Chapter 4 Bullet
Bullet
Archer stared at the holographic display projected above his desk, the quarterly security contracts scrolling past unseeing eyes. His mind kept drifting to a different security matter entirely—one involving amber eyes and an apartment with inadequate locks.
"...which brings the total contract value to seventeen point three million,” his CFO, Marcus, concluded. “Archer? Your thoughts?”
He blinked, forcing himself back to the task at hand. The executive boardroom of Sullivan Security Solutions fell silent, eight pairs of eyes trained on him expectantly. He’d missed something. Unacceptable.
“Run the Hong Kong numbers again,” he said, buying time. “The licensing fees seem off based on our new trade agreement.”
Marcus frowned but nodded, tapping his tablet to pull up the data. It gave Archer the moments he needed to refocus. This meeting represented millions in potential revenue. He couldn’t afford distractions—especially not the kind with sharp eyes and a purse big enough to be considered a threat.
His personal phone vibrated against his thigh. He ignored it, but his mind immediately went to Morgan. Had she texted again? Was she having second thoughts about the locksmith he’d arranged to arrive at noon?
“The Hong Kong figures are accurate,” Marcus said, highlighting a section of the projection. “We renegotiated the terms last quarter, if you recall.”
Of course he recalled. Archer had personally flown to Hong Kong to secure those terms. Sleep-deprived and running on caffeine, he’d outmaneuvered their legal team and secured favorable rates for the next five years. Details like that didn’t slip his mind.
Until today, apparently.
“Right,” he said smoothly. “Just double-checking our position. Proceed with implementation.”
The meeting continued, but part of Archer remained detached, cataloging details with mechanical precision while a more vital piece of himself wondered about a woman who’d reached out to a stranger for help.
When they finally concluded, Archer retreated to his private office—a vast yet minimalist space of glass and steel with views of the city sprawling in every direction. The first thing he did was check the notifications on his private cell.
Locksmith’s name? Should I expect someone specific?
Morgan, as he’d suspected. Practical, covering all bases.
He typed back: Kane Maxwell. Retired military. Trustworthy.
What he didn’t add was that Kane was more than a locksmith.
The man was a titan of the industry himself, savvy investor and business owner, but enjoyed keeping his skills fresh.
Kane had been the overseer of Archer’s private security team for years, one of the few people who knew both sides of his life.
If that ex-boyfriend of hers tried anything, Kane would handle it—and give him the full report.
Thank you again. This is really above and beyond for a stranger.
Archer frowned at the message. Stranger. Technically accurate, yet it felt wrong somehow. Their interaction last night had been brief but intense, the kind of encounter that compressed time and accelerated familiarity.
Consider it my good deed for the month.
Her response came quickly: Only one good deed per month? Setting a low bar there, Bullet.
A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Quality over quantity.
He could almost see her smile as she typed back: Fair enough. I’ll be awaiting your quality locksmith.
Archer set the phone down and turned to the wall of windows. Somewhere out there, in one of those countless buildings, Morgan was waiting for Kane to arrive. He should be focusing on the international security contract on his desk, not wondering what her home looked like or how she took her coffee.
His executive assistant, Jennifer’s, voice came through the intercom. “Mr. Sullivan, your 11:30 with Harrington Tech is ready in Conference Room B.”
“On my way,” he responded, straightening his tie.
He had an empire to run and a locksmith to check in with. Both would have to wait their turn.
The meeting had run long, as Harrington meetings always did, but he’d managed to slip away by 1:30. Kane’s deep voice came through Archer’s helmet speaker as he navigated through midday traffic on his Ducati. “The locks have been changed.”
“Any complications?” Archer asked, taking a hard right toward the waterfront. He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular—just needed to feel the rumble of the engine, the lean of the bike as he carved through the winding streets.
“Negative. Standard installation, all access points secured. Changed the main door, balcony door, and added a security bar for good measure.”
“And Morgan?” The question slipped out before he could consider how it sounded.
There was a brief pause on the line. “She seemed stressed. Kept checking her phone and working on her laptop while supervising the installation. Mentioned something about a client presentation.”
Archer frowned behind his visor. “Was anyone else there? Any sign of the ex?”
“No visitors. But..." Kane hesitated.
“Get out with it.”
A low chuckle came through the speaker. “She asked about you.”
Archer’s hands tightened incrementally on the handlebars. “What about me?”
“How we knew each other. How long. Whether you were always so mysterious.”
Damn. He should have briefed Kane better. “And your response?”
“I kept it vague. Said we’d worked together for years, that you valued privacy, and that you had a habit of helping people who needed it.”
Archer nodded, even though Kane couldn’t see him. It was close enough to the truth without revealing anything important.
