Page 46 of Sweet Sinners
Guilt twists sharply in my chest. "And all this time, I’ve been dumping my work bullshit on you, acting like my problems are the end of the world."
Something flickers in his eyes, his expression softening slightly. "Your work bullshit is important to you, so it matters to me. Besides, it’s nice to deal with problems that don’t require fists and blood." Hisgaze sharpens again, protective, fierce. "But you’re right about this Dean thing. You need to be careful. It has to be handled."
He pushes back from the table, slower now, the weight of the conversation settling over him like armor. "I should get some sleep."
I watch him walk away, my throat tight, an ache spreading deep in my chest. Part of me wants to call him back, to say something,anything, that would make this hurt less.
But I don’t.
And the regret of letting him leave in silence stays with me long after he disappears from view.
I glance between Dean and Mr. Sinclair, tension twisting tight in my shoulders. "Did you make it clear to them?" I press, my voice sharper than intended. "That there's nothing going on?"
Dean’s jaw tightens, his expression guarded. "Yes," he says firmly. "I explained it was purely coincidental, that there's absolutely nothing between us. No dates, no relationship. Anyone hoping for some juicy scandal is wasting their time."
Mr. Sinclair watches him for a long moment, his gaze cold and calculating before turning sharply toward me. "Regardless, this incident has called your impartiality into question. We need to make sure every loose end is tied."
Dean shifts in his seat, frustration radiating from him in waves. "I get why we’re doing this. But damn, it feels like I’m being singled out."
My eyes lock onto his. "You’re not the target here, Dean. We’re just trying to get ahead of this before it turns into something we can’t control. It's for both our sakes."
Mr. Sinclair raises a brow, leaning back slightly. "You mentioned a friend of yours who’s good at handling online messes, didn't you?"
My stomach tightens at the suggestion, dread pooling at the thought. "I'll talk to my stepbrother," I admit reluctantly. "See if he can help us handle this."
I hate that I have to lean on Connor again, especially for something like this, something messy, something that shouldn't be his problem.
But right now, I don’t really have a choice.
I dial his number from my office phone, setting it to speaker. The line clicks, and Connor’s voice filters through, a rough edge of irritation beneath it.
"I'm a grown-ass man, Cali. If you're checking up to see if I’ve sliced off another finger, don’t bother."
I shut my eyes briefly, embarrassment prickling my skin. "You’re on speaker," I say tightly, heat rising in my cheeks.
A heavy pause settles between us. Then his voice comes again, guarded and low. "Why?"
"Because we’re dealing with that rumor you pointed out." I keep my tone steady, business-like. "I need your friend, the tech guy. I’ll pay him a retainer. Just get me his details."
Connor sighs sharply, clearly annoyed, but there’s resignation there too. "Fine. I’ll text it over."
I soften my voice just a fraction. "Thank you. And please, just be careful with your hand."
There’s another pause, shorter this time, before he mutters grudgingly, "Yeah, yeah."
The line goes quiet, and I end the call. When I lift my eyes, Dean and Mr. Sinclair are watching me closely, their expressions unreadable.
"He had an accident with his new hobby," I explain, forcing a casual shrug. "If he ends up needing a hospital visit, I have to escort him due to the house arrest conditions, and I’d rather avoid that."
Mr. Sinclair nods slowly, accepting my explanation, but Dean continues studying me, his gaze sharp, assessing.
"You and your stepbrother…" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You're close?"
I don’t take the bait. Instead, I clear my throat, forwarding the contact information quickly. "Let's get back on track."
They don't push it, and the meeting resumes. But as the day drags on, I can feel the shift, the quiet respect starting to build around me in the building, layer by fragile layer. Now more than ever, I need to make sure everything is in line.
By the time I finally collapse into my office chair, exhaustion weighing heavy in my bones, I let myself release a slow, silent breath.
