Page 3 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

WREN

I 've forgotten how tall Sean Langston is.

My eyes linger on the strain of his shirt against his forearms as he leans forward, examining the sample serums on the area table.

He’s broader than I remember. My younger self would never have believed he could be even hotter.

I try not to stare at him for fear of him catching my eyes and reading my lewd thoughts when I should be more bothered about the PR nightmare I’m entrenched in.

But Sean Langston has always been very attractive to me. I remember telling Jen once during a drunken night years ago, that her dad was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

It remains true even now. The years have passed, for sure, and the salt-and-pepper buzz cut he spots only enhances his sharp jawline. His blue eyes are intense with the experience and mysteries of a man who has seen the goodness and darkness of life.

He’s wearing black. A long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows, dark jeans, boots that make a heavy sound every time he moves. He looks like he belongs in a gritty action film, not sitting in my office, examining lemon-scented candles and sample serums.

Jen warned me. “Don’t let the gruff thing fool you,” she said. “He’s got a soft heart buried somewhere under all that muscle.”

I don’t see soft. I see sharp. Controlled. Alert. And altogether too handsome.

Our eyes meet. His stare remains unreadable. I have the feeling he’s analyzing me, trying to figure out if I’m still familiar or changed beyond recognition.

I stand, needing space from his direct gaze. “Are you ready for the tour?”

He nods. No smile. Just that unreadable stare.

I walk ahead, heels clicking on polished concrete floors. The office hums with motion. Employees glance as we pass, the curiosity in their eyes unhidden.

“This is our main floor. Marketing to the left, product dev to the right.”

He glances around, eyes scanning everything. Not saying much.

We stop in front of a glass wall that overlooks our R&D lab. Raj is inside, bent over a beaker, scribbling something in a notebook. His lab coat is open, shirt wrinkled, thick glasses sliding down his nose. Classic Raj.

“Raj,” I say, tapping the glass.

Raj looks up with a frown. He walks out into the hallway seconds later.

“Is this Jen’s dad?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Jen’s dad. Security consultant,” Sean says before I can answer.

Raj beams, stretching out a hand. “Great to meet you, sir. I’ve been curious about her incredible father.”

Sean pauses, eyeing Raj like a suspicious father would. I almost laugh.

Raj takes no notice, continuing with enthusiasm. “I’m Raj Kapoor, chief innovation officer here at Lemon LLC.”

“Sean will help us assess the situation and see what can I do about security.”

“Thank goodness. Maybe you can figure out how Camille Ross keeps leaking internal stuff.”

“She doesn’t,” I say.

Raj gives me a look. “Then how does she know we’re working on getting funding for our next phase project? It isn’t even public info yet.”

I stiffen. Sean watches me.

“Anyone could’ve guessed we’re working on something. We’re always working on something,” I say. “Don’t worry, Raj. We’re handling it. Internally.”

“I bet.” He smiles at Sean once again. “Well, I’d better get back to the lab. See you around, Mr. Langston.”

Raj turns and disappears into the lab.

“Very peculiar man.”

I chuckle. “He’s the smartest man I know. He’s just quite… dramatic.”

Sean says nothing. We continue the tour.

“The security team can use this conference room.” I gesture toward the glass-walled space, forcing my voice to sound normal. “It's private but central.”

“I'd prefer to do the initial assessment on my own.” His voice is a low rumble. “Fewer people involved at this stage.”

“Fine by me.” I brush past him, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. “Let me show you around.”

Despite the chaos of the past week, pride swells in my chest as we walk through Lemon LLC headquarters.

The space is what I envisioned when I was sketching ideas on napkins three years ago.

Modern white walls with pops of vibrant yellow and green, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves displaying our signature products in their minimalist packaging.

“We converted this old warehouse space three years ago. We kept the bones. Gutted the insides.” I run my fingertips along a concrete pillar. “I wanted something that felt authentic but luxurious.”

His gaze meets mine. “You've built something impressive. Not many people transition from acting to business to become such a global success as you’ve done with Lemon.”

“Hollywood wasn't the dream I thought it would be.” I shrug, leading him toward the product development wing. “This is.”

“You’ve had quite a journey.”

“So have you. I think we can both agree life’s been interesting.” I pause outside the private wing doors. “Not always easy, but never boring.”

“What’s in there?”

“This is where the real work happens,” I say. “Product trials, influencer strategy, ad campaigns.”

Sean's expression shifts. “Raj mentioned the accuser is aware of some inside information. Why aren’t you considering that?”

The subtle reminder of why he's here sends a chill through me. We walk to my office.

“It’s because she hasn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary about our plans.

It’s easy to guess that a skincare company is working on new products.

Again, we’re always working on new products.

It’s just annoying that she’s on this relentless victim hunt and the public’s eating it up.

It’s starting to affect my employees and I might do something drastic if I receive another set of rotten lemons. ”

Sean's expression hardens. “Any idea who might have it out for you?”

“Half the internet?” I attempt a laugh but it comes out hollow. “It’s the typical thing the general public do. Build up a woman to watch her fall. That’s peak entertainment to them.”

A knock at the door interrupts us, and Talia strides in radiating crisis-management energy in her power suit.

“Security breach in the building already?” She extends her hand to Sean. “Talia Monroe. PR Director and occasional firefighter.”

“Sean Langston.” He shakes her hand firmly.

A small smile tugs at Talia’s mouth as she throws me a glance. “Well, that was quick. Thank you for coming around. Will you be joining Ms. Sinclair's security detail permanently?”

“That's yet to be determined.”

After she leaves, Sean continues his assessment, walking the perimeter of the building while I try to focus on work. The normality of spreadsheets and emails feels surreal against the backdrop of threats and scandals. When he returns, his expression is grimmer than before.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Your security is inadequate.” He stands at my office window, looking down at the street. “Single-point entry system that's three years outdated. No proper screening for deliveries. Blind spots in your camera coverage.”

I shake my head. “We're a skincare company, not the Pentagon. This building wasn’t for war.”

“It is now.”

His tone slices clean through my composure.

“Look,” I start, “I didn’t ask for this level of attention. I created a brand. Not a scandal.”

He steps closer. Not threatening. Just close enough for his presence to settle in my bones.

“You’re a high-profile target. It doesn't matter if you meant to be.”

My jaw tightens.

“What do you suggest?”

“I'll have a team upgrade your systems tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd recommend enhanced protocols for all staff, security escorts for any off-site meetings, and—” he hesitates “—consideration for temporary relocation of you and Eric.”

“Relocation? This is just a PR crisis. We're not in witness protection.”

“When threats reach your home, it's no longer just PR.” His voice remains calm but firm. “The goal is prevention.”

Having someone else make decisions about my safety feels like surrendering control. This is something I've fought hard never to do again. I’ve lived all these years on my terms. I make my own decisions.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can handle?—”

“This isn't about what you can handle.” Sean cuts me off, his eyes intense. “It's about what you shouldn't have to.”

Something in his tone silences my objections. For a brief moment, I'm reminded of what it feels like to have someone else shoulder the weight.

Sean collects his notes and heads for the door. “I'll submit a full assessment tonight. We'll implement changes starting tomorrow.”

“That's it?”

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. “One more thing, Wren.” His expression is solemn. “Based on what I'm seeing, this is going to get worse before it gets better. Be prepared.”

The door closes with a soft click behind him, leaving me alone with his warning echoing in my mind.

Worse? I sink back into my chair, staring at the pile of threats on my desk. How much worse could it get at this point?

My phone buzzes with a notification. It's an email from an unknown sender. The subject line makes my blood run cold: “We know where your son goes to school, Lemons .”