Chapter 34 THIRTY-FOUR
Callum mentioned it casually over breakfast Thursday morning like he was mentioning the weather.
"I have a trip to San Francisco. Three days. Tech conference and some meetings with potential partners."
"Okay." Lennox looked up from her phone. "When?"
"Tuesday through Thursday next week."
"Got it. I'll tell Patricia in case she schedules anything."
She went back to scrolling through emails. Callum stayed quiet, which was normal enough, except there was something off about the silence. She glanced up again. He was staring into his coffee cup like it held answers to questions he hadn't asked.
"What?"
"Nothing." He set the cup down, straightened his cufflinks. That tell again. "I just... would you want to come?"
She blinked. "To San Francisco?"
"It's not required. I just thought..." He cleared his throat. "We haven't done a public appearance together in a few weeks. The conference has media coverage, investor dinners. That kind of thing."
"Sure," she heard herself say. "I can come."
Something flickered across his face. Relief maybe, or surprise. "You don't have to."
"I know. But I will."
"Okay then." He stood up, grabbed his briefcase. "I'll have Clara book your ticket."
He left for work and Lennox sat there wondering why her stomach had flipped when he'd asked. It was just a business trip. Three days of playing the supportive wife for cameras and investors. Nothing different from what they'd been doing for months.
Except the thought of three days without him had made her chest feel tight in a way she really didn't want to think about.
Tuesday came fast. Maria fussed over her packing like she was going to war instead of California. "You need the blue dress for dinners, the casual outfits for daytime, and don't forget comfortable shoes because San Francisco has all those hills."
"I've been to San Francisco before, Maria."
"Not as Mrs. Westbrook you haven't." Maria folded tissue paper around a silk blouse with more care than it probably deserved. "First impressions matter, even the second time around."
The car picked them up at noon. Marcus loaded their bags while Callum scrolled through his phone, already in work mode. They didn't talk much on the drive to the airport, just existed in that weird space they'd carved out where silence wasn't exactly comfortable but wasn't unbearable either.
Then they pulled onto the tarmac and Lennox saw the plane.
"That's yours?" she said stupidly.
Callum looked up. "Company's. Technically."
"It's huge."
"It's efficient." But his mouth twitched slightly. Almost a smile.
The inside was ridiculously exotic. Cream leather seats that looked like they cost more than her old apartment, actual tables, a full bar, and what appeared to be a bedroom in the back. Because of course there was.
She chose a seat by the window. Callum sat across from her, already pulling out his laptop before they'd even taken off.
The flight was only about five hours but it felt longer and shorter at the same time. Callum worked, fingers flying over his keyboard, occasionally taking calls with that clipped voice he used for business. Lennox tried to read a book on her phone but kept getting distracted.
By the sound of his typing. The way he'd pause sometimes and stare out the window, jaw tight like he was working through a problem. How he'd rolled his sleeves up an hour in, and she could see the muscles in his forearms flex when he moved. The weird intimacy of being trapped in this small space together, thirty thousand feet above the ground, nobody else around except the flight attendant who kept her distance.
She was hyper-aware of everything. Every shift in his seat. Every time he cleared his throat or took a drink of water. The way he'd glance at her sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking, then immediately look away.
It was exhausting and electric at the same time.
Somewhere over Nevada, he closed his laptop and leaned back. "You okay?"
"Fine. Why?"
"You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes."
Had she? Shit. "Just tired."
"We can go over the schedule when we land if you want. So you know what to expect."
"Sure."
More silence. But charged now, heavy with all the things they weren't saying.
They landed at SFO around six local time. Another car, another drive through a city Lennox had only visited once before, years ago. The Fairmont was perched on Nob Hill, all old-world elegance and ridiculous luxury. The lobby dripped chandeliers and marble and the kind of quiet money that didn't need to announce itself.
"Mr. and Mrs. Westbrook." The woman at the front desk smiled like they were visiting royalty. "We have you in the penthouse suite. I hope you'll find everything to your satisfaction."
"I'm sure we will," Callum said smoothly.
They rode the elevator up in silence. A bellhop appeared with their bags, led them down a hushed hallway to double doors at the end. He unlocked them with a flourish.
The suite was stunning. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, lights starting to twinkle as dusk settled in. Elegant furniture, a full bar, a dining table that could seat eight.
And one bedroom.
Lennox stopped walking. Just stood there staring at the king-size bed visible through the open doorway.
The bellhop gestured around. "The living area has a sofa, as you can see. Bathroom through there, closet space, mini bar is fully stocked. If you need anything at all, just call the concierge."
Callum tipped him and the guy left, closing the door with a soft click that felt too loud.
"There's only one bed," Lennox said.
"I see that."
"Your assistant..."
"Assumed we share a bed. Because married couples generally do." He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. "I'll call down, get a second room. It's not a problem."
"Wait."
He looked up.
Lennox stared at the couch. It was big, looked comfortable enough. They'd shared a penthouse for months with way more space between them than this. They were adults. They could handle one hotel suite for three nights.
Besides, getting a second room would raise questions. Staff would talk. It might get back to Patricia or the board or someone who mattered.
That's what she told herself anyway. That it was about appearances.
"Don't," she said. "The couch looks fine. We can make it work."
Something flashed in his eyes. Heat, or surprise, or both. His hand froze mid-dial. "Lennox..."
"I'll take the couch," she said quickly.
"No you won't."
"It's not a big deal."
"You're not sleeping on a couch." His voice went firm. Final. "I'll take it."
They stared at each other across the suite. The air felt thick suddenly, charged with something neither would name.
"I'll take the couch," he repeated, quieter this time. But his eyes were dark, fixed on her face in a way that made her stomach flip.
She should argue. Should insist. Should do literally anything except stand there feeling her pulse race while he looked at her like that.
"Okay," she managed finally.
He nodded once, set his phone down without making the call.