Chapter 16
16
CARLEE
O n the ride to The Park, my palms grow sweaty, and fear takes over. My blood pumps faster, and my breathing increases.
It’s plausible someone found out I was behind LuxLeaks, though I don’t leave crumbs. I’m extremely careful about keeping my identity concealed, but maybe I didn’t cover my tracks.
People have tried to find out who I am a handful of times over the past decade, especially when I published controversial things. Every person has failed, but after Lexi and Easton, more people are reading LuxLeaks than before.
The thought of anyone accessing my laptop makes me sick, and turmoil twists in my stomach. I’m lost in my thoughts, and Weston wraps his arm around me. It’s an instant comfort.
“You’re safe,” he mutters, giving me a small smile. “Steady breaths.”
I close my eyes, mentally sorting through everything on my laptop. “I just wish I knew why someone would do this.”
“Me too. You know, when I decided to divorce Lena, I stressed about things I couldn’t control, and it made me physically ill. I know it’s difficult, but try not to worry until a need arises. ”
“Okay,” I say, giving him a small smile.
The car stops at the curb before the high-rise on Billionaires’ Row, and my door swings open. Weston tosses my leather duffel over his shoulder and follows behind me. I move toward the door, wearing a sweater and jeans. My hair is tucked up into a hat.
“You think paps saw us?” I ask when we enter, not sure if I can take anything else right now.
“Yes, but don’t worry about it. They already took plenty of pictures tonight,” he says, guiding me toward the reception desk. “I’m adding you to my visitor list so you can come and go as you please.”
“Mr. Calloway,” a woman greets us with a kind smile and then glances at me with the same demeanor. Classical music floats through the space. “I need a few signatures, fingerprints, and an eye scan.”
“Need my blood type too?” I ask with a laugh.
She chuckles.
Weston shakes his head. “No, I’ve already got that.”
My eyes widen.
“I’m kidding.” He shoots me a wink.
I fill out everything, and then we’re sent on our way.
We walk toward the elevator.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I did. Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to return back to your apartment for now. You’re too precious to me,” he admits as we enter the elevator.
His words stun me.
“Your thumbprint. We should confirm it works.”
“Oh, right,” I say, pressing it against the pad and watching it light up green. The doors close, and I don’t know what to say. No one has ever cared for me this much. “Thank you.”
“For?”
We shoot to the top floor.
“Keeping me safe,” I offer .
“I always will.”
We enter the penthouse. Weston immediately flicks on the recessed lighting, and the space glows bright.
“Home sweet home,” he says.
I look around the room, replaying the last time I was here with him and how fast things are changing between us.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally asks, reading me like a book.
“No. I just have a lot on my mind and need to process,” I whisper as exhaustion takes over.
“I understand.” He moves toward me. “Let me show you your room choices.”
I nod, following him up the stairs. He takes them at my pace, staying beside me. His room is down the hallway to my right, and to my left are several doors.
I grin as we enter an oversize bathroom with gold hardware that shines. I gasp when I see the shower, then stare at the tub. It’s deeper than the tiny one in my apartment that barely covers my body when I try to soak.
“No way,” I say, mentally adding taking a bubble bath to my list of things to do.
“Try the one in my bathroom first, but turn on the jets.”
“Yes, please,” I tell him.
He leads me through another door that connects to a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Everything in here is white and has a dreamy aesthetic as the snow falls outside.
“You have a perfect view of the sunset. I’ve watched it countless evenings from right here,” he admits.
I can imagine him standing here, watching the sun dip below the horizon. In this penthouse, there isn’t a room with a bad view.
He’s still carrying my duffel in his hand. “There are more options.”
He crosses the hallway and opens a bedroom door with a tall bed and dark blue walls, the color of his eyes. It has a gothic vibe, and I like it.
“ Moody . This your sex room?”
“It can be,” he says, shooting me a wink. “Want to see the office?”
I nod.
Weston leads me down the hall, setting my bag down, and I’m happy for the distraction. He pushes it open, and a large desk faces the windows. I can almost imagine him working here.
Bookcases fill the walls, and I run my fingers across the spines of books, not recognizing any of the titles. He sits on the edge of the desk, still dressed in the black tux he wore to Obsidian. Hours have passed since we were there, but it already feels like last week.
“Maybe this is a sign I shouldn’t write again,” I say. The thought makes me want to cry.
“I don’t believe that,” he says as I yawn.