“She also said something interesting when I was finishing up,” Kane continued. “Said her company was having problems with their security systems, and that her boss was looking into new vendors.”
Archer slowed at a light, his strategic mind immediately shifting gears. “What company?”
“Vertex Creative. Boutique marketing firm that’s rising in the ranks. They’ve got multiple locations in a few different states. About four hundred employees. Been around for almost sixty years.”
Archer filed the information away, another piece of the puzzle that was Morgan. “Interesting.”
“She mentioned the management’s been ‘running it into the ground,’ direct quote.”
The light changed, and Archer accelerated perhaps more aggressively than necessary. Interesting. Very interesting.
“Anything else I should know?”
Kane cleared his throat. “Just one thing. When I was leaving, she asked if I could pass along a message to you.”
Archer braced himself. “Go on.”
“She said, ‘Tell him thank you, but now I owe him dinner. My treat, his choice.’”
Something warm and unexpected bloomed in Archer’s chest. He tamped it down immediately. Getting involved with Morgan would be unwise for a multitude of reasons, not least of which was that she had no idea who he really was.
Yet he heard himself asking, “What did you tell her?”
“That I’d pass along the message.”
Archer was silent a moment as he guided his motorcycle onto the riverside drive, opening up the throttle as the road straightened before him. The engine’s roar filled his helmet, drowning out the voice of reason that warned him to keep his distance.
“Can you run a background check on Vertex Creative for me? Full workup. And get me everything you can on their current management and everything on her as well.”
“Already working on it.” Kane confirmed, anticipating Archer’s interests as usual.
Of course he was. Kane had been like his right hand long enough to anticipate his needs even though he wasn’t on Archer’s payroll as such.
“On top of it as always.”
Kane’s low chuckle came through again. “She seems like a good person. Made me coffee herself and offered me homemade muffins—damn good ones too. Didn’t treat me like ‘the help’ the way some of your associates do.”
“Noted,” Archer said, more curtly than he intended. He didn’t need Kane’s endorsement to be interested in Morgan. He didn’t need to be interested in Morgan at all. “Send the reports to my secure server.”
“Will do.” Kane paused briefly as if to say more, but instead kept his silence and hung up.
Archer continued down the riverside drive, the afternoon sun glinting off the water to his right. His phone buzzed again in his pocket, but he couldn’t check it while riding.
Probably Morgan, thanking him again for the locks. Or maybe asking more questions about him, questions he couldn’t answer without revealing too much or lying outright. Neither option appealed to him.
This was precisely why he kept his worlds separate.
Archer Sullivan had responsibilities, expectations, and an image to maintain.
A spotlight everywhere he went... unless he snuck out and covered up.
The ability to come and go without explanation was a luxury most didn’t appreciate until it was taken from them.
Morgan was threatening to expose his anonymity, and he hadn’t even shown her his face.
Despite knowing the potential complications it would bring, at the next intersection he pulled over and cut the engine. He took out his phone and saw what he expected—a message from Morgan.
Your friend Kane just left. Thank you again for arranging this. I feel much safer already. I meant what I said to him—I owe you dinner. No pressure, no expectations, just a thank you meal.
Archer stared at the message, weighing his options. The smart play was to politely decline, to extract himself from her life before things got complicated. To protect the boundaries he’d created that allowed him freedom without constantly looking over his shoulder.
Instead, he typed: No need to thank me. But I never turn down good food. When?
Her response was immediate: Tonight? I know it’s short notice, but I’m free after 7. You choose the place.
Tonight. That was... sudden. He had a video call with international investors at 8:00, but he could reschedule.
The thought surprised him. He’d never rescheduled multi-million dollar meetings for impromptu dinner dates.
But tonight he would.
Tonight works. 7:30. I’ll text you the location. Are you allergic to anything?
He hit send before he could reconsider, then immediately called his assistant.
“Jennifer, reschedule the Osaka investors call. Something’s come up.”
“Mr. Sullivan, they specifically requested you be on the call. They’ve been trying to get on your calendar for weeks.”
“Then they’ll understand the importance of what’s pulled me away,” he said firmly. “Reschedule for another time, next week if possible. Send my apologies.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask what to put in the calendar for tonight?”
Archer hesitated. “Personal appointment. That’s all.”
He ended the call to see Morgan had responded: No allergies, I’m looking forward to it!
Perfect. He started his bike again, mind already shifting to logistics. Where could he take Morgan that would maintain his anonymity yet still provide a decent dining experience? And how exactly did one eat dinner while wearing a motorcycle helmet?
For the first time in a long time, Archer Sullivan had no concrete plan. And for the first time in even longer, he found himself looking forward to the uncertainty.