The Ticket Was Never for His Mistress Chapter 05

The Ticket Was Never for His Mistress Chapter 05

The Savoy’s River Room was all white linen and morning light over the Thames.

Rhys Callahan was already seated when I arrived.

I’d seen him in magazines, Scottish–born, self–made, CEO of Callahan Systems. The man who’d tried to buy

Lumen three times and been thrown out of Grant’s office three times.

Grant used to call him “the vulture in a good suit.”

In person, he was taller than I expected. Dark hair, a quiet jaw, and gray eyes that noticed everything. He

stood when I approached. Pulled out my chair.

Grant hadn’t pulled out my chair in five years.

“Mrs. Mercer.”

“Quinn,” I said. “Hazel Quinn.”

A slight smile. “Hazel, then. Coffee?”

“Ginger tea. Please.”

His eyes flicked to my hand, which had drifted to my stomach without my permission. Then back to my face.

He said nothing. He just ordered the tea.

“Why me?” he asked, once the waiter left. “You could have taken Lumen to Google. To anyone.”

“Because Google would buy it and bury it,” I said. “And because you’re the only man Grant has ever been

afraid of.”

He leaned back. “Afraid is a strong word.”

“He checks your stock price every morning before he checks his email.”

That made him laugh. A real laugh, low and surprised.

“I’ve wanted Lumen for six years,” he said. “Everyone thinks Grant wrote it.”

“Everyone was supposed to think that.”

I slid a folder across the table. Original commit logs from 2017. My name on every single line of code. The patent certificate. My signature.

“He had the vision,” I said. “I had the brain. In sixty days, he has neither.”

Rhys read in silence. Page after page. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. Something sharpened in them. Something like respect.

“Terms,” he said.

“Exclusive license to Callahan Systems. I join as Chief Architect. Twenty percent equity. Full authority over the product. Nobody touches my code but me.”

“Twenty percent,” he repeated.

“Lumen is worth more than your entire company, Mr. Callahan. I’m giving you a discount.”

He studied me for a long moment.

“There’s something else you should know before we sign anything.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know.”

My breath caught.

“The tea,” he said gently. “And you’ve touched your stomach four times since you sat down.”

My cheeks burned. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” He closed the folder. “It’s a timeline. It means we move fast, and we protect you while we do it. Grant Mercer is going to come for you with everything he has.”

“Let him come.”

Rhys smiled slowly.

“Then welcome to Callahan Systems, Hazel Quinn.”

He held out his hand. I shook it. His grip was warm and steady and asked for nothing.

“One condition from my side,” he said.

“Go on.”

“You eat breakfast. You look like you haven’t eaten in three days.”

I hadn’t.

He pushed the bread basket toward me. And for the first time in thirty days, I laughed.

The following weeks were a blur.

Mornings, I worked in a glass office overlooking Canary Wharf. My team was brilliant, young, hungry. They called me “boss” and argued with me about code, and I loved every second of it.

Nobody asked me where my husband was.

Nobody told me to “go home.”

Afternoons, Rhys and I fought over product strategy like two chess players who enjoyed losing to each other.

He never once talked over me.

He never took credit for my ideas.

When I stayed late, a car was always waiting. When I skipped lunch, a salad appeared on my desk. He never

mentioned it. He just made sure.

I was learning to breathe again.

To walk without looking over my shoulder.

Then, one gray Thursday, I stepped out of the Callahan building and froze.

A girl stood across the street, clutching a pink suitcase.

Her blond hair was tangled. Her designer coat was too thin for London. Her mascara was running.

But I’d know that face anywhere.

Brooke.

And she was walking straight toward me.