Chapter 7 Bolton
BOLTON
As soon as Cal leaves for work, I get ready and take one of the building’s cars to a shared work space I sometimes use.
It’s a quiet place full of money-market finance bros who don’t read romance.
They have no clue who I am, and I blend into the background there.
It’s the perfect place to do my research. I’m researching again.
I take a spot all the way in the back, near a giant potted plant with large, flat leaves. I think it’s fake, but it always provides the extra coverage I need to concentrate here. After twenty minutes, I found nothing.
There has to be a deeper connection between the victims than a shared employer.
Only two of the three worked at ViolaCorps at the same time, and in different departments.
My concentration breaks when a group of loud men around my age in flashy suits come in to meet the guy sitting on the other side of the room.
“Yo K-Dawg!” the tallest one shouts before giving one of them the weird bro-hug thing some men do. I never got the point, because I enjoy my personal space, thank you very much. Unless it’s Cal, I don’t really like touching people, let alone hugging them.
They shatter the quiet, relaxing atmosphere as they talk over each other about a myriad of topics—golf, women they’ve seen, clubs they’ve been to, their fathers.
These trust-fund losers always rely on their daddies to make it in the world.
They wouldn’t know hard work if it dropped from the sky and hit them on the head.
I can hear my therapist, Dr. Locke, chastising me.
Bolton, everyone has some type of daddy issue. Some people rise above their daddy issues by doing emotional work; others let their daddy issues control them.
Wait…fathers. Maybe the victims are connected through their fathers.
These rich guys are part of the upper echelon of elitism that hinges on generational wealth.
The victims shouldn’t be any different. Cal may not be as awful as the guys ruining the workspace right now, but even he admitted to benefitting from his father’s social connections from time to time.
He always frames it as a necessary evil—a resource he uses as a last resort.
The manager of the space finally makes his way over and ushers them into a boardroom on the other end of the floor. Their voices fade into the background, and I type like a madman.
I stifle a cheer when I find that all three victims' fathers were part of a group of entrepreneurs the media dubbed The Mogul Men.
These four men came up from Columbia together, then took the financial district by storm.
They made some of the biggest business deals in the 90s.
Deals that forever shaped the financial landscape of not only NYC, but the entire nation.
They played with the real estate market like it was Monopoly and bought and sold so many stocks, the media claimed they were professional insider trading evaders.
Three of the members are still alive today. One passed away suddenly from cancer. Callum Michael Monroe II.
The fourth member was Cal’s late father. We thankfully never met, but I’d obviously recognize the name anywhere. The realization is a sinking weight in my stomach, bringing on an intense nausea that makes me dizzy.
Cal is the next victim.
I pack up my things and run out of the building, video calling Cal as soon as I’m outside. I won’t be able to calm down until I see his face.
“Hey Lightning Bolt,” he greets me. His voice is smooth and raspy. It definitely doesn’t sound like someone who’s about to be targeted by a serial killer. “What are you up to?”
“I went to the shared workspace to write, but I don’t feel so well. Can you meet me at home?”
As soon as he steps off the elevator, I’ll lock him up and throw away the key.
He’ll never see the outside world again.
We’ll have all of our food delivered, and I’ll learn to clean and cancel all of our outside services.
He can run Monroe Enterprises from his home office.
We’ll learn to live life in our penthouse suite, rebuking the outside world like hermits.
My heart pounds in my chest like a war drum.
I refuse to live a life without my husband in it, and I’ll do anything to keep him safe.
“I’ll do you one better. I had a change in schedule and can be there in ten to pick you up in ten.
Go back inside and wait for me. Love you.
” He ends the call, and I sit in the lobby until he arrives to get me seven minutes later.
It’s seven minutes too long, enough time for me to imagine a thousand different ways he can die.
When his driver opens the towncar door, I throw myself into the backseat, landing in Cal’s lap and knocking the wind out of Cal’s chest.
“Are you happy to see me?” he laughs hoarsely.
“Yes!” I shout, wrapping my arms around him so tightly, he coughs.
“Woah, hold on, baby. What’s wrong?” Concern laces his voice, and I don’t want to worry him…but I can’t keep this to myself. He needs to know so he’s safe.
“You can’t leave the penthouse ever again. You need to stay alive. Please tell me you’re going to stay home until everything dies down?” Panic claws its way up my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Cal stares into my eyes with a knowing look before asking his driver to wear earbuds. He raises the partition between the front and back seats, and pulls me close, until his lips almost touch my ear.
“You know?” he asks, with a slight hitch in his voice.
“Yes…I figured it out,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only way we’ll know you’re safe.”
He takes my hands in his, and I marvel at how much bigger they are. His hands make me remember how much I love this man. How they make me forget about the parts of myself I never want to see the light of day. “Are you scared?”
A nod is all I can manage before shoving my face into his chest. I don’t trust myself not to break down.
He takes my face in his hands, our lips meeting. It’s not a frantic mess—this kiss is an all-consuming passion. A rising tide threatening to inundate me beneath the waves. He licks into my mouth, and I let him take over. We consume each other until we’re forced to part, panting for breath.
He takes a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and opens it for me. “Drink some water.” I gulp down half the bottle, but it doesn’t fill the sense of dread hollowing my stomach.
“What did I say when I first caught you in the woods?”
He frowns when I shrug. We’ve had many late-night chases in the woods near my cabin, each one more thrilling than the next. I can’t remember what he said more than two years ago.
“You’re not escaping or running from me again. You’re mine.”
Hearing him say those words again triggers a calm in me, like I’m drifting asleep. Everything turns fuzzy before slowly fading away.
“I love you, Cal,” I whisper. Or maybe I think it…everything is so peaceful.
“I love you, lightning bolt,” he says before everything fades to black.