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“Sera,” I say, answering. “Are you going to let me speak?”
“I’m sorry,” she replies. “I’ve got a lot to explain. Are you busy?”
I laugh dryly. “Why the sudden change in tone? Are you trying to mess with my head? Is that it?”
“I didn’t mean to block your number. You’re not going to believe my story.”
What twisted game is she playing? “Forget about the number. Are we going to talk about your rant or just pretend it never happened?”
“My… rant.” A pause. “Wait, did you just call me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God,” she grunts. "I didn’t know it was you! Graham’s been calling me nonstop. I thought it was him. Luke, hell, I would never speak to you like that. I want nothing to do with you. Are you kidding me? I wanteverythingto do with you.”
“So, why did you block my number?”
“Like I said, it’s a lot to explain.”
“Then it’s lucky I’m outside your apartment.”
When she gasps, a smile spreads across my face. It’s the most sincere smile I’ve had in days – since leaving Vegas. “Are you freaking serious?”
“Yes. I took my private jet. My team is pissed, but I’ve worked myself raw for the company for over a decade. I’m taking this time for me, for us.”
She sniffles, then lets out a sob. “I’m—so—happy…”
“What’s wrong? No, wait. I’m coming up. Apartment number seven, right?”
“Yes.”
I rush from the car, running across the street. She buzzes me up and I take the stairs two at a time, sprinting down the hallway when I reach the first floor. She throws her door open. When I see her – messy hair, oversized hoodie, her eyes red from crying – the world suddenly makes sense again.
She throws herself into my arms, gasping like she’s finally able to breathe after too long without oxygen. I rub my hands over her back, holding her tenderly.
“It’s okay, angel,” I whisper when she sobs against my chest. “Whatever happened, I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“It all… fell… apart…”
“And I’m here to help put it together. Come on. Let’s sit you down. You can tell me everything.”
I lead her into her apartment, which is stunningly clean and airy. A smile touches my lips when I see her stack of techy books. I gently sit her down on the couch, then hold her hands, looking into her eyes.
“Start at the beginning,” I say.
“The night we got steamy on camera, I was supposed to tell you what I found in Graham’s office,” she murmurs, sniffling.
She grips my hands desperately. I hold hers with the same reassuring pressure.
“It was an email from Damien. He was bragging about what he did, saying they should do more. Graham was behind the sabotage. Damien hired him to do it.”
“Okay,” I say, keeping my fury in check. Sera is innocent in all this.
“Aren’t you mad?”
“You didn’t want to get Graham in trouble. I understand.”
“Only after I had time to process it. I wanted to tell you. I texted you… but it wasn’t you.”