Chapter 26 TWENTY-SIX
Lennox had been living in the penthouse for over a month and still hadn’t been inside Callum’s home office. The door was always closed, like it was guarding a secret. His space. His world. She’d learned not to cross invisible lines with him.
Until Patricia called out of nowhere at eight p.m. on a Tuesday.
“Darling, I completely forgot,” Patricia said breathlessly. “There’s a document I need both of you to sign for the foundation board… its time-sensitive. Can you have Callum sign it tonight and send it back before nine?”
Lennox hesitated. “Uh, sure, I can...”
“Perfect. I’m emailing it now.”
Click.
The call ended before Lennox could admit she didn’t even know how she felt about seeing her supposed husband this late, and entering his literal man-cave.
Thirty seconds later, the email landed. A boring legal form about donations and tax filings. Lennox printed it out on her small printer, signed her part, and walked to the hallway, staring at the closed door to Callum’s office.
His voice drifted through, low and clipped. Definitely on a call.
She checked the time… 8:17. Great. Patricia’s “before nine” deadline was shrinking fast.
She knocked once. Nothing. Knocked again, louder. Still no answer.
Okay. Fine. She’d just slip in, drop the document on his desk, and escape before he noticed.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open quietly.
And froze.
Callum sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose, jacket nowhere in sight. A pair of sleek black glasses rested on his face, glasses she hadn’t seen before, and damn if they didn’t make him look even better. His forearms flexed when he gestured, muscles moving under his shirt as he talked, voice low and commanding. What a fine specimen of a man, she couldn’t help but think.
“...that’s not acceptable,” he said sharply into the phone. “Either they stick to the deal, or we pull out completely.”
He didn’t see her at first. He was too focused, leaning forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. There was something magnetic about him like this, calm control mixed with raw precision. The version of him she saw at galas or across the kitchen table was careful, guarded. But this… this was different.
Her pulse kicked up. She really shouldn’t be staring, but good lord, those rolled-up sleeves should’ve come with a warning.
Then he looked up.
Their eyes met, and it was like time tripped over itself for a second.
He didn’t speak, didn’t break eye contact. Just held her gaze with that cool, assessing calm that somehow made her forget for a moment that she needed to breathe. Then, finally, he went back to his laptop and ended the call with a curt, “Friday. Make it happen.”
Click. Silence.
Lennox realized she was still standing by the door like an idiot. “Sorry,” she blurted out, stepping inside and holding up the file. “Your mom needs this signed tonight. She said it was urgent.”
He nodded once, took the papers from her, and signed them with quick, precise strokes that matched everything about him, efficient, controlled, annoyingly confident.
“Anything else?” he asked, not looking up.
“No, that’s it. I’ll scan it back to her.”
“Scanner’s on the credenza.”
“Right.” She crossed the room, trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on him. The place was immaculate, dark shelves, city lights bleeding through the glass, everything crisp and sharp like the man himself. Sexy, fine, and organized… the list was growing longer.
She started the scanner and tried to pretend her stomach hadn’t done that weird flip again when he’d looked at her.
“Conference call?” she asked, mostly to fill the silence.
He looked up briefly. “Tokyo. They’re being… particular.”
She smiled faintly. “That sounds diplomatic.”
That earned her a half-smirk. Just barely.
The scanner beeped, and she grabbed the papers. “Okay. I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”
He leaned back slightly, watching her. “Thanks.”
She nodded and made for the door. Her hand was on the knob when he spoke again.
“Lennox.”
She turned. “Yeah?”
He hesitated, like he was about to say something but changed his mind. His eyes flicked over her face, unreadable, then he just nodded once.
“Good night,” she said, voice quieter than she meant it to be.
He didn’t answer, and she slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.
In the hallway, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her heart was still doing that thing, she could only hope he didn’t hear how hard her traitorous heart was beating.
God. She’d seen him in suits, in casual shirts, hell, even in gym clothes once. But nothing compared to him behind that desk, sleeves rolled, glasses low on his nose, voice rough from hours of talking. It wasn’t fair that a man could look like that while talking about business deals.
She emailed Patricia the signed document, tried watching something, reading something, anything, but her brain refused to cooperate. Every time she blinked, she saw him again.
That look. That quiet tension. That ridiculous control.
Around midnight, she heard his study door open, then footsteps in the hall. They slowed near her door, like always, then kept going.
She stared at the ceiling for another five minutes before giving up. Reaching for a pen, she scribbled a quick note on a yellow sticky pad.
Sorry I interrupted. –L
It wasn’t much, but it made her feel slightly less like an intruder. And maybe, if she was being honest, a little connected to him.
She padded quietly to his study, heart thudding, and placed the note on the file still sitting on his desk.
As she turned to leave, she caught herself smiling. Guess leaving notes was becoming their thing.
Back in her room, she crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling again, cheeks warm for reasons she didn’t want to name.
By morning, the apartment was silent. Callum had already left for work, of course. She made coffee, trying not to think about how ridiculous she’d been sneaking into his study in her pajamas like some love-sick teenager.
As she walked past the study, she noticed the door cracked open. The desk was clean. The file was gone. The sticky note, gone too.
Right. Obviously. He’d probably thrown it away.
She rolled her eyes at herself, poured her coffee, and tried to focus on her emails.
Around noon, Maria came by to do laundry, humming as she folded clothes in the living room.
“Mr. Callum keeps his desk very neat,” Maria said casually. “Always organized. I saw him smiling at a little note this morning, first time I’ve seen him smile in weeks.”
Lennox looked up. “A note?”
Maria nodded. “Tiny yellow one. He put it in his drawer when I walked in. He should smile more, that man. Always working.”
Lennox sat back slowly, pretending to read her laptop while her heart did that fluttery thing again.
He’d kept it.
Not only that, he’d smiled at it.
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she couldn’t stop the quiet warmth that spread through her chest.
They didn’t talk about it. Not that night, not the next morning. But something had shifted, small, quiet, impossible to name.
The space between them didn’t feel so empty anymore. What did it make her for wanting... no needing to melt the seeming ice around her husband's heart? Fake husband, of course.