Chapter Three Lexie
The music playing in my headphones flows through me as I shimmy up to the cabinet, swaying my hips from one side to the other.
Grabbing a glass from the shelf, I sing along to the song softly—I know better than to belt with headphones on.
I save the Broadway-level theatrics for karaoke nights when I’m a few margaritas deep.
This fancy fridge dispenses the best pellet ice—the crunchy kind you find at gas stations—and perfectly chilled water.
A glass of cold water from this fridge just hits different, especially after my morning workout.
Going to walk on the treadmill, doing a few sets of weights, then coming back up and drinking a giant glass of water is my routine.
The first two gulps send a shiver through me, the cold shocking my system.
The third swallow washes over me like a cool wave.
I flip my high ponytail to the beat when the song changes, my long blonde hair whipping around me from one shoulder to the other.
Needing another dance break, I place my glass of water on the counter so I can spin around.
My gaze collides with a pair of hazel eyes, and I freeze, letting out a breathy laugh of surprise.
Callum stands leaning in the doorway of his office across the open living space, arms crossed. His focus on me is intense, but the stoic look on his face gives away nothing about the thoughts that are brewing. Pulling the earbuds from my ears, I pause the music and offer him an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I completely forgot you’re here,” I admit.
His eyes flicker to my navy athletic leggings, matching sports bra, and white mesh crop jacket.
The sports bra is one of my favorites with good coverage and decent support for my enormous chest. I left my jacket unzipped.
Despite the amount of fabric on my body right now, my outfit makes no effort to hide my extra weight—apron belly included.
I look cute for the gym downstairs, but Callum is seeing me when I’m not dressed to impress. Again.
“You’ve definitely made yourself at home.
” His eyes break away to look at the collection of houseplants I’ve added to the expansive windows in the living room, before returning to me.
“Something tells me it wouldn’t have made a difference if you had remembered,” he says, raising dark brows in question.
I think about it for a brief moment. I always enjoy my music, feeling it in my body as I move, even in public. I’m not exactly shy.
“Honestly, probably not. Just let me know if I’m being too loud. I don’t want to disturb your business.” It’s a sincere request, though probably unnecessary. Callum seems like the kind of guy who would bring up an annoyance the second it became an issue.
“I’d never allow you to disturb my business,” he says simply, his face still giving no indication of how he’s feeling. On one hand, I can’t feel his irritation. But that just means he could be silently plotting my very slow and painful death and I won’t know until it’s too late.
I open my mouth, planning on asking him to warn me before he gets annoyed to the point of homicide, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell. Callum flashes me a look—a reminder of his rule—and moves to get it himself. I stay back, finishing my almost forgotten glass of water as he greets the newcomer.
“You look like hell,” Callum says instead of a hello. Kinda rude, but okay.
“Staying up for twenty-eight hours will do that.” The responding voice is deep and gruff.
The door closes and Callum walks back into the open living space. He’s followed closely by a man who looks like he stepped out of a mafia movie casting call for burly musclemen.
Though a few inches shorter than Callum, he’s still tall and wide, sturdy as an ox.
His head is shaved bald, his broad face covered in salt-and-pepper stubble.
If Mia was here, I’d bet her twenty dollars that his name is Boris or Ivan—something like that.
When his eyes land on me, it’s as if he’s assessing whether I’m a threat.
“This is the house sitter.” I don’t miss the meaningful look Callum shares with the ox at my introduction. “Roscoe works my security.” Roscoe is close enough, I definitely would’ve won that twenty bucks.
“Hi, I’m Lexie. Nice to meet you.” I greet him like I would anyone else, offering him a smile, which seems to throw him off for a split second.
He gives me a solemn nod, simply rasping a curt hello in return.
Callum keeps his eyes on me during the exchange, his computer brain no doubt filing away everything he observes.
“You brought what I asked for?” Callum turns his focus to Roscoe. The bald man nods.
“Harris is an ass, but he’s a well-connected, rich one,” Roscoe grunts, producing a plain white envelope from his coat. Callum’s face remains unreadable when he nods.
“Let’s go to my office.” They’re both already walking, leaving me behind completely forgotten.
I’m not put off by it in the least—they can go about their business. I need to go shower and get ready for the day.
