GREGORYS POV...
Zack doesn't knock. He never does.
He just appears in the doorway of the boardroom like a problem I didn't budget for. The meeting is still ongoing. I'm not hearing it. Haven't since 2:17pm when Zack called and I sent him to voicemail.
Zack doesn't call twice. Unless someone's dead.
He's at the door now. Says nothing. Just look at me.
That look. I know it. He gave it to me at twelve when he lied to my father for me. Gave it to me four days ago in the SUV when I said "Don't want to" about her.
It means brace.
I stand. Mid-sentence. Mid-Hale.
"Meeting's over."
I walk out. Zack falls in step.
"What." One word. It's all I give him.
He doesn't answer until the boardroom door shuts. "She's in your office."
The hallway tilts.
"She who." Stupid. We both know.
Zack keeps walking. "Tinsel Monroe."
Hearing her name out loud does something to my ribs. I bury it.
"Why is she in my office, Zack?"
"Because she asked to see you," he says. Calm. Too calm. "And because you told me 'make sure she's safe.'"
I stop. "I didn't tell you to bring her here."
"No," he says. "You didn't."
Then he keeps walking. Past my office. Gone.
Bastard.
I stand there. Hand on the door. My palm is damp. Unacceptable.
I told him to make sure she's safe at 5:43am in the SUV. That was it. Three words. I meant… I don't know what I meant. That she didn't get run over by the press. That someone gave her water. That she didn't die on Panther Way after I left.
I did not mean to bring her to Hale Towe.
I push the door.
She's in my chair.
Not the edge. Not scared. In it. Feet not touching the floor. Back straight. Like she's been here before. Like the chair was waiting.
Sun cuts across her. She's clean. Braid down her back. No blood. No ugly sack bag. Jeans. A shirt I don't recognize. And she's holding something.
My handkerchief.
Folded. Clean. G.R.H. staring at me like an accusation.
Next to it on my desk is a phone. She didn't have one. A new one. Screen dark.
I don't move.
Hale calculates: Security breach. Unknown female. Unauthorized access. Call Zack. Call Legal.
Greg can't calculate. Greg is stuck on the fact that she's breathing. That she's here. That she looks like she slept.
She looks up.
Same eyes. Bright. Tiny. Tired. The ones I saw when I walked past her at sunrise and didn't stop.
She doesn't stand. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't do any of the things people do for Gregory Hale.
Because she met Greg first.
"Personal staff," she says. Her voice is rough. Same as the fire. "That's what your email said."
Email.
I didn't send an email.
"Zack," I say. It's not a question.
Her mouth does a thing. Not a smile. "He says you say that a lot."
I walk to the desk. Slow. Because if I move too fast I'll do something stupid like check if she's real.
The phone is new. Latest model. No scratches. There's a sticky note under it. I see the corner.
Passcode: 0406
0406. April 6. The day I met her.
I didn't set that.
Zack did.
My jaw locks. Because suddenly I'm doing math. Clean clothes. New phone. She's in my building. In my chair. Personal staff.
"Zack did this," I say. Again, not a question.
She nods once. "He said it was 'protocol.'"
Protocol.
I told Zack to make sure she's safe.
This is what he did with that.
I picked up the handkerchief. It smells like soap. Not blood. She washed it.
"You're supposed to be gone," I say. Hale's voice. Meant to be cold. It comes out wrong. Scraped raw. "You were supposed to… take the card. Go. Be safe. Not here."
"Safe where?" she asks. "Panther street? Aunt's house? You don't even know where 'safe' is."
No. I don't.
I look at her. Really look. No fire between us. No night to blame. Just daylight and the fact that she's beautiful in a way that makes my office feel cheap. Bright eyes. Sharp nose. Small lips pressed together like she's waiting for me to disappoint her.
And I realize Zack didn't just keep her safe.
He put her in my path. Again.
On purpose.
Bastard.
"I didn't know," I told her. And it's the most honest thing I've said in four days. "About the phone. The email. Any of it."
She studies me. Like she's deciding if I'm lying.
"You told him to make sure I was safe," she says.
"At 5:43am, that's all I said."
"So he did this." She gestures at the phone. At the chair. At her. "Without you knowing."
"Yes."
She's quiet for a long time. Then: "Why would he do that?"
Because he's known me since we were nine. Because he saw my face when I got in the SUV. Because he's tired of watching me turn into a company. Because he saw me at that fire and thought _maybe she can make him human again.
I can't say that.
So I say: "Because he's an idiot."
That gets me something. The corner of her mouth. Almost a smile. Gone fast.
She stands. Finally, She's shorter than I remember. Or maybe I'm just not on my knees in the dirt anymore.
She picks up the phone. Hold it out. "Passcode the date I met you."
I didn't know that. Now I do.
Zack.
"I didn't set that," I say.
"I know," she says. "He told me."
She steps around the desk. Stops just out of reach. Close enough that I can see she's not shaking. Not anymore.
"I came here to ask which one of you bought me a life," she says. "Greg. Or Mr. Hale."
I look at her. With the handkerchief in my hand. At the phone in hers. At the chair she was just in.
And I know the answer.
"Neither," I say.
Her face shutters.
"Zack did," I finished. "I just let him."
Because I didn't stop him. Because when I said 'make sure she's safe' I didn't define it. Because some part of me — the part that sat at that fire wanted him to.
She breathes out. Like she was holding it.
"So you don't know why he did it," she says.
No.
Yes.
"I know he thinks I'm colder than I should be," I say. The truth tastes foreign. "I know he thinks I need saving. I know he thinks you… were different."
She waits.
"I don't know if he's right," I say. "I just know I didn't want you to disappear."
The room goes quiet. The city outside goes quiet.
She doesn't move. I don't move.
I'm not Hale right now. Hale would fire Zack. Hale would have security escort her out. Hale would call this a breach.
I'm not Greg either. Greg would've said more at the fire.
I'm just… in between. Standing in my office with a girl who should be a stranger, holding a handkerchief she washed, looking at a phone I didn't buy, with a date I didn't set.
And for the first time since Panther street, I'm not cold.
I'm confused. I'm blindsided. I'm furious at Zack.
But I'm not cold.
Because she's here.
And I didn't know I wanted that until he put her in my chair.