I pace, dragging my hand through my hair.
“Vesper’s going back to Juniper Ridge,” I say, and my voice does a thing I don’t like—softens around her name.“Her dad’s sick.The camp is in trouble.She’s trying to do it alone.She should’ve called already requesting a flight for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll work on that,” Harvey says, which is assistant-speak forI’m listening but I’m also watching you put your heart in a blender.
“I want a place near Portland,” I continue.“Not in the city.Not downtown.Somewhere near water.Trees.Privacy.”
Harvey is quiet long enough that I can hear him typing.“Lake Oswego has inventory that fits that.”
“Okay.I want something big,” I say, because this isn’t about minimalist living or proving I can survive without luxury.It’s about building a safe space with my money because money is the one thing I can control when everything else is being decided for me.“I want a gym.Real gym.Not a sad Peloton corner.I want a training setup.Ice access if possible, or a quick drive.I want a guest room that doesn’t feel like an afterthought.”
Harvey pauses.“Guest room?”
“Don’t,” I warn, but there’s no heat behind it.
He doesn’t.He’s too good at his job.“I’ll prioritize properties with privacy, a dock, and enough space to set up training equipment.Do you want a lease or purchase?”
“Purchase,” I say without hesitation.
“Timeline?”
“As soon as possible,” I reply.“I want keys before I land.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I’m ambitious,” I say flatly.“And you always make it happen.”
“Noted.”The sound of typing resumes.“I’ll also arrange a driver and temporary housing in the meantime.”
“Nothing temporary,” I say.“Just ...the place.”
Harvey exhales slowly.“Callaway.”
I stop pacing.Lean my shoulder against the wall.“What?”
“Are you buying a home because you need a home,” he asks carefully, “or because you want a reason to pull her into your orbit?”
The question punches straight through my chest.
I swallow.“Both.”
He doesn’t react.That’s why I keep him.He’s a professional.
“Okay,” Harvey says.“I can work with honesty.”
I close my eyes.“I can’t believe I couldn’t stop it,” I admit, and it comes out harsher than I mean.Not anger at Harvey—anger at the helplessness.“I can’t believe I couldn’t protect ...any of it.”
“You don’t control trades,” he says.
“I’m Callaway Livingston Harrington Winthrop,” I snap, because my last name has always been a shield and a target.“I’m supposed to be able to control things.”
“Your name doesn’t override the CBA,” Harvey replies, dryly.
I almost laugh.It tries to climb out of my throat and then collapses.“My name doesn’t override anything that matters.”
Harvey’s pause is softer this time.“It matters,” he says.“To sponsors.To fans.To your bank account.”
“Great,” I mutter.“Fucking love that for me.”
