Page 29 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter twenty-five

Connor

I n the days that follow, I see the full force of Cali’s determination. She isn’t just keeping control, she’s commanding it. When she’s on a work call, her eyes blaze with unwavering fire, her voice sharp and measured, each syllable a weapon she wields with surgical precision.

She’s not the kind to raise a fist. If she had to take someone down, she’d do it with strategy, with pressure applied at just the right moment.

If she were the type to resort to violence, it wouldn’t be some messy outburst, it’d be poison, slow and undetectable. And she’d get away with it, flawlessly.

Not that she ever would. Cali is too ethical for that. Too precise.

But she carries herself with the kind of power that makes people fold, makes the world bend to her will.

Like the Angel’s Trumpet in the greenhouse, stunning, delicate-looking, but toxic if you don’t know how to handle it.

People are drawn to her, intoxicated before they realize just how much danger they’re in.

She doesn’t have to threaten. She doesn’t have to scream.

One word, one glance, and she’s already made up her mind, already sealed someone’s fate.

It’s beautiful.

And maybe a little terrifying .

“I made it clear those reports were due on my desk today, along with the investigation notes… No, Monday won’t cut it.

When I label something a top priority, I mean it.

Make it happen… Yes, that means overtime is required.

If those documents aren’t waiting for me first thing, we’ll have a serious discussion, or you can justify to the legal team why we’re lagging on critical evidence. ”

Her voice is like steel, every word precise, every demand calculated. She doesn’t raise her tone; she doesn’t need to. There’s something about the way she speaks—controlled, unwavering—that makes her impossible to argue with.

I start toward the kitchen, but catch her gripping her phone tighter, knuckles white. She inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and when she finally looks at me, there’s no surprise in her expression. Just that sharp, piercing gaze.

“You,” she states flatly.

I lift my hands in mock surrender. “What did I do now? I haven’t touched the glass.”

She exhales sharply, crossing her arms as her gaze pins me in place.

“I need people like you at the office—people who don’t need to be babysat, who just handle shit without excuses or half-assed effort.

” She tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t wait for someone else to fix a problem.

You see it, you deal with it. No whining, no delays. I don’t think everyone gets that.”

Her voice drops lower, more controlled, like she’s weighing every word before she says it. “Maybe they assume I’ll just clean up their mess, pick up the slack when they fall short. But they’re wrong.” A slow, deliberate pause. “Because if they can’t do their job, I’ll find someone who can.”

She holds my gaze, unwavering.

Something tightens in my chest. I don’t know if it’s the way she looks at me when she says it, like she means me specifically, or if it’s the fact that I actually fucking like hearing it.

How could anyone doubt her as CEO? She’s a force.

If she hadn’t been thrown into this role, she would’ve fought her way to the top anyway, carving a path with sheer will.

It’s impossible to look away, watching her like this—watching the way she maneuvers, commands, makes the corporate world fall in line like it’s just another battlefield she was born to dominate.

I smirk, pushing past whatever the hell is twisting in my chest. “I guess I better start on dinner before you replace me in the kitchen too.”

Her mouth opens, then shuts. I follow the flicker of hesitation in her eyes as she glances toward the foyer—toward the door—then down at my ankle. Her posture shifts, softens, just slightly, like she’s just remembered something she wishes she could forget.

“What?” I press, watching the change in her expression.

She hesitates again, then sighs, rubbing her temple. “I wanted us to go somewhere tonight. I even picked out a place, but I forgot…” Her voice trails off as she gestures toward the ankle monitor, frustration flashing across her face. “Why do you even still have that?”

I freeze .

A cold weight settles in my stomach, a slow, creeping dread I can’t shake.

Is this the moment? The part where I tell her what I had to do to survive in that hellhole?

I could. I could tell her about the fights, about what they made me do, about how, in there, survival wasn’t about innocence or guilt, but about how many bones you were willing to break before someone broke yours.

I could tell her about Dante, about how he kept me alive, about how I repaid him in the only way I could.

I could tell her.

But then I think about the way she looked at me that first night back. The suspicion. The fear. The way she saw me as something monstrous.

I don’t ever want to see her look at me like that again.

