Chapter 35
LYRA
A wry smile spreads across my face as I think it over, my hand wrapped around a cup of ginger tea, a spreadsheet open on the laptop in front of me.
The last Irina fundraiser proved something. Not just to Julian, Elena and the donors, but to me.
And it’s that I’m good at this. Really good.
Not just passable or adequate or halfway decent… but great. Great in the way that this could be my calling. Sure, the last event had a drawback in terms of the shooting. But thankfully, the incident happened outside and after most of the guests had left.
I haven’t heard much about the shooting. But the event itself? It was a smash.
I have the kind of skill that means kids’ lives get saved, they become better, happier, and safer people.
And now that I know what I’m capable of, I want to do more. I want to do bigger venues, have bigger guest lists. I want to pack these events full of the wealthiest people in the city and get them to open their wallets for those less fortunate.
I’m hard at work, filling out another spreadsheet with a possible guest list for the next event, cross-referencing donor tiers, when the office goes eerily quiet. Not gradually, but all at once.
It’s the sudden kind of quiet that I know all too well at this point—the kind that happens whenever Julian walks into a room. It comes with a certain shift, like the world itself is rearranging to accommodate him.
I look up. Sure enough, he’s standing at my doorway with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, a corner of the North Star tattoo just visible above the collar of his shirt. He’s holding two things—a green smoothie, and a brown paper bag that holds something that smells absolutely delicious.
“You skipped breakfast,” he says.
“Not true. I had ginger tea.” I say, holding up my mug.
“That’s not breakfast. That’s flavored water.”
He sets the smoothie and the bag on my desk. I open the bag and peek inside. Inside is a warm croissant, butter on the side, and a small fruit and yogurt parfait.
“Eat.”
“You’re managing my meals now?”
“I’m ensuring that the mother of my child isn’t existing off ginger tea and David bars.”
He pulls a chair from the corner and sits across from me. He settles in, unhurried and casual.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Nauseous. Tired. My boobs hurt, and I cried at an ad I saw on YouTube for freaking dog food. I’m not going to discuss that one.”
The almost-smile appears. “Noted.”
“And how are you feeling?” I ask.
He shifts in his seat, crossing an ankle over a knee.
“Concerned.”
“About the council?”
“No. About you.”
He leans forward and reaches across the desk. He takes my hand, tenderly tracing the bumps of my knuckles with his thumb. It’s a little surreal, knowing that the hand touching me so gently is the same hand that breaks bones—and worse. I shake the thought away.
“I want you to work from home,” he says.
There it is.
“No.”
“Lyra—”
“No, Julian. We talked about this. I will keep working. Here. That was the deal.”
“The deal was made before the council was three days away.” He lets go of my hand. “This Friday night, every syndicate head in the northeastern corridor will be gathered in one room. If something’s going to happen, it’s going to happen then. And you’re the target. We know that now.”
“I’m a target everywhere I go. That hasn’t changed.”
“It’s different now.”
“Because of the baby.”
“Because of everything.” His tone of voice drops.
“There are an infinite number of things that could go sideways at this council. I can only guess what plans Dobrov, Alexander, and Yang have in mind. And if something does go wrong, and I’m in a position of weakness, attacks will come—and not just for me. ”
I shift in my seat. He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it.
“Ethan is here, along with ramped-up security. It’s not like I’m unprotected.”
“True. But even I can’t ensure 100 percent protection at every moment of the day.
If you work from the office every day, that introduces dozens of potential failure points twice between the ride into the office and the ride home.
You’re more exposed. All we need to do to eliminate that exposure is keep you locked down. Just for now.”
I lean back in my chair and fold my hands across my stomach. I want him to hear clearly what I have to say next, and I don’t want him to be on the defensive.
“Julian, I care about you deeply. I’m carrying your child.
And I get the danger, I really do. Hell, I’ve lived it.
” I hold his gaze. He gives no indication that he wants to interrupt me.
“But you’re crazy if you think that staying locked up in your apartment is an option for me.
I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Besides, you promised you wouldn’t keep me locked up like some prisoner. ”
“Someone tried to kill you.” A muscle works in his jaw. “Multiple times.”
“Yet I’m still here. The work I’ve done, the work I’m doing… it can make such a difference in the lives of so many kids. I can’t stop the momentum we’ve started.”
“Just until the council,” he says. “That’s it.”
“No. Because this week is important. I’ve got meetings lined up, calls to make, and a ton of other stuff.
I can’t just put the brakes on. I just can’t tell these people to wait a week, maybe longer.
Not to mention the way it’ll feel to be stewing around in the apartment, thinking about what’s happening and worrying myself sick.
I need this, Julian. And the kids I’m fighting for need it, too. ”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I watch as he processes everything I’ve just said. He’s running scenarios, weighing risks, calculating outcomes.
When he looks away and nods slowly, I know he’s arrived at the conclusion he didn’t want to.
“Ethan doesn’t leave your side—ever. Even the bathroom.”
“Julian—”
“These are my terms: I know exactly where you are at all times. You leave the apartment, you tell me. You leave the office, you tell me. I don’t plan on watching you like a hawk permanently. But for now, it’s essential. I cannot, at any time, question whether or not you’re safe.”
“Agreed.”
“And if anything, and I mean anything, feels wrong, you call me. Not Ethan, not 911. You call me first.”
“Agreed.”
He taps the paper bag.
“And you eat the croissant.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Okay, I’ll eat the croissant.”
I pull it out of the bag and take a bite.
“Wow.” It’s perfect—flaky, warm, buttery. I eat with total delight, closing my eyes for a second to really enjoy it. Julian watches me, a big grin on his face, as if there’s nothing more important in the world than me eating.
I finish it and wash it down with a few sips of the green smoothie—which is also delicious. Then I sit back and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“Happy?” I ask, a playful tone to my voice.
“Happier. And that’s another stipulation—no skipping meals. I can hire a personal chef to make them and bring them to you if that’s easier. I won’t bother repeating the cliché about how many people you’re eating for now.”
That gets a chuckle out of me. And as over-pampered as I feel, a personal chef would be nice—one less thing to worry about.
“I’ll think about it. The chef, that is.”
“Good.”
With that, he stands and leans across the desk. Then he cups my face with one hand and kisses me—slow and warm, tasting like the coffee I can no longer drink.
It’s not a long kiss, but it’s a meaningful one.
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
He straightens and adjusts his sleeves. I can tell there’s more he wants to say.
“The council is Friday. And after that, this ends—one way or another.”
“One way or another,” I echo.
He nods, then turns toward the door, but it opens before he reaches it.
Alexander walks in.
“Julian.” He doesn’t acknowledge me at all. “We need to talk.”