Chapter 16
Holly
Sigma International Security Headquarters—Volkov Towers, Manhattan
If the outside of Volkov Towers is imposing—sleek black glass and steel stabbing arrogantly into the Manhattan skyline—then the inside is downright intimidating.
The lobby gleams with polished marble floors, towering ceilings, and silent, stone-faced security guards who look like they moonlight as nightclub bouncers or special ops.
Noel flashes his badge, and they nod in silent deference.
Everything smells like power.
Polished wood, expensive cologne, old money and high-stakes control. This place wasn’t built for comfort or kindness.
It was built by people who don’t ask permission and never play fair.
His world, I think, gripping the strap of my tote tighter. Not mine.
The elevator ride is quiet but fast, whisking us to our floor—Sigma International Security’s headquarters, which apparently spans three entire levels of this fortress in the sky.
I don’t know what I expected. Something colder, maybe. Harsher. But stepping out into their HQ feels more like entering a high-end command center than a military base.
Leather furnishings, smoked glass, steel accents. A wall of monitors displays live security feeds, heat maps, and schematics I don’t understand.
Soft voices hum in the background, peppered by the occasional radio chirp.
It’s sleek. It’s secure.
And it’s serious.
Then I see two men approach. One is enormous and tattooed, a little scary to be honest.
Noel nods, and murmurs boss.
The other is also a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and an even sharper jawline wearing a snazzy pair of red suspenders over his black on black shirt and pants.
“Mr. Callahan,” I say before Noel can speak, offering a polite smile. “Nice to see you again.”
His brows lift in surprise.
“You know Clementine will kill me if you don’t start calling me Connor. This is Remy Falco.”
“Pleasure to meet you Miss Winters, I trust Noel is taking care of you?”
“Yes, thank you. Nice to meet you,” I reply, turning back to Connor. “Yeah, but it feels weird to do that without her here. Besides, aren’t you like one of the bosses here?”
He chuckles. “Ha! Don’t let my father-in-law hear you say that.”
“Oh, I haven’t met Mr. Aziz formally,” I say, turning to Noel, who’s watching me with raised brows.
“How did you all meet if you don’t mind telling me?” Remy asks, a jovial smile softening his features.
“I’ve been friends with Clementine for years. Um, we met at this yoga place. The first time she described her husband to me, she said he was ‘scary hot and wore a holster like it was his birthright.’”
Connor blinks. Remy barks a laugh. And Noel groans softly under his breath.
“Jesus Christ.”
I shrug. “Just passing along the facts.”
Connor grins. “Well, she’s not wrong. Clementine does have impeccable taste.”
“Please, I just ate,” Remy replies and snorts. “Okay, Holly, why don’t you go with Kai? He’ll get you situated. Kane—my office. We need to talk about the breach.”
Remy levels a look at Noel, all warmth gone in an instant, and gestures toward a sleek black door with his name etched in chrome lettering.
“You. With me.”
Noel hesitates just long enough to glance back at me.
“I’ll be fine,” I say quickly. “Go.”
“Don’t wander,” he mutters before turning and following Connor inside.
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the shift is palpable. Like the air pressure dropped. The lighting dimmed.
I’m not just standing in his world now. I’m inside it. Behind the veil. And I’m not sure what that makes me.
I’m still wearing jeans, lip gloss, and a parka with fake fur trim, like I belong in a small-town holiday rom-com—definitely not inside a high-security command center run by men who probably have bloodstains on their tactical boots.
And then the testosterone wall arrives.
Four men step out of the conference area like they were summoned by instinct alone.
The first is tall and lean, with a devil-may-care grin and eyes that say trouble. I recognize him from yesterday, though barely. I think they call him Ego.
He gives me a slow once-over, not in a creepy way, but like he’s trying to read my whole personality in a single glance—and maybe finding it amusing.
Next to him is someone I’d call beautiful if he didn’t look like he could shatter bones with his pinky. His features are sharper than Ego’s, but similar—jawline, cheekbones.
Definitely brothers. This must be Kai.
The third man is built like a linebacker—broad, scarred, and solid enough to walk through walls without flinching. His dark eyes are cool but not unkind.
And the fourth has dark hair and a beard, intense eyes, and a quiet, assessing presence.
He moves like someone who’s always one step away from vanishing—or striking.
I straighten my spine instinctively. “Uh, hi?”
Ego steps forward and hands me a steaming paper cup.
“Figured you’d need this. We’re not completely heartless. Just mostly.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, curling my fingers around the cup.
It’s warm. Smells like real espresso. Bless him.
Kai inclines his head slightly. “So, you Noel’s girl now?”
I blink. “I—no. I mean, not his girl. We’re just—uh,” I grimace.
