“Elle?” His voice is pitched low, concerned rather than the flirtatious one he preferred. “You okay in there?”
A pause, then her voice comes muffled through the wood. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”
The tremor in her words betrays the lie. Caleb hears it too; his shoulders tense beneath his thin t-shirt.
“I’m coming in,” he announces, no question in it. “Just to check, okay?”
No response this time, which we both take as acquiescence. He opens the door carefully, disappearing inside. I remain in my doorway, weighing options.
The schedule we created—Adrian’s ridiculous, meticulous schedule that Elle amended and we all agreed to follow—didn’t account for middle-of-the-night escalations. There are no assigned shifts for 2 AM emergencies.
The sound of running water reaches me. Then Adrian appears from his room further down the hall, hair mussed from sleep but expression alert. He’s carrying a tray with water bottles, towels, and what looks like Miles’s cooling packs.
“Is she—” he begins, spotting me in my doorway.
“Caleb’s with her,” I interrupt quietly. “Just went in.”
Adrian’s jaw tightens, that territorial instinct flaring briefly before he locks it down. “Good. That’s good. He’s good with people.”
The admission costs him. I can see it in the slight clench of his fingers around the tray handles.
“He is,” I agree, because it’s true, and because Adrian needs to hear someone else acknowledge it.
We move toward Elle’s door together, unspoken agreement in our synchronized steps. Not rushing, not barging in, but not staying away either. The door stands partially open, light spilling into the hallway.
I pause at the threshold, taking in the scene before me. Elle sits on the edge of the bed, hair dark with sweat and clinging to her neck, wearing a thin tank top and shorts that reveal more skin than I’ve ever seen from her. Her professional armor is nowhere to be found.
Caleb kneels in front of her, one hand holding a wet washcloth to her forehead, the other steadying her shoulder. He’s talking softly, something about an embarrassing story from a conference in Tokyo. Making her smile despite her obvious discomfort.
“And then the translator just stops, looks at me, and says in perfect English, ‘I cannot translate that, sir. It would violate multiple cultural taboos and possibly several local ordinances.’”
Elle’s laugh is weak but genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners despite the glassy heat-flush in them. “What did you do?”
“What could I do? I apologized profusely while the entire room of Japanese executives pretended not to understand English suddenly.” Caleb grins, dabbing the cloth gently at her temples. “Cost me the deal, but I deserved it. Never try cultural jokes in languages you don’t speak fluently.”
Adrian clears his throat softly, announcing our presence. Elle’s eyes dart to the doorway, widening slightly when she sees us both. Something complicated passes over her features—embarrassment, relief, vulnerability.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, trying to straighten, to compose herself. “I didn’t mean to wake everyone.”
“You didn’t,” Adrian says immediately, moving into the room with his tray of supplies. “I was up reviewing presentation notes.”
A lie, transparent and kind. His hair is flattened on one side from his pillow.
“And I don’t sleep much anyway,” I add, remaining in the doorway. I don’t enter fully, maintaining a boundary that feels necessary—for her comfort, for my control.
“The storm gang’s all here,” Caleb says lightly, taking the wet cloth to the bathroom to refresh it. “Regular slumber party now.”
Adrian sets his tray on the nightstand, methodically arranging supplies like he’s preparing for surgery. “Water first,” he says, uncapping a bottle and offering it to Elle. “Small sips. Your body temperature is elevated, and dehydration will make symptoms worse.”
She accepts the water, fingers trembling slightly as they brush Adrian’s. The contact makes him freeze momentarily, his usual composure cracking just enough for me to notice. He recovers quickly, professional mask slipping back into place.
“Thank you,” Elle says, voice rough. She takes a careful sip, then another. “This is ridiculous. I’m sorry you’re all?—”
“Stop apologizing,” I interrupt, the words coming out more forcefully than intended. Three pairs of eyes turn to me, surprised by the uncharacteristic sharpness. I modulate my tone. “This isn’t something you need to apologize for.”
“Miles is right,” Caleb agrees, returning with the fresh cloth. “Biology’s a bitch sometimes. Nobody’s keeping score here.”
Adrian nods, already preparing one of the cooling packs. “According to our schedule, your next check-in wasn’t until 6 AM. We should adjust for more frequent monitoring.”
