Chapter 39 THIRTY-NINE
The penthouse felt wrong when Lennox got back. Too big. Too quiet. Too full of things that didn't belong to her.
She dropped her bags by the door and just stood there for a minute, not sure what to do with herself. It was barely nine PM but felt later. Exhausting time travel and emotional whiplash, take your pick.
Her phone sat heavy in her pocket. No texts. No calls. Nothing from Callum.
She should eat something. Shower. Unpack. Do normal person things.
Instead she poured herself a glass of wine she didn't really want and sat on the couch staring at nothing.
Security breach. Financial data. Months of access.
Her chest felt tight.
She'd been so careful. Covered her tracks, used proxies, never stayed logged in longer than necessary. But careful didn't mean invisible. Nothing was truly invisible if someone knew where to look.
And now they were looking.
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it too fast.
Text from her mom: Haven't heard from you in a while, honey. Everything okay?
Not Callum. Of course not Callum. He was busy hunting ghosts. Hunting her.
She typed back: All good. Just been traveling and busy. Miss you.
Miss you too. Come visit soon? Emma's asking about you.
I will. Promise.
Another lie. She was getting really good at those.
She tried watching TV. Gave up after ten minutes of not processing a single word. Tried reading one of the books she'd bought in San Francisco. The words blurred together.
Her laptop sat in her bag, calling to her. She could check on things, see what their IT team had found, how close they were getting.
But that would leave more traces. More breadcrumbs leading back to her.
So she sat there. Drinking wine. Waiting.
Around eleven she gave up and got ready for bed. Brushed her teeth, washed her face, pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts. Stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.
Who was she kidding? This whole thing was a disaster waiting to happen. The investigation, the marriage, sleeping with Callum. All of it.
She should've just gone to prison when she had the chance. Would've been simpler.
She climbed into bed, turned off the light. Lay there in the dark listening to the city hum forty-two floors below.
Sleep didn't come. Just kept replaying everything. San Francisco. The balcony. The way he'd looked at her before kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered. The way he'd held her after, fingers tracing patterns on her skin like he was memorizing her.
Then this morning. Distant. Careful. Walls back up so fast she got whiplash.
We should talk about what that means.
What did it mean? That they'd crossed a line they couldn't uncross? That the fake marriage wasn't so fake anymore? That she was falling for someone whose company she was actively investigating?
Because that's what she was doing. Investigating. Looking for whoever was moving money around, hiding transactions, cooking books. She'd found irregularities, millions being shifted through shell companies and false contracts, but she still couldn't pinpoint who was behind it. Could be anyone on the board. Could be multiple people working together.
Could be Callum himself, though the more she dug the less likely that seemed.
Which should've made her feel better. Should've made this easier.
Instead it just made everything more complicated.
Somewhere around two AM she heard the elevator. Footsteps in the hallway. Callum coming home.
They stopped outside her door. She held her breath, waiting. Wondering if he'd knock.
He didn't. Just stood there for maybe thirty seconds. Then kept walking to his own room.
His door closed. The penthouse went quiet again.
Lennox stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about how much she'd wanted him to knock. How she would've opened the door. How they probably would've ended up right back where they started, tangled together and pretending it didn't mean anything.
But it did mean something. That was the problem.
It meant too much, and she had no idea what to do about it.
Morning came too fast. Gray light filtering through the windows, the city already awake and moving. Lennox dragged herself out of bed feeling like she'd been hit by a truck.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
She found Callum already in the kitchen, looking like absolute hell. Still in yesterday's clothes, tie gone, shirt wrinkled, hair a mess. He was staring at an espresso like it held answers he desperately needed.
"Hey," she said quietly.
He looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath making him look older. "Hey. You're up."
"Couldn't really sleep."
"Yeah. Me either." He took a sip of coffee, winced like it hurt. "Long night."
"Did you guys figure anything out? With the security thing?"
"Still working on it. Cole's meeting with the team again this morning." He rubbed his face with both hands. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Covered their tracks really well."
Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. "That's scary."
"Yeah. It is." He set his cup down, leaned against the counter. "Listen, about San Francisco. About what happened. We need to..."
He looked exhausted. Like he might actually fall over. And her heart was racing for completely different reasons now, panic mixing with guilt mixing with fear of being discovered.
"Callum." She cut him off. "You look like you're about to pass out. You need proper sleep?"
"I know. I just..." He gestured vaguely. "There's too much happening right now."
"Go rest. Seriously. We can talk later."
"But we need to..."
"Later. It's fine. Whatever we need to say can wait until you're not about to collapse." She poured herself coffee, kept her hands busy so they wouldn't shake. "Go take a nap or something before your meetings."
He looked like he wanted to argue. Opened his mouth, closed it again. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay. Yeah. Maybe just an hour." He pushed off the counter, swayed slightly. "We'll talk tonight though. About everything."
"Sure. Tonight."
He walked past her, paused. His hand came up like he was going to touch her face, then dropped. "I meant what I said yesterday morning. I don't regret it."
Then he was gone, footsteps heavy down the hallway. His bedroom door closed.
Lennox stood there gripping her coffee cup, heart still pounding.
They were looking for her. Actively hunting whoever had been in their system. And she was standing in Callum's kitchen drinking his coffee, sleeping in his bed, falling for him while lying to his face.
She set the cup down with shaking hands.
This was bad. This was really, really bad.
She needed to think. Needed to figure out her next move. But her brain felt like static, panic and exhaustion and too many feelings she didn't know what to do with.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at it, expecting her mom or Patricia.
Unknown number. Text message.
We need to talk. Coffee this afternoon? -Adrian
She stared at the screen. Adrian Holt. Victor's consultant who'd been so helpful with the youth center donations. The guy who'd made Callum's suspicious "resourceful" comment.
Why was Adrian texting her?
She should ignore it. Should delete it and pretend she never saw it, god knows she wasn’t even in the mood for this.
But she was also curious and she needed to do something else she’d lose her mind.
She typed back: Sure. Where?
The response came fast: That place in Brooklyn near the youth center. Two PM?
I'll be there.
She set her phone down and stared at nothing, trying to connect dots that didn't want to connect.
Security breach. Adrian reaching out. Financial irregularities she still couldn't trace. Callum hunting whoever had hacked his system while she stood in his kitchen lying to him.
Everything was converging. She could feel it.
And she had no idea if she was ready for what came next.