The timing.
The venom behind it.
And my plan to fix things.
Because I’m not ready to break the last piece of innocence Cami has somehow managed to hold onto. The media destroyspeople for sport. No way in hell will she become the subject of any negative headline.
My phone buzzes, slicing through the Sunday hush.
Cami’s name flashes across my phone. Her actual number. Her actual place in my life that’s not filtered through a bubble phone or summer rules or a glowing memory.
God, it feels good seeing her name here. Permanent. Rooted.
Cami: I love you. Fingers crossed he doesn’t murder you.
A quiet, rough laugh slips out. It doesn’t sound nearly as calm as I want it to.
I thumb out a reply just as the elevator doors slide open.
Me: If he does, please tell the kittens I died doing something brave.
Me: Love you too, baby.
Typing bubbles bounce immediately.
Cami: Deal. But remember, Shadow is dramatic, and Stripe would never recover. So…come home to us, okay?
Damn.Come home to us.
For one suspended moment, I forget I’m walking into the hardest conversation of my life.
Mont glances up from his laptop when I step into his office, his black-framed glasses low on his nose.
“Well, look at this. Ryder on a Sunday.” He nudges a folder toward me. “If you’re here to catch up on last week, impeccabletiming. And we should go over your mentorship plan for Frankie. She’ll be in tomorrow.”
I take the seat across from him, palms sliding briefly down my jeans to calm myself.
Mont leans back, relaxed and completely unaware that his morning is seconds from exploding.
“You’re the perfect mentor for her,” he goes on. “Frankie needs someone she can trust.”
I clear my throat, the knot in my stomach drawing tight. “Mont, before we get into her mentorship, there’s something I need to tell you. About her. About Cami. Frankie. Sorry, I’m still adjusting to which name you prefer.”
Mont lifts a brow. “All right. Go on.”
“It’s an interesting story,” I say, leaning forward to steady myself. “You obviously know Paxton.”
He nods. “Of course. They’ve been best friends since they were three. Lived two brownstones down. He and Frankie grew up together.” He folds his arms, expectant. “What about him?”
“Nothing bad,” I tell him. “Paxton had a great summer gig lined up, but he got called early to an internship on Wall Street.”
Mont’s expression glints with fatherly pride. “Yes. He wants to join Beaumont Group eventually, but we agreed he needs outside experience first. Wall Street’s a good start. But what does any of that have to do with Frankie?”
I draw a slow breath. “Cami,Frankie, stepped in for his summer gig. She took over house-sitting…” I pause, bracing myself. “…In Crystal Cove.”
Mont stops cold, green eyes going wide. He removes his glasses and sets them on his desk, the click sharp as a gunshot.
“House-sitting,” he repeats quietly, adjusting his collar. “In Crystal Cove.”
