"I don't want to use my last name," I say slowly. "I want something different. Something that doesn't sound like I’m trying to prove I belong in a boardroom."
Malcolm watches me, waiting. He doesn't offer a suggestion. He lets me find the answer.
"Apex," I say, the word forming on my tongue before I fully process it. "Apex Architecture."
"Apex." Malcolm tilts his head slightly, testing the sound of it. "The highest point. The peak."
"The part of the structure that carries the most weight," I correct him. "The part that doesn't break."
A slow, devastating smile spreads across his face. It is a look of absolute, unfiltered pride.
"Apex it is," he murmurs.
Before I can respond, the heavy steel door at the front of the loft rattles loudly. The sound of the deadbolt disengaging echoes like a gunshot in the quiet room.
I jump, my hand instinctively reaching out to grip Malcolm’s arm. The memory of the tactical team outside the warehouse yesterday crashes back into my brain.
Malcolm doesn't flinch. He doesn't reach for a weapon. He just sets his coffee mug down.
The heavy door swings open.
Grant walks into the loft.
He is wearing a fresh dark overcoat, but his left arm is secured in a black medical sling, resting tightly against his chest. He looks pale, and the rigid, perfect posture he usually maintains is slightly compromised, but he is alive. He is standing.
"Grant," I breathe, stepping away from the counter.
Grant stops near the entrance, his eyes scanning the loft before landing on us in the kitchen.
"Good morning, Miss Jennings," Grant says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He looks at Malcolm. "Sir. The perimeter isclear. The federal agents have vacated the holding company headquarters. The media presence outside the penthouse has been managed."
"Managed how?" Malcolm asks.
"I informed the building’s management that if a single photographer breaches the lobby, I will personally throw them into Lake Michigan." Grant shifts his weight, wincing slightly as the movement pulls at his injured shoulder. "They have hired additional private security to enforce the perimeter."
"You were shot yesterday," I say, walking toward him. "You shouldn't be working."
"It was a through-and-through, Miss Jennings. No major arteries were compromised." Grant looks at me, his expression completely serious. "And I am currently unemployed. I am not working. I am merely offering logistical advice to a friend."
I stop walking. I look at Grant, then back at Malcolm.
Vance Security is gone. Grant doesn't have a job anymore. The entire infrastructure Malcolm built to protect his family was dissolved.
"You dissolved the company," I say to Malcolm, the realization hitting me. "What happens to your team? What happens to Grant?"
Malcolm walks out of the kitchen, his hands sliding into the pockets of his sweatpants. He stops next to me, looking at his former head of security.
"Grant," Malcolm says, his voice dropping to a formal, business register. "Audrey is incorporating a new architecture firm this afternoon. She will require a director of operations to managethe logistical and security requirements of her high-net-worth clients."
Grant raises an eyebrow, the closest thing to a display of shock I have ever seen from him.
I stare at Malcolm, my mouth slightly open. "I am?"
"You are," Malcolm confirms, not looking at me. He keeps his eyes on Grant. "The starting salary will be twenty percent higher than your previous compensation at Vance Security. The benefits package will be identical."
Grant looks at me. He looks at the oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and the vintage diamond on my left hand.
Then, a very faint, very dry smile touches the corner of his mouth.