Not when, for the first time, she’s looking at me like this—like I’m something steady, something familiar. The person she comes home to. The one who has dinner ready for her when she’s too exhausted to function.

I’m not ready to lose that.

So I swallow down everything I could say. Every scar, every fight, every thing I did just to make it out alive. Instead, I force a smirk and lean against the counter, shrugging like it’s nothing.

“Beats me,” I lie, shifting just enough to steer her away from that train of thought. “Find anyone yet who makes your gut twist?”

"One person stands out, but I haven't met everyone yet. There are two VPs who always seem just out of reach, making it hard to get a read on them. I don’t want to jump to conclusions without the full picture." Her voice is steady, certain. "I'm not about taking shortcuts. "

I watch her for a second, the way her jaw sets, the determination threading through her words. It’s fucking admirable—how she refuses to cut corners, even when she has every excuse to.

"If you give me a list with their details, I can dig deeper into their backgrounds—check their social media, get a sense of who they really are," I offer. It’s not much, but it’s something.

And I hate that all I can give her is dinner and a few suggestions when she’s carrying the weight of an entire company on her shoulders.

I can’t even step foot in that office to throw my weight around.

Not that she’d need it, especially with the way she’s been hitting the gym.

Her shoulders sag, just a little. "That wouldn't be right," she murmurs, hesitation creeping into her voice.

"It’s fine," I argue. "You’re the CEO. Think of me as a consultant. You’re hunting for a problem within the company, not prying into personal lives. I’ll stick to what’s relevant."

She shakes her head. "No. If I hand over an employee roster, that’s confidential information. Even if it’s just names, it’s a line I can’t cross."

Fuck. I slump against the kitchen island. "Then how can I help?"

"Tonight’s movie night," she announces, voice firm with finality. "Because it’s Friday, and your job is to make sure I’m so distracted I forget work even exists." She points at me like she’s laying down a challenge.

I smirk. "Got any movie preferences?"

She purses her lips, thinking. "Not big on car chases or action-heavy plots. A psychological thriller, I don't know something with depth and not just jump scares. And definitely no romantic movies."

"Noted." I extend my hand. "But we’re gonna need pizza and beer to make this a proper movie night. "

"And popcorn," she adds, eyes glinting with amusement.

I grin. "How could I forget the popcorn?"

She pauses, considering my words, her gaze sweeping over me one more time before she nods and heads upstairs.

I know she’s going to change, but that doesn’t stop the way my stomach tightens.

I drag my hands down my jeans, as if I can smooth out the nerves that shouldn’t even be there in the first place.

We’ve got a top-notch home theater, perfect for movie nights.

Big screen, surround sound, plush-ass seating—the kind of setup people would kill for.

But I already know I won’t be able to focus, not with Cali sitting right next to me.

Her presence alone is enough to distract me more than anything on the screen ever could.

Dark room. Horror movies. Yeah, I’m definitely pulling that card.

The enveloping silence, the anticipation—it could set the stage for something I don’t need to be thinking about.

I take a deep breath, shaking it off, and head to my room to change into pajamas.

Something comfortable. Something to remind myself this isn’t anything more than what it is.

I move through the motions—checking the beer, getting the popcorn ready—but my mind drifts somewhere else entirely.

Nights like this used to be my favorite.

Back when life was simple. Back when my mom would put on a movie, curl up on the couch with me, and we’d just be.

I remember the way she smelled—something faintly floral, but mostly just warm, familiar.

She’d run her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, the way moms do when their kid is close.

That kind of touch. Safe. Thoughtless. And the sound of her laughter—soft but full, like it had weight to it.

It’s been years since I heard it, but some part of me still remembers. Some part of me aches for it.

This is what I’m chasing. This is the kind of normalcy I need .

"It’ll help," I murmur under my breath, thinking of Cali. She carries too much, and if my job tonight is to make her forget about all of it for a little while, then I’ll do it. That, I can handle.

But then she walks into the kitchen.

The air shifts.

Loose tank top, dipping just low enough to draw my eyes exactly where they shouldn’t go. No bra. And those tiny cotton shorts—the kind that ride up a little when she moves—aren’t helping.

Suddenly, I don’t want to distract her with a movie.

I want to distract her in every way that’s going to get me in trouble.