"I'm falling in love with you," I say. No strategy. No plan. Just the truth, spoken into the three inches of air between her mouth and mine.
Her breath catches. I watch the fear flash across her face, fast and bright, followed by something deeper. Something that looks like the beginning of belief.
She kisses me. Slow and deep and trembling.
She doesn't say it back. I don't need her to. Not yet.
The way she's holding my face tells me everything her words can't.
6
LEX
Iwake up warm.
Not the temperature kind. The body kind. The kind that comes from six feet two inches of muscle pressed against my back, an arm draped over my waist, and steady breathing against the nape of my neck. Hayes sleeps like a man who's trained himself to rest efficiently, deep and still, but his arm tightens when I shift, pulling me closer without waking up.
It's day ten. He's spent the last two nights in my bed. We haven't discussed what this is, haven't put parameters around it, haven't done any of the things I would normally insist on before allowing a man this close to my carefully constructed life. The CEO in me wants a contract. The surgeon wants a prognosis. The woman who woke up with his hand on her stomach and his mouth on her shoulder yesterday morning wants to stay exactly where she is and not think about any of it.
I let myself have three more minutes. Then I slide out from under his arm and pad barefoot to the kitchen.
Coffee is brewing when my phone buzzes. Warren. I glance at the clock. Oh-six-fifteen on the east coast, which means he's been up for a while and whatever he's calling about couldn't wait.
"Talk to me," I answer.
"We have a problem. A big one." Warren's voice is tight in a way I've only heard twice in six years. "Sully's financial trace on Whitfield's shell companies finally hit the terminus. The money isn't coming from a competitor, Lex. It's coming from Meridian Capital Partners."
My hand freezes on the coffee pot. "Meridian."
"Victor Kane's fund."
The kitchen tilts. Not physically. Perceptually. The way the world shifts when a piece of data reorganizes everything you thought you understood.
Victor Kane. Hedge fund titan. Corporate raider. The man who dismantled three pharmaceutical companies in the last decade by buying distressed assets, stripping the research divisions, and selling the patents to the highest bidder. He doesn't compete with companies. He consumes them.
"He's not stealing my research to sell it," I say slowly. "He's using the leaks to depress our stock value. Create the appearance of compromised IP. Drive investor confidence down."
"And then make an acquisition bid at a fraction of market value," Warren finishes. "Classic Kane playbook. But Lex, it gets worse. The surveillance team Guardian Peak captured? Sully traced their burner phones. One of them had a call log connecting to a number registered to Kane's head of security."
"The penthouse break-in."
"Kane's people. Proof of access. Proof they can reach you personally. It's a pressure campaign designed to make you crack, make a mistake, or make you disappear long enough for your board to panic."
I set the coffee pot down. My hand is steady. My mind is already running scenarios, countermeasures, legal strategies. This is what I do. This is the battlefield I was built for.
"How much of the board knows I'm off-site?"
"Officially, you're on a strategic retreat. Unofficially, two board members have been asking questions. Janet Liu and David Ostrowski."
"Janet's solid. David has golf connections to Kane's CFO."
"I noticed."
"Pull David's communications for the last six months. If he's feeding information to Kane's people, I want documentation."
"Already in progress."
"And Warren? Call Diane Keane. I want to talk to her directly."