“Sorry. I’m so exhausted. I’ve been up for nearly twenty hours.”
“You should go to bed. I’ll talk to you until the sun rises if you don’t,” he says, his eyes kind and full of something I can’t quite place.
I glance at the clock on the wall, knowing I have to be at work in seven hours. “Life is better with you in it.”
He meets my eyes. “I don’t remember life without you. I’m grateful you spoke first.”
My emotions are on overload. “I don’t want this night to end.”
“Tomorrow is a new day,” he tells me, walking toward me. “You need rest. Have you chosen your room?” he asks.
“Hmm. I think I want yours,” I say.
He tilts his head and smirks, leading me from his office. “Go ahead.”
I push open the door. His bed is neatly made, and the lamp is on. This is the room where he kissed me. I glance at the place where I stood, replaying that memory, and it makes me smile .
“Where will you sleep?” I turn to him, watching me from the doorway, and I wonder if tonight was a dream.
“What side do you prefer?” He unbuttons his jacket and pulls his tie loose.
“I don’t know if you’re joking or not,” I say as he moves to his closet.
My feet stay planted, and I hear a dresser drawer slide open.
I step into the doorway, and he looks at me as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing those beautiful tattoos across his chest. I immediately turn around, knowing it’s for the best.
“I need to be completely honest. Whether you want to accept this or not, but …”
I turn to meet his eyes. Time briefly stands still as I try to predict his next words.
“I’m a cuddler,” he says with a shrug.
I chuckle, and it feels good to laugh. His shirt falls to the floor in a pile.
“And if I remember correctly, that’s against your rules, so you probably shouldn’t. Don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
I yawn again, knowing I need to walk away from this situation. “You’re absolutely right. Good night, Weston. Thank you for everything.”
“Good night. Speaking of, which room did you decide on?” he asks, undoing his belt.
I turn. “The sunset room.”
“Good choice. The bed is comfy,” he says as I move across his room. “Know the invitation is always open.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, leaving.
My duffel is in the hallway where he left it, and I latch on to the handles. Once inside, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring out the windows.
My mind wanders as my ears ring from the silence. It’s unsettling. I glimpse my reflection in the glass and try to process everything .
I saw Sam again, and I was with Weston.
He owns Obsidian.
I’m shocked, knowing he cleaned up neighborhoods without wanting any credit for it. Just because.
How is it possible that he keeps surprising me? Maybe I shouldn’t keep the Westoncyclopedia title any longer. There is too much I don’t know about him.
Before I get too lost in my head, I unpack my bag. I carefully remove my work uniforms and spare clothes, tucking my jeans into the tall wooden dresser in the corner. It looks old and hand-carved, stained a caramel color.
On top are a few pictures in frames.
One is a photo of him and Easton—who knows which one is which?—with an older man. Their grandfather. He’s tall with kind blue eyes. Not to mention, he’s handsome as hell. The Calloway gene is strong.
There are others as well, all from his childhood. Seeing toddler him and Easton in suits is adorable. I guess it’s always been a part of their wardrobes.
I empty my pockets, realizing I never turned on my phone. As soon as I boot it up, I’m bombarded with text messages from Lexi.
She sent the last one thirty minutes ago.
Lexi
WTAF?! You both had better be having wild, incredible, amazing sex. OMG. Bet he’s a freak between the sheets.
The last part of the text message has me laughing hard. I cover my mouth, knowing the sound echoed off the high ceiling.
“Fuck,” I whisper, realizing I’m too jumpy.
I know she leaves her phone in Do Not Disturb mode. I always text her at different hours of the night, and she replies when she wakes up.
Right now, I don’t know what to say.
Carlee
I wish. Instead, someone broke into my apartment and stole my laptop.
Lexi
OMFG. Do you need me to come get you? I can be there ASAP. Did they take anything else? Did you call the police?
Question overwhelm is real. I suck in a deep breath and type furiously.
Carlee
I’m at Weston’s.
Her chat bubble immediately pops up.
Carlee
He wouldn’t let me stay there. Nothing else was taken. And, yes, Brody is taking care of it.
Lexi
You’re staying with Weston? Yay!
Carlee
He doesn’t want to date me, Lex. That’s MORE THAN obvious. But anyway, I’m stressed and going to bed. Love you! Good night.
My phone immediately rings, and the sound startles me. I drop it, and it bounces on the bed.
