Chapter 22
Rowan
I breathe in slowly , trying to hold on to the calm Sébastien brings with him. His presence feels like soft rain on overheated skin; cooling, steadying. He doesn't reach for me, but I feel held anyway. Seen. A gentle knock interrupts the quiet again.
Sébastien glances toward the door and rises fluidly. “That’ll be Laurent,” he murmurs, voice tinged with a fond sort of exasperation.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask who Laurent is, but Sébastien is already across the room. He opens the door, and the man who strides in is all energy and swagger. Dark hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled to the elbows, grin cocked sideways like he was born charming. His scent hits me the second he crosses the threshold dark chocolate, bourbon, and something bright and tangy that makes my mouth water before I even realize it.
“Well, well, well,” he says, pausing a few steps into the room with a dramatic sweep of his gaze. “So, this is the mysterious Rowan Hart.”
My cheeks flush. I pull the blanket tighter.
Sébastien rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Laurent, behave.”
“I always behave,” Laurent shoots back, then winks at me. “Just not in the ways people expect.”
He offers a crooked bow. “Laurent Sable. Professional menace. Hockey god. Huge fan of your work, by the way. My little sisters are obsessed with your ClipStream. So am I. But don’t tell them I said that. It’ll ruin my image.”
Despite myself, I laugh. It’s impossible not to. He’s ridiculous in the best way.
“Hi,” I say, still a little shy, but warmed by his energy. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh no, sweetheart,” he says, flopping into the chair across from the nest. “The pleasure is mine. Truly. You’re even prettier in person. And that’s saying something.”
Sébastien sighs beside him. “Laurent.”
“What?” He grins. “She deserves to know.”
I shake my head, smiling faintly. “Is it always like this with you?”
“Absolutely,” Sébastien mutters under his breath.
“I came to check on you,” Laurent says, flopping onto a nearby pillow and stretching his legs out with a grin, “but mostly to ask the important question of the hour, what are we eating? We’re ordering in, and the sky's the limit. Whatever you want, name it. I’m a growing boy. Sébastien’s too polite to ask, but I’m shameless.”
My stomach grumbles at the mention of food, betraying me. They both hear it. Sébastien hides his smile behind a hand. Laurent perks up like he’s won something.
“Aha! Victory! Let’s get you fed, pretty girl.”
My cheeks flush again, but this time I don’t pull away.
Laurent grins wide enough to light the whole damn room. “Living room,” he says, jumping to his feet like the chair has springs. “We’ve got more space, better pillows, and I won’t risk knocking over a lamp if I stretch my legs.”
Sébastien gives me an encouraging smile and offers his hand. I take it. My legs are a little shaky, but the moment I stand, the world steadies just enough.
The living room is just as stunning as the rest of the penthouse; sprawling windows, buttery leather sofas, warm wood, and soft lighting that feels more sunset than artificial. The space is clean but lived in. Safe. A different kind of nest.
“I still can’t decide between Italian and Thai,” I say as I lower myself onto the couch, pulling a plush throw over my lap for comfort.
Laurent’s eyes sparkle as he flops down beside me. “Then don’t. Order both. We’re grown men with black cards and no shame.”
Sébastien laughs softly as he takes the other end of the sofa. “He’s not wrong. I could eat both.”
“I’m placing the order,” Laurent says, pulling out his phone. “Pasta and pad Thai. Maybe even some spring rolls. God, I love a good spring roll.”
As he scrolls through the delivery apps like he’s on a mission from the heavens, the front door clicks open again. Cole walks in first, sleeves rolled up and a familiar calm power in his step. Massimo follows behind him, his suit jacket gone, hair mussed just enough to make my heart thud in my chest.
I don’t miss the way they both look at me. Or how my body reacts.
But it’s Laurent who draws my attention again. He’s lounging, totally at ease, one ankle hooked over his knee, phone in hand, his other arm stretched behind me along the back of the couch like we’ve known each other for years. His dark chocolate and bourbon, and something bright and sharp smell cuts through the tension in my chest like sunlight through fog.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, built like an athlete. His dark hair is still slightly damp from a shower, tousled in a way that looks almost intentional. A sharp jawline, full lips, and a grin that makes it hard to breathe. He’s unfairly handsome, the kind of guy who probably makes photographers swoon and stylists weep with gratitude.
He smells like dark chocolate and bourbon, and something bright and sharp that cuts through the tension in my chest like sunlight through fog.
I don’t understand it. I’ve never reacted this way to anyone before, let alone towards four someones. But Laurent? He’s dangerous in a different way. There’s a mischief in his eyes that promises chaos and comfort in equal measure.
And damn it, I think I’d let him ruin me just to see what it feels like.