Page 82 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
He eyes me. “And Ivy?”
“She’ll know everything. Just not like this. Not until I can make sense of it first.”
***
By the time I return to the penthouse, she’s already outside. She’s perched on the stone planter near the valet post, notebook in her lap, sunglasses pushed up in her hair. She’s wearing one of my old college sweatshirts like it belongs to her, and now, it does. The city moves around her in waves, but she’s undistracted. Entirely herself.
I pull up to the curb and lower the window. “Need a ride?”
She looks up, grinning. “Took you long enough.”
I lean across the seat and pop the door. “Traffic.”
“Convenient excuse,” she murmurs, sliding in beside me. She smells like clean skin and something floral I can’t name, something soft that clings to my shirt when she leans over to kiss my cheek. “You’re tense.”
I squeeze her hand once, careful. “Warehouse should help.”
Her smile flickers into something gentler. “Then let’s go.”
***
The warehouse looks better than I expected. Fresh paint brightens the brick, and the exposed beams overhead are already fitted for suspended lighting. The space feels wide open, honest. Like a place made for rebuilding. The contractor nods to us, walking us through framing updates and HVAC retrofits, but Ivy is already moving through the space like it belongs to her.
She walks the floor with a kind of reverence, like she’s imagining every future story that will take place here. She stops by one of the corner columns and scribbles something on a Post-it, probably an idea for a mural, or a plaque she’ll eventuallytalk herself out of. She gestures to where the reception desk will go, asks about accessibility ramps, lighting warmth, and the orientation of natural light in the afternoons.
I follow her steps. Quiet. Watching the way she moves through the place like she owns it and is still surprised by the fact.
“I want it to feel alive,” she says suddenly, turning back to me. “Not like a memory or a press release. I want it to feel like hope.”
“It will,” I say, even though my phone is already vibrating in my palm.
New message. Santiago again:They weren’t just watching her. Someone pulled her foundation grant apps. Accessed her medical records. It’s a deeper breach. There’s movement on the press side. You’ve got a mole.
My blood runs cold. Ivy is across the room now, her head tipped back as she talks to the site manager. Her dress lifts slightly in the breeze from the open door, her hair catching the light like gold thread. She’s talking about paint colors. Seating. Launch day. She has no idea. And I’m out of time.
***
As we leave, I reach for her hand.
“There’s something else I need to show you,” I say, voice quiet. “It came through while we were inside.”
She pauses on the threshold, her smile fading. “How much worse?”
I unlock my phone and hand it to her without a word.
Her eyes scan the message. Her grip on the screen tightens.
“They went through my files,” she says. “How?”
“We don’t know who yet. But they had help. And they’ve been planning this for longer than we thought.”
She looks up at me slowly. “They’re trying to ruin me.”
I nod. “Which means we don’t play defense.”
Her brows pull together. “Jack…”
“I’m not asking permission,” I cut in, gently. “They come for you, they come for me. That’s the deal now.”