I put her on speaker, turning the volume down, wanting the distraction even though I’m exhausted.
“You promise you’re okay?” Lexi whispers.
“Yes. I’m just upset, but it’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry!” she says in her full voice.
“Shit,” she whispers. “Sorry. I’m talking to Carlee.”
Easton mumbles something, and then Lexi is quiet for fifteen seconds. I hear a door click.
“I woke him up. He has an early morning meeting,” she says .
I imagine her sitting at the top of the stairs at the Diamond in the Sky. I kick off my shoes and lean back on the bed.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” I say.
“Not your fault.” She laughs. “He’ll be fine.”
The quietness drowns me.
“I get so worried about you living alone,” Lexi admits.
“There’s nothing I can do about that since you left me,” I say, giving her a hard time.
Once she and Easton started fake dating, she moved in with him. I think about their relationship and can’t help but wonder if Weston and I are on the same path.
“I can’t believe someone stole your laptop. Why would they do that? What the hell?”
“I don’t know.” I lower my voice. “There are super-sensitive things on there, Lex. I’m freaking out. What if someone finds out about LuxLeaks? That can’t happen. It would ruin everything. Not to mention the videos and pictures that I used to send my exes that are stored on my hard drive. And my journal. I’m going to be sick all over again.”
I close my eyes tight. If that information got into the wrong hands, they could destroy my entire reputation with one single post.
“I will help you however I can. Was anything else missing?”
“No. That was it. So calculated.” My nerves take over, along with the stress. “I don’t feel safe there now. It’s violating, knowing a stranger was inside my apartment.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she promises. “Maybe you can be Weston’s roommate? Like, permanently, especially if you’re just friends. Between you and me, I think he gets lonely. Extroverts. You have to feed them with human interaction, or they shrivel. You know how it is.”
I laugh. “We both know Weston doesn’t need or want a roommate. He’s just being kind, per usual. But anyway, I have to be at work early tomorrow, and I’m going to try to sleep in this big room. I’m exhausted, but I’m too wound up.”
She sighs. “Do you want me to come over?”
“No, please don’t go through the trouble.”
“It’s just an elevator ride away.”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“I’m glad you’re okay and that you weren’t home when that happened.”
I let out a huff. “I didn’t think about that. What if they were watching me? Making sure I was gone?” A chill runs up my spine.
“I can’t think about that,” she says. “Can we get together soon and talk about everything?”
“Yes,” I promise her.
We make some more small talk, then say our good nights and end the call. I turn on the bedside lamp and then put on a tank top and some shorts. The sheets are cool to the touch, and I shiver as I slide between them.
I set my alarm and scroll on my phone, wanting Mr. Sandman to steal me away.
I count sheep, but it doesn’t work. My body is too tense to let go. I toss and turn and grow even more annoyed.
I roll over, pick up my phone, and realize an entire fucking hour has passed. Insomnia has struck—something I haven’t experienced since I was a college student.
I think it’s just the stress and worry of everything. Not to mention, my feet are ice cold, and I’m freezing. I pull the covers over my head and try to relax.
Frustrated, I push them off of me and crawl out of bed. I tiptoe toward Weston’s room and open the door to where he’s sleeping.
“Weston,” I whisper, “I can’t sleep. My mind and heart are racing and?—”
He lifts his arm and the blanket. “Come here.”
I hesitate briefly, and then I crawl into his bed. With his strong arms around me, he pulls me closer and holds me .
“Let the record state that you already broke your rule,” he says in a hushed tone as his warm body presses against mine.
My breath hitches, and I roll over to face him. His eyes open. Our warm breaths mix, and he leans forward to kiss my forehead. I lift my chin, our mouths connecting, and butterflies erupt inside of me when he kisses me back. His tongue slides into my mouth, and the kiss deepens. Our breathing grows heavy.
“I’ll break my rules for you,” I whisper.
“You should sleep. You’re exhausted,” he says, and I capture his lips again.
“I don’t care,” I admit.
Need and want take control.
As our lips crash together, I grow desperate for him. His cock is hard against my stomach, and I slide my hand inside his joggers.
“Fuck,” he whispers as I stroke him.
He’s so damn thick.
My body begs for him.
His breathing is ragged as I gently rub my hand over his shaft, teasing him.
“Choose me to be her ,” I say, and it comes out as a breathless plea.
“I did the night we met,” he confesses.