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I pull her in for a brief kiss, mindful of the nosy eyes outside my office. Even though our relationship is out in the open, there’s no need to flaunt it. Lexy wouldn’t want that.

“Dealing with the auditors again—going to put in more hours tonight. Don’t wait for me.”

Her brows furrow. “You look extra stressed. Why don’t I stay and keep you company? I’ll read a book or work on my online assignments.”

“I’ll get nothing done if you’re here. It’ll be a distraction.” I brush my finger on her nose and her cheeks pinken. “Need I remind you what happened at The Orchid last weekend?”

She flushes, no doubt thinking about our passionate, semi-public sex inside Trésor.

I may have hauled her back home right after the performance, the caveman inside me refusing to let any other red-blooded male see my Lexy with her post-orgasmic glow.

“Fine. But are we still on tomorrow?”

“You and me enjoying a quiet morning at Ravenswood, then heading back to the apartment for another cooking adventure?” I wink. “Can’t wait.”

Alexis grins and presses a soft kiss on my cheek. “Fine. Good luck with your CFO stuff then. I’ll go back to my apartment and be agood girltonight.”

She throws me a saucy wink and walks toward the door. My blood heats as I watch her sashay away from me.

But suddenly, a chill sweeps inside me.

“Did you call a car?” Goosebumps prickle my forearms. I glance at the darkened skies outside.

Unease. Similar to how I felt on the stormy night that changed our lives.

“Yes, the driver’s on his way. You and my brothers are colluding, aren’t you? No one wants me to drive, I swear.” She tsks and wags her finger.

The pressure in my chest eases slightly. “Good. We’re just worried.”

“I know, but you guys have to let go sometime. Love you. Don’t work too hard.” She blows me a kiss and walks out of my office.

Olivia mentioned I might have PTSD. She brought it up yesterday during our call to discuss the expansion of Letters of Hope.

“Lexy’s doing well, Ethan. Aside from her memory and her limp, she’s fine. More than fine. Tay’s right. Her best friend is resilient,” Olivia comments. I hear a rustling noise on her line, followed by the keyboard tapping sounds.

“I know.”

“I sense a but.”

I’m not one to pour out my thoughts—it makes me uneasy. But seeing how much she’s helped Maxwell with his anxiety, I try anyway. “I can’t get rid of this feeling that something bad will happen. That I’m too happy, and the last time I felt this way, my life got ripped away from me.”

The typing stops.

“Have you considered talking to someone, Ethan? Not me if you feel uncomfortable. This isn’t a professional intake or diagnosis, but you’ve been through a very traumatic experience—almost losing someone you love and being stuck in a limbo state for so long. It can be PTSD. You don’t need to feel this way forever.”

Exhaling, I stride back to my desk. Distraction. Routines. Things to refocus my mind and to distract myself from the storm cloud swirling in my gut.

I spend the next hour tuning out my worries, working through emails, proposals, budget reviews, and audit requests.

As I’m jotting down my questions on a project forecast, my phone buzzes.

An unknown number.

“Hello? Anderson speaking.”

Silence fills the line. The unease I shoved away comes roaring back.

Glancing at my phone, I notice the call is still connected. Normally, I’d assume this was a spam call and would hang up, but something stops me.