Page 55

I stare at the monitor until the pixels start to swim. The DOJ leak, the bribe, Jesse’s mysterious bailout—it’s all radiating from a source that shouldn’t exist. My eyes burn. I haven’t slept more than three hours since the memo hit the news, and the caffeine in my system has turned into a jagged, vibrating anxiety.

“I can hear your teeth grinding from the hallway.”

The unexpected voice makes my head jerk up. Isabella is standing in the doorway, her silhouette sharp against the overabundance of light flooding the office through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She’s holding two cardboard sleeves of takeout, Thai, by the smell of it, and there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead from the heat.

“Everyone’s gone, Isabella,” I say, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Why are you here? Go home. There’s nothing else we can do until our hacker can figure out where the hell this key came from.”

“If you’re still here, I’m still here,” she says simply. She walks in, sets the food on the corner of the small table, and pulls up a chair. “Because if I leave, you’ll forget to eat. You’ll forget to breathe. I’ll come back on Monday morning to find a very expensive suit filled with nothing but dust, paranoia, and a terrible smell.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re the opposite of fine. You’re a structural collapse in progress.” She reaches out, her hand hovering near a stack of papers, before she pulls it back. “The DOJ will be here on Tuesday with subpoenas, no doubt. You need to move, Sebastian. Not just the files but your brain.”

I rub my face, dragging my hands up and down until my skin hurts. “I’ve told you a dozen times today. Go home. Go. Enjoy the sun. Forget the name King for seventy-two hours. You deserve a break from this circus.”

Isabella leans back, her gaze steady and unblinking. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

There’s no pity in her voice, but the phrase catches me off guard. “You’re trying to fight a war on three fronts, without any information on who you’re fighting. You need someone to help you see what’s going on while you’re swinging the sword. I’m staying.”

A strange warmth flickers in my chest before I douse it with cold logic. “I can order you to go home.”

“No, you can’t. This isn’t the Army, and I’m not one of your employees. You’re going to have to fire my firm if you want me to leave, and even then, I might not. Right now, this place is a black hole, and you need to get out, even if it’s just for a walk around the block.”

She’s right. Every time the A/C kicks on, I think it’s federal agents breaking in. Every time I see a shadow in the hallway, I jump. Every time my phone buzzes, I expect more bad news. The city is closing in on me. The skyscrapers feel like the bars of a very tall, costly jail cell.

“You’re right. I need to get out,” I mutter, standing up so abruptly my chair rolls back and hits the wall. “I can’t think here.”

Isabella watches me, her arms crossed, her expression a silent I told you so. “Where?”

That’s a good question. I can’t jet off to another country. I know how bad that would look. At best, it's a PR nightmare, at worst, it looks like I’m fleeing. Anywhere in the city feels too exposed, like a fishbowl where everyone can watch me struggle as I try to keep my head above water. I pace the length of my office, my mind racing through our properties. There’s only one place my father never goes, where I might actually find peace.

“The house in Montauk.”

“Oh, of course.” Isabella rolls her eyes. “The Hamptons house. Why didn’t I think of that?”

I should be annoyed by her sarcasm, her dig at the wealth that affords me such escapes. But instead, an impulse hits me before I can filter it. “Come with me.”

Isabella freezes, the smirk disappearing instantly. “What? No way.”

“Just for work,” I add quickly, snapping my corporate mask back into place. “It’s a massive house. You’ll have your choice of rooms. The east wing is practically a separate zip code. We can set up a war room in the library. No distractions, no DOJ, no Jesse bursting in, no worries about my father looking over our shoulder. It’s the perfect place to look for this master key, without anyone interrupting us.”

Isabella looks puzzled as she sits there blinking at me. I wonder which part of my speech she’s hung up on. The crack about the separate zip code? The sheer scale of the house? I expect sarcasm, or a lecture on what’s inappropriate, or just a simple no. Part of me hopes for no, because I have no idea what got into my head. Taking this woman to a place filled with salt-crusted memories feels like breaking a rule I didn't even know I had.

Isabella looks at the Thai food, then back at me. I can see her weighing the options in the way she nibbles on her bottom lip, her inner turmoil manifesting as a physical habit.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You’re my right-hand man right now,” I tell her despite the small voice in the back of my head screaming that I’m making a terrible decision. “You’re the only one other than the hacker who knows about the master key and the only one who understands the stakes. This is part of the job. We’re just doing it in a different setting.”

Her expression tells me she’s skeptical. It doesn’t help that I don’t quite believe myself either.

“It’s the truth,” I insist. “We’re working through this together. It’s a critical time.”

Isabella sighs. “Fine, but I get the room with the ocean view. And just so you know, if you try to talk to me about business before I’ve had my first cup of coffee, you’re not going to like what happens.”

“Deal,” I say, entirely aware of the sudden, frantic relief washing through me.

“You do know how congested the parkway is going to be, right? We’ll be lucky if we get there by tomorrow morning.”