Wrapped in a towel fresh from the shower, I wipe the steam from the fogged vanity mirror and open my makeup bag while my phone rings. I can’t help but smile when the line picks up and my best friend’s voice sounds in the bathroom on speakerphone.
“Hey, bitch.” The greeting is a term of endearment coming from Mia. “I’m just filling out some paperwork, so I only have a few minutes. What’s up?”
“I might not be able to watch The Bachelor with you tonight.” Getting between Mia and her weekly reality tv fix is asking for trouble. I wince, bracing for her wrath.
“You better be joking.” She’s pissed, her tone promising terrible things if I don’t take it back. Hopefully, my reason will be enough to smooth her temper.
“The owner of the penthouse I’m watching is here.” I offer it like a golden nugget of prime gossip—something Mia lives for. Just as I was hoping, her tone shifts instantly.
“Shut up, who is it? Is he some crusty old businessman?” I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of her question. If she met this man, she’d have a field day.
“Businessman? Yes. But old and crusty are not words I’d use to describe him.” My mascara wand pauses mid-swipe, my mind conjuring up the image of the man who owns the roof over my head.
“What words would you use to describe him?” She’s begging me to paint a picture for her, so I oblige. Putting the tube of mascara on the vanity, I brace myself against the counter. What words would I use to describe the unreadable man I ate dinner with last night?
“Giant, beard, tattoos.” Those are the physical descriptors she wants. But I can’t help but add, “Intense. Complicated.”
“He sounds hot.” If only she knew.
“Hot? Yes. Someone I plan on spending any time with? No.”
“Damn. So, hot-tattoo-guy is there. Does that mean you’re coming home?” she asks hopefully, her voice sugary sweet. Nice try, Mia.
“He says he’s only in the city for a few days on business, whatever that means. So I’m staying, apparently. I just have a slightly terrifying roommate for a while.” And just like that, I’ve deflated her balloon of hope in one fell swoop.
“So, not only are you not coming back, but you can’t watch The Bachelor with me tonight? Hot-tattoo-guy sucks.” She’s pouting now, which I think is a step in the grieving process—right after depression and before acceptance.
“His name is Callum,” I supply as I reach for my foundation.
“Fine, Callum sucks,” she huffs indignantly. I let out a laugh, in total agreement.
“I might be able to watch, I just don’t know yet. So, text me when you get home from the hospital, maybe I’ll be free.”
“Okay, okay fine.” I can hear the switch in her tone, the added concern. “How are you, really? Are you sleeping?”
“Technically.” I attempt a lighthearted joke to brush off her question. It doesn’t work.
“Lexie—” I cut off her rant before it starts.
“I’m fine, I promise. It’s just going to take some time.”
“Is that what Julie says?” Julie is my therapist and my idol. She’s seriously one of the best things that ever happened to me, after Mia and caffeine.
“Yes, Julie says taking some time away to refocus and heal is the best thing I can do for myself. Which is why I’m not at the hospital on contract right now.”
“Instead, you’re shacking up with rich, hot, bearded men. Maybe Julie’s onto something.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure this is exactly what Julie had in mind for me.” I laugh, leaning forward to finish my makeup. A third voice sounds through the phone in the distance.
“Okay, I’m coming,” Mia says, addressing the other person. “I gotta go, Lexie. But I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, bye. Love ya.”
“Love you lots.” With that, the call ends. Letting out a deep breath slowly I brace my hands on the vanity counter and stare into the mirror.
Eyes as blue as the summer sky gaze back at me over a delicate nose and soft, bow-shaped lips.
All wrapped in fair skin that’s never held a tan long enough to be considered anything other than porcelain—at least not without a good fake tan.
Tilting my head to the side, light blonde hair tumbles over one shoulder and spills down to the small of my back in long loose curls.
Other than the dark circles under my eyes, currently hidden beneath a little extra concealer, I look how I always look. But I don’t feel the same.
Julie says taking time will help with the healing, and I trust her. She’s gotten me through so much already. But so far all I’ve gotten is two weeks of sleepless nights and an overwhelming sense of feeling completely lost.
Helpless.
I’m twenty-six years old, with what I thought was a career path set for the rest of my life.
But now I’m not so sure. After everything that’s happened, I can’t picture ever going back to how things used to be.
I’m left teetering on the precipice of the unknown, dangerously close to plummeting into what could be total ruin.