Chapter 57 FIFTY-SEVEN
Three days after their fight, Callum showed up at her bedroom door around seven in the evening with his hands in his pockets and an expression she couldn't quite read.
"Get dressed," he said. "We're going out."
"Another event?" She was exhausted just thinking about it, another night of fake smiles and careful conversations.
"No. Something else. Something just for us." He paused. "Please?"
She couldn't remember the last time he'd said please about anything. "What should I wear?"
"Whatever you want. Not a gown. Just, I don't know, normal clothes."
Twenty minutes later she met him in the living room wearing jeans and a sweater, no jewelry except the wedding ring she'd gotten used to wearing. He looked at her like she'd done something right and reached for her hand.
They didn't talk much in the car. His driver took them to Brooklyn, through neighborhoods that got progressively less polished until they pulled up in front of what looked like an old warehouse with no sign, just a red door and a small window with dim light filtering through.
"Where are we?"
"You'll see." He opened her door, kept her hand in his as they walked to the entrance.
Inside was a jazz club that felt like stepping back in time. Small round tables with candles, a stage where a quartet was setting up, brick walls covered in old concert posters. Maybe forty people total, all of them here for the music, none of them looking at Callum like they recognized him.
"How did you find this place?" she asked as they slid into a corner booth.
"Cole told me about it years ago. I've never actually been." He ordered them both whiskey without asking, which normally would've annoyed her but tonight felt right. "I wanted to take you somewhere that's not about the company or the marriage or any of it. Just somewhere we could be... normal."
The music started before she could respond. Slow and smoky, the kind of jazz that got under your skin and made you want to confess things you'd normally keep hidden.
They didn't talk during the first set, just listened and drank their whiskey and let the music fill the space between them. When the band took a break, Callum shifted closer to her in the booth.
"I'm sorry," he said. "About the other morning. I pushed too hard."
"You were right though. I was shutting you out."
"You're allowed to have things that are private. I shouldn't have made you feel like you had to tell me everything just because we're..."
"Because we're what?"
He smiled, a little crooked. "I don't actually know what we are anymore."
"Yeah. Me neither."
The waitress came by with another round. Lennox took a sip and felt the burn all the way down, warm and grounding.
"Tell me something real," Callum said after a moment. "Something you wouldn't normally say at one of those awful dinners where everyone's performing."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Tell me about before. Before the job, before all this. What was your life like?"
She didn't talk about foster care. Tried not to think about it most days because what was the point of dwelling on a childhood that had been mostly survival. But something about the dim lighting and the music and the way he was looking at her made the words come easier than they should have.
"I grew up in the system. Bounced around a lot, different homes, different families. Some were okay, some were terrible, most were just indifferent." She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. "I learned pretty early that the only person I could count on was myself."
"That sounds lonely."
"It was. But it also made me good at figuring people out, you know? When you're always the new kid, always trying to make sure you don't get sent back, you learn to read a room fast."
"Is that why you're so good at the society events? All that reading people?"
"Probably. I can tell who's actually interested in talking and who just wants to be seen talking to a Westbrook. Who's dangerous and who's just annoying." She paused. "Maybe that’s why I can tell that something about Victor seems… off."
Callum's expression shifted. "What makes you say that?"
"Just a feeling. The way he watches people. Like he's always calculating something."
"He's been with the family forever. My father trusted him completely."
"Your father might've been wrong."
He didn't argue, which surprised her. Just took another drink and changed the subject. "What about dreams? Before everything went wrong with your old job, what did you want to do with your life?"
This was dangerous territory but she found herself answering honestly anyway. "I wanted to expose corruption. Corporate stuff mostly, people using their power to hurt others and getting away with it because they're rich enough to bury the evidence." She met his eyes. "I know that probably sounds naive or idealistic or whatever, but I just... I couldn't stand watching powerful people get away with terrible things while regular people suffered."
"That doesn't sound naive. It sounds like you actually give a shit about something beyond yourself." He reached across the table, took her hand. "Most people in my world don't care about anything except their stock portfolio and their vacation homes."
"You care about things."
"I care about the legacy my parents built. That's different from caring about people."
"I don't think it is. You built that literacy program in the Bronx, the one that teaches coding to kids who can't afford computers. That's caring about people."
He looked surprised that she knew about that. "How did you..."
"I pay attention too." She squeezed his hand. "You're not as cold as you pretend to be."
The band started their second set, something slower and more intimate. Callum moved even closer in the booth until they were pressed together from shoulder to knee, his thumb drawing circles on the back of her hand.
"Tell me about your childhood," she said. "What was it like growing up a Westbrook?"
"Suffocating." He didn't hesitate. "Everything was about the company, about appearances, about being perfect all the time. My father loved us but he also saw us as extensions of his legacy. Cole and I were supposed to be these ideal heirs, never mess up, never embarrass the family name." He paused. "I don't think I've had a real conversation with my brother in years. We just talk business and obligations and the damn will clause."
"That's sad."
"Yeah. It is." He looked at her, really looked at her, in a way that made her feel seen down to her bones. "You're the first person in years who makes me feel like I'm more than just the Westbrook heir. Like I'm actually a person who matters beyond what I can do for the company."
Her chest hurt. Because he meant it and she was lying to him about so much.
"Callum..."
"I know we started this as a transaction. I know the contract says it's temporary and we're supposed to keep things clean and uncomplicated." His hand tightened on hers. "But I can't do that anymore. I can't pretend this is just convenient."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying this is real to me now. I don't know when it happened, don't know the exact moment I stopped thinking of you as my contract wife and started just thinking of you as... you. But it happened and I can't take it back."
She should pull away. Should remind him about the lies she was keeping, the investigation she was running, the fact that their entire relationship was built on a manipulation she hadn't even known about when she'd signed the contract.
But she couldn't. Because it was real for her too, had been for weeks even though she'd been too scared to admit it.
"It's real for me too," she whispered.
He kissed her then, soft and careful like she might disappear if he pushed too hard. She kissed him back and tried not to think about all the ways this was going to fall apart when he learned the truth.
On the drive home he held her hand the whole way, their fingers laced together in the dark backseat. Neither of them talked much, just sat close and let the moment exist without analyzing it to death.
When they got back to the penthouse, when they fell into bed together and made love slowly and carefully like they had all the time in the world, Lennox tried to memorize every detail. The way he touched her, the way he said her name, the way he looked at her like she was something precious.
Because she knew, even if he didn't yet, that they were both hiding things that would eventually destroy this fragile real thing they'd built.
And she had no idea how to stop it.