“Say less,” Ego says with a smirk. “Our lips are sealed.”
The big guy—Jack, I think—grunts, “Come on, sunshine. Let’s get you an office.”
They lead me down a corridor lined with steel-trimmed glass. The office they show me is clean, minimalist, and secure.
A single desk, a high-end monitor, and a laptop that looks like it could survive a bomb blast.
“Here you go,” another quiet hulking bodyguard—Less, I think his name is—says. “Clean machine. No spyware. No trackers. You’re good to go.”
“Thanks,” I say, already sliding into the ergonomic chair and setting my coffee down. “Really. I appreciate this.”
They nod and vanish, the way only scary, competent men can.
And then it’s quiet again.
I pull out my planner and notebook. Open a fresh document on the laptop. Start reviewing my vendor list.
I start with dessert because—why the fuck not?
The Stargazer is handling the dinner, but Clementine insisted on working with Let Them Eat Cake, a local, Insta-famous pastry shop, for dessert.
I tap the number on my screen and wait, pressing the phone to my ear. It rings twice before a bubbly voice answers.
“Let Them Eat Cake, this is Roxie!”
“Hi, Roxie, it’s Holly Winters from Big City Events.”
“Oh! Hi, Holly! Are we still on for today? We’ve got the dessert tasting menu completed and are just waiting for your approval.”
“Terrific, today at 5?”
“Perfect.”
“Okay. And we are confirmed,” I say, trying to keep my tone brisk, professional. “And you will have an assortment of pies, cookies, and cakes all reflecting the ‘holidays around the world’ theme Mrs. Callahan requested.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Yep. We got it. No problem. Did Mrs. Callahan say if she still wanted the build-your-own hot cocoa bar?”
“Yes. Plus, she is asking for eggnog that can be spiked upon request by the bar as a fun, adult option.”
Roxie laughs. “Okay, got it. You okay, Holly? You sound a little stressed.”
I pause, gripping the edge of the desk with my free hand. “It’s just a busy week. But everything’s still on, and I will be there today.”
“Okay, perfect.”
“Thank you!”
We hang up, and I make the proper notes on the file.
Next up—decor. I have to reassign a decorator who ghosted me, then I have to convince the string quartet to do a mashup of Mariah Carey and Mozart for the cocktail hour.
It takes a little cajoling, but done and done.
Progress.
Normal.
I need normal.
I finish firing off emails and organizing the chaos that is the Drew’s House holiday gala, and when I look up, three hours have passed just like that.
I close my eyes and roll my shoulders, standing up to stretch—sitting at a desk is one of the leading causes of health problems these days for folks over thirty—the age bracket I am entering.
So yeah, stand, stretch, and walk around the tiny room for a bit, touching my toes and shaking my hands. And most importantly, try not to think about the man behind the chrome door.
Try not to think about his hands, his mouth, the way he held me this morning like I was something precious.
It was just sex.
Mind-blowing, sanity-melting sex—but still.
I’m an adult.
He’s an adult, albeit a complicated one.
I mean the man is a super hot, scary ass bodyguard who is currently in damage-control mode—can you say swoon?
But if he’s not thinking about what happened last night right now, then neither am I.
The overhead speaker clicks, and somewhere in the distance, I hear faint Christmas music playing.
You Make It Feel Like Christmas. The Neil Diamond version.
I pause.
It’s one of those oldies but goodies. The sentiment is there, and I feel my chest squeeze.
I exhale a quiet breath and sip my coffee, letting the warmth ground me.
I don’t know how this ends.
But if there’s still room in the world for miracles, maybe—just maybe—one of them is waiting for me at the end of all this.
And maybe it’s him.
I’m trying and failing to not look back toward the hallway. To where I last saw Noel. He has work to do.
I know that.
I’m not going to sit here like some clingy mess wondering where he is.
Once more, my brain drifts.
To Noel.
From the way he held me this morning, to the ache in my chest when he pulled me in close and whispered, “It’s going to be okay,” in that sexy voice of his.
I think about the danger I’m in, and the way Noel’s voice changed when he realized someone had found me. When he realized it was personal now.
I stare out the window as snow begins falling again over the city, blanketing everything in white.
There’s something peaceful about it. Soft. Quiet.
I want to believe this will all end with a gala that goes off without a hitch, with lights and laughter and music.
But more than that, I want to believe I was put in Noel’s path for a reason. Or maybe he was put in mine.
And if there’s still such a thing as Christmas miracles, I hope to God there’s one waiting for me at the end of this mess.
Maybe it’s a second chance.
Maybe it’s more than that.
But whatever it is, I’m not done hoping.
Not yet.