Chapter 2
She knew which jokes were harmless and which insults were not.
She could interrupt an argument with coffee before either man realized she had redirected the conversation.
Callum had considered those talents social.
Soft.
Secondary.
Without her, the meeting lasted seven minutes before a chair scraped backward.
“You calling my people thieves?” Owen Strick demanded.
The other man stood.
Callum caught Owen’s wrist before the first punch landed.
“Sit down.”
Owen stared at him.
Then obeyed.
The meeting resumed.
The conflict did not disappear.
Callum could still command obedience.
Rosalie had taken something more difficult to replace.
Trust.
Two nights later, Callum stood inside a warehouse while twelve angry men waited for permission to become violent.
“Who started this?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
His gaze settled on Owen.
“You.”
Owen exhaled.
“His crew accused mine of stealing freight.”
“And you shut down my loading floor?”
“Rosalie would’ve heard both sides.”
Silence.
Owen immediately realized his mistake.
Callum approached him.
Everyone expected the explosion.
Instead, Callum stopped.
“Rosalie isn’t here.”
Owen swallowed.
“That’s the problem.”
Callum stared at him for several long seconds.
Then he looked at the men around them.
“Unload the trucks.”
Forklifts started.
People moved.
The crisis ended.
Yet Callum stood beneath the fluorescent lights feeling no victory.
Rosalie would have known why Owen was angry before entering the building.
Callum knew only how to crush what happened afterward.
An hour later, he stood outside her apartment.
Baxter barked before he knocked.
Rosalie opened the door only wide enough to block the entrance.
“You promised not to pressure me.”
“I’m not here to take you home.”
“Then why are you here?”
Baxter pushed his gray muzzle around Rosalie’s leg.
Callum crouched.
The dog immediately licked his hand.
“Traitor,” Callum muttered.
Rosalie’s mouth twitched.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
For one second, they were themselves again.
Then Callum stood.
“Owen nearly started a war at the warehouse.”
“And?”
“I stopped the fight.”
“Congratulations.”
Callum looked at her.
“You used to prevent them.”
Rosalie said nothing.
He continued.
“I spent ten years letting people refer to you as my wife like that was your only function.”
Her expression tightened.
“And four months showing me how little being your wife meant when it became inconvenient.”
“Yes.”
The immediate agreement unsettled her.
No excuse.
No defense.
Callum’s left cuff had twisted beneath his coat.
Rosalie noticed automatically.
Her hand moved half an inch.