Page 30 of Sweet Sinners
If she still walks through that door every night, exhausted and alone.
And that, caring about her in a way I never planned, feels far moredangerousthan any fight I've ever faced.
Chapter fifteen
Cali
Connor’sroomisn’tlikethe rest of the house, quiet, hollow, empty. I’ve never been one to believe in spaces holding emotions or energy, but standing here, I feel something pressing in, suffocating me with its absence. Like whoever lives here is trying desperately not to leave a trace behind. Maybe it feels temporary to him, a space borrowed rather than owned, but either way, it doesn’t fit Connor.
The rest of the house echoes with memories, history etched into heirlooms, portraits, and polished wood. But here? Blank walls. Empty surfaces. Nothing personal, nothing that says Connor. Just sparse essentials and the faint, unsettling trace of his scent, clean, sharp, threaded with something darker beneath the surface.
Shifting uneasily, I flip through his handwritten notes, frustration simmering under my skin. "This can’t be it," I mutter. "Just track down the culprit, pin everything on them, and wash our hands of it? What about oversight? Prevention? What about the employees who—"
"You’re just one person, Cali," he interrupts softly, his voice tired, resigned, as if we've argued about this a hundred times already. The PR friend he'd reached out to had turned out to be completely useless, leaving me no choice but to come here, to Connor’s too-empty room, looking for answers I wasn’t sure he had.
I exhale slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. "That’s not an excuse to settle for the bare minimum."
Connor leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes darkening as he draws a heavy breath—like he’s standing on the edge of something he’s not sure he should jump into. "When I was in prison—"
"You don’t have to," I interrupt softly, instinctively. Because as much as part of me aches to know, I don’t want him to feel obligated to share a piece of himself he might not be ready to give.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. "I thought I could handle it alone," he says, voice low, almost as if he’s admitting it to himself more than me. "I never understood why guys buddied up with gangs or allied with people who’d done fucked-up things. But it didn’t take long before I learned the truth, you can’t fight the whole world by yourself. The press, the board, everyone waiting for you to fail, it’s too much for one person."
I know he’s right, but admitting I need help has never been my strong suit. I swallow my feelings and spit out perfection, wrapping everything inside a neat, unbreakable package. But it’s always temporary, eventually, it all bursts open, like the night of my accident. Except I’m better now. I haven’t had a drink in weeks. I refuse to believe it hasanything to do with Connor, because acknowledging that would lead me down a path I’m not prepared to face.
He goes on, dragging me from my thoughts. "I ended up with bruises, a broken nose, busted fingers, all proof of my stubbornness." His mouth twists into something bitter, not quite a smile. "You stand to lose a hell of a lot more."
I groan, leaning back against his desk, frustration and reluctant acceptance twisting painfully together in my chest. "I really hate that you’re right."
Connor’s lips curl, satisfied. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real venom behind it.
"You have to lean on the board," he insists quietly. "Show them you trust them, even if you have to fake it at first. Trust isn’t given, Cali, it’s earned. Especially when everything’s falling apart. That’s when you find out who’s really on your side."
I hate that idea. I hate the thought of relying on those men, men who've done nothing to earn my trust and everything to make me doubt them. The thought of giving them even a sliver of vulnerability makes my skin crawl. But deep down, I know Connor’s right.
"I can’t exactly stand beside you and intimidate them into line," he says, his voice dipping lower, eyes growing darker. "But there’s something else I can do."
My brow arches. "And what’s that?"
He hesitates, his fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest, like he’s debating how much to share. "I have another friend. One of the few who didn’t turn his back on me before…" He trails off, something shadowed crossing his face before he masks it again. "He’s really good with computers."
I don’t press for clarification. I have a feeling 'good' might be an understatement and that knowing more would only complicate things further.
"Thank you, Connor," I say quietly, the words tasting strange on my tongue.
He grins, smug. "How painful was that?"
"Excruciating," I deadpan. "But I mean it. If your advice and your friend come through, I might even trust you with my Amazon login so you can finally make this place look livable."
His head tilts, amused. "Is that my official welcome package?"
"Don’t be an asshole and ruin it," I say, fighting a smile. "Anyway, I need to get going. I’ve got plans to put into motion."
He holds my gaze, something complicated flickering behind his eyes. "Set your alarm early. Get there before everyone else tomorrow. Show them who’s in charge."
It sounds like an order, but there's an undercurrent of something else, protective,possessiveeven, that makes my pulse quicken.
