—"
"Call her." My voice dropped lower. "Now."
"I really think—"
"Jack." I leaned back against the booth, eyes half-closed. "Are you complaining about your monthly bonus?"
The pause was almost comical. Then: "No, sir."
"Good. Because if it's too high, I'm happy to adjust it downward. Make the call."
"Right away, sir."
He hung up before I could say anything else.
I set my phone down on the table, staring at the dark screen.
This is stupid. You're being stupid.
But I didn't call him back.
Two minutes later, my phone buzzed. A text from Jack: [Mrs. Reynolds is on her way. I'll wait nearby until she arrives.]
I read it twice, then set the phone face-down on the table.
The bartender came over with the bottle. I waved him off this time.
"Just the check."
He nodded and disappeared.
---
Lena's POV
The call came at nine-fifteen.
I was organizing the final case files for Eleanor's lawsuit when my phone buzzed.
Jack's name flashed on the screen.
I frowned. Jack never called me directly unless it was urgent. My first thought was something had happened with the company.
"Jack?"
"Mrs. Reynolds." His voice was carefully professional, but there was something underneath it. Strain, maybe. "I apologize for disturbing you this evening."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, exactly. I have an urgent matter I need to attend to, and I was hoping you might be able to pick up Mr. Reynolds."
I sat up straighter. "Pick him up? I thought he was still out of town."
"He returned this afternoon." A pause. "He's at a bar on Ninth Street. The location's not ideal for a car service, and I'm currently dealing with a situation that requires immediate attention."
A bar.
I glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen on a Tuesday night.
"Is he..." I started, then stopped. Rephrased. "Does he need a ride home?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Another pause. Then Jack added, in a tone that suggested he was choosing his words very carefully: "He specifically requested that you come."
That stopped me.
Rowan had requested I come get him. Not just agreed to it. Requested it.
"I see."
My mind was already moving, calculating. When did he get back? Why was he drinking alone at a bar the night before our contract expired? Was this some kind of business meeting gone wrong?
Does it matter?
"Text me the address," I said. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."
He hung up before I could ask any more questions.
I sat there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at nothing in particular.
This is probably the last time, I thought. The last time he'll call me in the middle of the night. The last time I'll drop everything to go get him.
Tomorrow, the contract would expire. We'd sign the termination paperwork—assuming he was sober enough—and that would be it. Two years, reduced to a stack of legal documents and a polite handshake.
So go, I told myself. One more time. You can do this one more time.
I changed quickly—dark jeans, a cream sweater, my most comfortable flats. Nothing fancy. Just functional.
On my way out, I paused in the hallway and dialed Martha.
She answered on the second ring. "Yes, Mrs. Grant?"
"I'm going out for a bit. Could you prepare some soup? Something light."
A pause. Martha had worked for the Reynolds family long enough to read between the lines.
"Of course. Will Mr. Reynolds need it?"
"Yes."
"I'll have everything ready."
"Thank you, Martha."
I hung up and headed for the garage.
The drive took eighteen minutes. Tuesday night traffic was light, and I knew the route to downtown by heart.
Jack's text had included the exact address: a discreet bar tucked between a law office and an accounting firm. The kind of place that catered to businessmen who wanted good whiskey and no interruptions.
I pulled up to the curb and put on my hazards.
Jack's car was parked half a block down. He flashed his lights once—acknowledgment—but didn't approach. Giving us privacy, probably.
I took a breath, then pushed open the door and went inside.
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