“You want to know something?” he said. “Orion texted me about an urgent situation on the casino floor. Very specific, very detailed problem that absolutely required his immediate attention.”
I blinked. “Okay?”
“Except there is no problem. I checked. Everything’s running smooth as silk down there.”
My brain, still foggy from smoke and emotion, took a second to catch up. “He…made it up?”
“Not him. Me.” Leo’s grin was pure mischief. “I needed an excuse to get him away from your door so I could check on you without the CEO hovering like an expensive security blanket.”
“You lied to your brother.”
“I strategically redirected his attention.” He leaned back, arm stretched along the sofa behind me but not touching. “There’s a difference.”
“That’s a terrible difference.”
“I know. I’m a terrible person.” He didn’t look remotely sorry. “But you’ve been through hell, and I figured you might want to talk to someone who wasn’t going to give you the professional CEO speech about insurance and accommodations and legal protocols.”
He had a point. Orion had been perfect—protective, careful, everything I needed in the moment. But there’d been a formality to it, a distance maintained even when he held my hand.
Leo felt different. Warmer. Like he might actually tell me the truth instead of the carefully curated version designed to avoid lawsuits.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“Greek food from that place on Spring Mountain. They’re one of the few restaurants that take food allergies seriously. I called ahead, gave them your restrictions. Everything in here is safe.” He pulled out containers. “Grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, rice pilaf, and baklava because life’s too short to skip dessert even when it’s trying to kill you.”
My stomach growled so loudly it echoed off the windows.
Leo laughed. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Hospital gave me Jell-O this morning. Before that…” I tried to remember. “The microwave meal that became an accelerant.”
“Jesus.” He opened containers, the scent of lemon and herbs and garlic filling the suite. “Okay, new rule. You eat. I’ll talk. No pressure to respond.”
He handed me a fork and I dug in like a starving animal, which wasn’t far from the truth. The chicken was perfect—tender, seasoned, not trying to kill me with hidden allergens. I made an embarrassing noise.
“Good?” Leo asked, grinning.
“So good.” I swallowed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” He picked at the rice pilaf, not really eating. “You know what I think? I think you’re overwhelmed because people keep doing nice things and you’re not used to it.”
The observation hit too close. I focused on my chicken.
“Your ex,” Leo continued carefully. “The one from the photo situation. He wasn’t big on nice gestures, was he?”
“How do you?—”
“Because you looked at those flowers like they might explode. And when Orion said we’d replace your laptop, you looked terrified. Like kindness was a trap.”
I set down my fork. “You’re very perceptive for someone who pretends to be the fun brother.”
“Who says I’m pretending?” But his smile had an edge now. “I’m the CMO, Tashi. Chief Marketing Officer. My job is reading people, understanding what they want, what they fear, what makes them tick. And right now? You’re scared.”
“I nearly died in a fire.”
“You’re scared of this.” He gestured at the suite. “Of us. Of what it means that three men you barely know are going out of their way to take care of you.”
My throat tightened. “It’s too much.”
