I don't freeze. My heart doesn't hammer against my ribs.
I just turn around, leaning my lower back against the edge of the sink, and wait.
Malcolm walks into the living room.
He is wearing a dark, tailored suit, the jacket unbuttoned. He looks exactly like the ruthless, untouchable CEO who walked into the hotel bar a year ago. But the moment his eyes find me standing in the kitchen, the cold, calculating mask completely dissolves.
He stops walking. He looks at the mustard yellow pillows on the sofa. He looks at the blueprints scattered across the coffee table. He looks at me, wearing a pair of faded jeans and one of his black t-shirts.
"You are home early," I say, a slow smile touching my lips.
"The meeting at the Pentagon concluded ahead of schedule," he replies, walking toward the kitchen. He drops his keys and his phone onto the marble island. "The generals had fewer objections than I anticipated."
"Probably because you terrified them."
"I presented a logical assessment of their vulnerabilities." He stops in front of me, his hands sliding around my waist to pull me flush against his chest. "If they found it terrifying, that is a failure of their own infrastructure."
I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck. "You can't just tell the Department of Defense that their infrastructure is a failure, Malcolm."
"I can. And I did." He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of my neck. "What did you do today?"
"I finalized the renderings for the high-rise." I lean into his touch, inhaling the familiar scent of cedar and the cold city air clinging to his suit. "And Vivian called. She wants to know if we are still coming to dinner on Friday. She is attempting to cook, which means we should probably eat before we go."
"I will have Grant arrange a dinner reservation for eight o'clock." Malcolm’s hands slide down to my hips, his thumbs brushing against the denim of my jeans. "We can eat before we arrive at her apartment."
"You are terrible."
"I am pragmatic."
He pulls back slightly, looking down at my face. The afternoon sunlight catches the sharp angles of his jaw. He looks tired, the kind of deep, satisfying exhaustion that comes from building something that actually matters.
He reaches up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His eyes drop to my left hand, resting against his shoulder. The vintage diamond catches the light, flanked by the simple platinum band we exchanged in the courthouse a year ago.
"You didn't wear the ring to the site visit," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone.
It isn't an accusation. It is a quiet, observant statement of fact.
"I took it off when I was reviewing the concrete pours," I explain, dropping my hand to rest flat against his chest. "I didn't want to get dust in the setting. I put it back on as soon as I got in the car."
"You don't have to explain it to me, Audrey." He holds my gaze, the absolute, unwavering certainty in his eyes anchoring me to the floor. "I know you aren't going anywhere."
My pulse stutters.
A year ago, he was terrified that I would run the second I got my company back. He thought he had to lock the doors and burn the world down just to keep me in his line of sight.
Now, he knows I take the ring off to work, and he doesn't even flinch.
"I'm not," I whisper, my hands sliding up to frame his face. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
Malcolm closes his eyes, leaning heavily into my touch. The last remnants of the tension from his meeting in Washington completely leave his body.
"I bought a building today," he says quietly, opening his eyes.
I blink, thrown by the sudden shift in topic. "A building? For Vanguard?"
"No." He steps back, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out a heavy, folded piece of paper and hands it to me. "For Apex."
