The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 138

***Violet***

Rowan leans back in his chair, completely unconcerned now that Devin is here.

Then he looks at me again.

“Come here.”

The command is quiet.

Automatic.

Every eye in the room shifts to me.

Old Violet would have hesitated.

Would have worried what it looked like.

Would have tried to be polite.

She’s not here tonight.

I walk straight to him.

His hand catches mine the second I’m close enough, fingers wrapping around my wrist before sliding down to lace through my hand properly.

Warm.

Possessive.

Grounding.

He tugs once.

I step closer to his chair.

The younger detective scoffs. “Is this really necessary?”

I turn my head and meet his eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “Unlike most things you’ve done tonight.”

The room goes still.

Rowan’s thumb strokes once over the back of my hand.

Approval again.

The older detective pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can we please stay focused?”

Devin opens his tablet. “Wonderful idea. Let’s start with why you considered Rowan Ashcroft a viable homicide suspect while possessing surveillance-confirmed timelines placing him at a courthouse, retail location, and secured residential building.”

Neither detective answers immediately.

Interesting.

The younger one finally says, “He had motive.”

Rowan laughs once.

Low.

Mean.

“If I wanted Calder dead,” he says calmly, “you wouldn’t have found him in a car.”

Even the older detective looks irritated by that answer.

I squeeze Rowan’s hand lightly without thinking.

His grip tightens in response.

The younger detective points at me suddenly.

“You were involved with Calder’s complaint. You had access. You could have told Ashcroft where he was.”

The accusation slams into me.

Fear spikes first.

Then anger burns it away.

I lift my chin.

“You’re blaming the victim because your department hired trash.”

The detective stands so fast his chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

“That’s enough.”

“No,” I snap, voice sharper than I knew I had. “What’s enough is everyone in this building acting offended now that one corrupt man is dead when none of you seemed offended while he stalked me.”

Silence detonates.

The older detective mutters, “Sit down, Harris.”

He doesn’t move.

Rowan does.

Not physically.

But the entire room shifts when his voice drops.

“Sit.”

One word.

Cold.

Deadly.

Directed at the detective.

Everyone freezes.

The detective actually looks at Rowan before slowly sitting back down.

Jesus Christ.

Devin doesn’t even blink.

He simply taps something on the tablet.

“Excellent. Now that we’ve established who responds to commands, let’s proceed.”

I choke back a laugh.

Rowan’s eyes slide to mine.

“Proud of yourself?” he murmurs quietly.

“A little.”

“You should be.”

My pulse stutters.

The older detective clears his throat. “We need formal statements from Mrs. Ashcroft as well.”

There it is.

Mrs. Ashcroft.

I feel the name like a spark.

Devin nods once. “You’ll get one.”

Then his expression hardens.

“On record. With copies. With counsel. With professionalism that should have existed hours ago.”

The older detective stiffens.

The younger one glares.

Rowan looks bored.

And me?

I’m no longer scared of this room.

They separate us ten minutes later.

Legally correct.

Strategically annoying.

And apparently unavoidable.

Devin argues it for exactly forty-five seconds before conceding that individual statements are standard procedure so long as counsel has access, transcripts are logged, and no one starts playing creative with wording.

Which, judging by his tone, has happened before.

Rowan doesn’t fight it.

That surprises me more than anything else tonight.

He just stands when they tell him to, adjusts his cuffs once, and looks at me like he’s the one giving me instructions instead of the other way around.

“Answer what’s asked,” he says calmly.

One of the detectives bristles. “Sir, you don’t get to coach—”

Rowan ignores him entirely.

“Nothing extra,” he continues, eyes still on me. “Nothing emotional.”

I fold my arms. “I’m not emotional.”

His gaze drifts slowly over me.

“You’re furious.”

Fair.

Then, before they can move him, he reaches for my hand once more, squeezes it briefly, and lets go.

That tiny gesture somehow rattles me more than the police station does.

Then they take him one direction.

Me another.

The hallway feels colder without him.

I hate that realization immediately.

They place me in a smaller interview room this time. Gray walls. Metal chair. Table bolted to the floor like they think someone’s going to steal it.

I sit.

Wait.

And then—

From somewhere down the hall—

Camille’s voice explodes through the silence.

“Oh absolutely the fuck not.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

An officer outside my door sighs heavily.

Another voice, male, probably Theo:

“Babe, maybe lower it like… ten percent?”

“Don’t babe me in a police station, Theodore!”

I choke back a laugh.

A detective entering my room pauses. “Is that with your group?”

“Yes,” I say sweetly. “Good luck.”

He closes the door harder than necessary.

I hear Theo again, muffled now.

“She means well!”

Camille immediately shouts back, “No I don’t!”

My smile breaks free before I can stop it.

Because of course.

Trying to get a statement from those two together is like interviewing a tornado and then asking lightning for clarification.

And somehow—

They work.

Camille burns hot and loud and fearless.

Theo meets her with sarcasm, stubbornness, and that rough-edged loyalty he tries to hide under bad timing and worse emotional instincts.

He may be slow when it comes to feelings.

Painfully slow.

But he has spark.

Real spark.

Enough to stand beside a woman like her and not get swallowed whole.

Enough to make her stay.

I love that for her more than I can explain.

The detective across from me opens a folder. “Mrs. Ashcroft.”

The title hits me again.

Still strange.

Still sharp.

Still… something.

“Yes?”

He glances at me over the page. “Can you confirm your whereabouts today beginning at eight a.m.?”

I lean back in the chair.

Customer service Violet would’ve answered quickly.

Softly.

Politely.

Tonight’s Violet lifts one brow.

“Can *you* confirm why your coworker just called me Mrs. Ashcroft like it tasted bad?”

He blinks.

Then clears his throat. “We’ll begin with the timeline.”

Good choice.

I fold my hands on the table and smile without warmth.

“Wonderful. Let’s begin with the part where your department failed to protect me.”