“She exceeds expectations.” I didn’t know what he was about to say, but I knew I didn’t want to hear him disparage her.
Silence.
I continued before he could regain his footing.
“If your concern is productivity, I can assure you it remains intact. If your concern is liability, she is managing her recovery appropriately under medical guidance.”
Another pause.
“I simply need to protect the company,” he said.
“Of course,” I replied smoothly. “Competent leadership prioritizes retaining high-performing employees during temporary setbacks.”
“Well,” he cleared his throat. “We value her contributions.”
“Then we are done,” I said, abruptly ending the call.
I lowered the phone and sat back.
Whitaker.
I pulled up a quick search for his father, Alistair Whitaker. He was in industrial manufacturing. He sat on many boards and was known for his philanthropic work. Yet, he was also known for looking the other way on the workers' complaints about the conditions in his own warehouses.
Then there was Tripp Whitaker. He, on the other hand, was known for minor scandals, short-lived ventures, and a patternof leadership positions acquired through inheritance rather than competence.
I studied the photo on the screen. This was the screw-up-son. The one given opportunities instead of earning them. And he had cornered my wife in a parking lot while she was on crutches.
I closed the laptop slowly.
My irritation cooled into something sharper. I was filled with a calculated rage. If Tripp Whitaker believed he could leverage this against Belle, he was mistaken.
I rose from the desk and walked quietly down the hall.
Her door was slightly ajar. She was asleep, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other still clutching the book she’d fallen asleep reading. The brace was visible under the soft lamplight. She looked peaceful.
I walked quietly into the room, gently taking the book from her hands and placing the bookmark where she’d been before setting it on the nightstand.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
“She is exceptional, in every way,” I murmured quietly to myself.
I intended to protect her in any way I could.
17
BELLE
Things felt different in the morning. The house didn’t feel like a place I was temporarily occupying. It felt like somewhere I had slept.Really slept. The kind of sleep where you don’t wake up every hour running numbers in your head.
I still couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep with my head on his shoulder. The growly man I’d met that first day did not seem like a man I would ever feel comfortable enough to accidentally fall asleep around, but things had slowly begun to change. I was something to him I hadn’t seen before.
I was halfway through my coffee when my phone rang.
“El,” I answered.
“Well?” she demanded immediately. “How’s it going? I’ve been worried about you, and your cryptic texts are enough.”
I smiled into the mug. “I’m alive.”
