The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 160

***Violet***

The drive downtown feels surreal.

The city lights blur past the windows of Theo’s black 4Runner while rain lightly taps against the windshield, the streets glowing gold and white beneath neon reflections.

Neither me nor Camille talks much at first.

I think we’re both too deep inside our own heads. Too angry. Too tired. Too overwhelmed.

Camille sits in the passenger seat with her arms folded tightly across herself while absently rubbing at her stomach every few minutes without even realizing she’s doing it.

That alone makes my chest ache. Because she should be home. Safe. But here we are anyway.

“You know Rowan’s going to kill us,” Camille mutters finally.

I snort softly. “Probably.”

“No, literally.” She glances at me. “I think Theo might actually help him bury the bodies too.”

“That’s fair.”

She sighs heavily before leaning her head back against the seat. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Neither can I, but the second I think about Hargrove smiling beside Avery during that interview, the hesitation disappears again. Because they’re still standing publicly. Still controlling the narrative. Still pretending they’re innocent while people keep dying around them.

No. I’m done.

By the time we pull up outside the publishing building, the rain has picked up slightly. The giant glass windows at the front still glow warmly, and I can see several employees moving around inside carrying coffee cups and stacks of papers. News never sleeps apparently.

Camille looks at the building nervously. “This feels illegal somehow.”

“It probably is.”

“That’s not comforting.”

I park quickly before grabbing the flash drive from my pocket. Then we head inside. The second the glass doors slide open, the smell of coffee and printer ink hits me immediately.

Phones ringing. Typing. Televisions mounted on walls playing news coverage on mute. People moving quickly between desks. The entire building feels alive.

A tired-looking man sits behind the front desk scrolling through something on his computer when we approach.

He barely glances up at first. “Can I help you?”

“We need to speak with Leah Frank.”

The man visibly groans. Actually groans. Like the request physically inconvenienced him.

“Oh my God,” Camille mutters under her breath.

The receptionist picks up the office phone dramatically slow. “Leah,” he says flatly. “You’ve got visitors.” Pause. Then he sighs again. “Yes. In person.” Another pause. Then finally he hangs up and gestures vaguely toward the waiting area. “She’ll be down.”

He goes immediately back to his computer.

Camille stares at him. “Wow. Customer service really is dead.”

“I think his soul left years ago,” I whisper back.

A few minutes later, footsteps echo sharply from deeper inside the office. Then Leah appears.

And the second she sees me... Her entire expression drops. Immediately.

Her smile disappears completely. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Well. That’s promising.

She crosses her arms tightly as she approaches us. “What do you want?”

Camille raises a brow at the attitude instantly.

Leah looks directly at me. “You here to ruin my career again?”

My exhaustion immediately spikes into irritation.

“Just because I corrected false information and refused to hand you my life on a silver platter doesn’t mean I tried ruining your career.”

Leah lets out a sharp laugh. “Your husband’s legal team practically threatened my editor after that interview.”

I blink once. Of course they did.

“She wasn’t even rude during the interview,” Camille mutters.

Leah ignores her completely. “I was instructed to stay away from you.”

I sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose for a second.

“Leah,” I say tiredly, “we need your help.”

That finally makes her pause. Just slightly.

My voice lowers. “And we need somewhere private. Immediately.”

Something in my expression must finally get through to her because the irritation slowly fades from her face.

Replaced by caution instead. She studies me carefully. Then Camille.

Then the flash drive clenched tightly in my hand.

“…Fine.” She turns sharply. “Come on.”

We follow her deeper into the building past rows of desks and glowing computer screens until she finally pushes open the door to a smaller office tucked near the back corner.

It’s cramped. Crowded. And apparently shared. One desk is organized enough. The other looks like a tornado personally targeted it. Paper stacks leaning dangerously. Coffee cups everywhere. Sticky notes stuck to literally everything.

Camille stares at the disaster. “Whose desk is that?"

Leah gestures toward the television mounted in the corner of the office as she goes towards her organized desk. Currently,  a male news anchor is talking about city politics while graphics flash across the bottom of the screen.

I immediately wince. “Oh no.”

Leah smirks slightly. “Yep. That’s his.”

The anchor pauses dramatically on screen before continuing another report about the explosion at Ashcroft Industries.

Camille squints at the television. “He works here?”

“Unfortunately,” Leah mutters.

I glance back at her quietly for a second before speaking softer this time. “Leah…” She looks over at me before I contiune, “I am sorry about what happened after the interview.”

Some of the tension leaves her shoulders immediately at that. Because I mean it. I really do.

Her jaw tightens slightly before she looks away. “You didn’t do that personally.”

“No,” I admit. “But Rowan’s people did.”

“And Rowan?”

I hesitate. Because honestly? I don’t know if Rowan even knew.

Leah studies my face carefully and seems to come to her own conclusion from my silence.

Then finally she exhales slowly and pulls out her chair. “Okay,” she says cautiously. “What’s going on?”

I look at Camille once. Then back at Leah.

And slowly, I place the flash drive down on her desk.

Leah stares down at the flash drive sitting on her desk for a long moment before slowly looking back up at me.

The office suddenly feels too small.

Camille shifts beside me slightly, still emotionally drained from everything we found, while the television in the corner continues quietly reporting on the explosion at Ashcroft Industries.

Leah’s eyes narrow carefully. “What exactly is this?”

I swallow once. Then force myself to stay steady. “There are documents on that drive you’re going to want.”

That immediately gets her attention. Not annoyance. Not irritation. Journalist attention. The dangerous kind.

Her posture straightens slightly. “What kind of documents?”

I glance briefly at Camille first before looking back at Leah again. “But,” I continue carefully, “before we say anything and before you open anything… you need to promise me something.”

Leah immediately crosses her arms. “I’m not making blind promises.”

“Then hear me out first.”

Her jaw tightens slightly, but she nods once.

I point toward the flash drive. “What’s on there cannot hurt Rowan personally.”

Leah’s expression changes instantly. Suspicion. “Violet—”

“I’m serious,” I cut in firmly. “Not Rowan. Not Theo. Not Devin.”

Camille stays silent beside me, but I can feel her tension rising all over again at Theo’s name.

Leah studies both of us carefully now. “You’re asking a journalist to selectively ignore information.”

“No,” I say quietly. “I’m asking you to understand context before you destroy innocent people.”