The CEO Above My Desk Chapter 198

***Rowan***

The second we stepped back into the master bedroom, Denise immediately launched into another conversation about colors while Violet wandered slowly around the room like she was already mentally moving furniture into place.

Like she was trying to imagine herself here months from now instead of just standing inside an empty room.

Watching her here did something strange to me. Because for the first time since buying this property… It stopped feeling like an investment.

Or a security decision. Or a strategic move to get everyone out of the city.

This house didn’t feel temporary anymore. It felt permanent. Dangerously permanent.

Like maybe someday there would actually be framed family photos sitting on dressers and shoes kicked carelessly near the door and little footsteps running through the hallway at six in the morning.

The realization hit harder than expected.

Denise stood near the center of the room with her tablet already out again while turning slowly in a circle, visually mapping things out in her head.

“Alright,” she said professionally. “Master bedroom. What are we thinking?”

Violet immediately pointed toward one of the far walls near the bed area. “I want an accent wall there.”

Denise typed quickly. “Paint or wallpaper?”

“Wallpaper,” Violet answered instantly before looking toward me suspiciously. “Not ugly wallpaper though.”

“I appreciate the clarification.”

She ignored me completely. Rude honestly.

Violet wandered toward the wall slowly while thinking aloud now. “Maybe something with ivy? Soft greenery.” She glanced toward the massive windows overlooking the river. “Something cozy.”

Denise immediately nodded. “That would actually work beautifully with the natural lighting in here.”

Violet looked deeply pleased by that answer.

However, I didn’t care what color the walls became. If Violet wanted the room covered in floral wallpaper and emotional support leaves, then fine.

The hardwood floors stayed thankfully.

That much we all agreed on immediately.

Dark walnut wood stretched throughout the room and somehow managed to make everything feel warmer despite the size of the space. Between the floors, the river view, and the soft natural lighting, the room already felt calmer than the penthouse ever had.

But then Denise pushed open the connected bathroom door and every single one of us physically stopped walking.

Jesus Christ.

“It’s… dated,” Denise said carefully.

Dated was generous.

Very generous.

The bathroom looked like somebody had aggressively remodeled it in 2004 and then immediately given up halfway through.

Dark cherry cabinets. Yellowing marble counters. Heavy bronze fixtures. One giant outdated jacuzzi tub shoved awkwardly into the corner.

Bright white overhead bulbs that somehow made the entire room look like an abandoned luxury dentist office.

The shower itself was massive but framed in thick cloudy glass that looked permanently fogged over from years of hard water buildup.

The tile floors were cold gray stone with weird tan undertones that absolutely did not match anything else in the house.

And somehow… The ceiling had mirrors.

*Mirrors.*

Why?

Violet stared upward immediately in visible horror. “Oh absolutely the fuck not.”

Denise snorted loudly before quickly pretending she didn’t. “The mirrors are definitely removable,” Denise assured quickly while typing aggressively into her tablet now. “And honestly the entire bathroom probably needs a full update.”

“Burn it down,” Violet suggested calmly.

I nodded once. “Agreed.”

She pointed toward the giant tub next. “That thing looks haunted.”

Denise started listing options while Violet immediately became invested again.

“We could do heated flooring in here,” Denise suggested.

Violet gasped softly.

“We could open the shower completely with frameless glass,” Denise continued. “Replace the cabinetry. Warm stone counters. Soft lighting instead of overhead harshness.”

“Yes,” Violet answered immediately.

“We could also add a soaking tub near the windows overlooking the river.”

Violet physically turned toward me with wide eyes.

Oh no. I already knew that look.

That was the - *Rowan I am about to spend an irresponsible amount of your money -* look.

Unfortunately for everyone involved? I was already prepared to approve literally anything she wanted.

“The soaking tub stays,” I informed Denise calmly.

“Rowan.”

“The tub stays.”

Denise looked deeply entertained now.

Meanwhile Violet had already moved on to discussing brushed gold fixtures and soft lighting underneath the cabinets while Denise rapidly typed every single thing into her renovation plans.

Watching her this happy felt worth every dollar already.

Then suddenly Theo’s voice echoed loudly from somewhere down the hallway.

“ROWAN.”

I frowned immediately.

That didn’t sound normal.

Violet noticed too. She turned toward me quickly. “Go.”

I hesitated briefly. “Violet—”

“I’m fine,” she promised immediately. “Go see what happened.”

My stomach tightened anyway. Because apparently my brain no longer trusted the concept of “fine.”

Still, I finally nodded before hurrying back down the hallway toward the kitchen.

And the second I stepped into the open-concept living area…

I stopped cold.

Devin stood near the kitchen island looking absolutely wrecked.

Bruised.

Disheveled.

One side of his jaw swollen badly.

Blood staining the collar of his dress shirt.

*What the fuck?*

Camille sat beside him crying openly while Theo stood nearby looking one inconvenience away from homicide.

Oh right. Pregnancy hormones.

Honestly at this point somebody breathing wrong could probably make Camille cry.

Still, “What the hell happened?”

Devin nearly collapsed onto one of the bar stools surrounding the massive kitchen island before rubbing shakily at his face, and then quietly, “Asher paid me a visit before leaving.”

My entire body immediately went still.

Behind me, I could hear Violet and Denise stepping out from the hallway after hearing the shift in voices.

Theo looked furious now. “Tell him what that psycho said.”

Devin laughed weakly under his breath. No humor in it whatsoever. Then finally he looked up at me. “He wanted to know if the FBI had enough to tie him directly to Hargrove.”

Oh.

Oh that motherfucker was scared scared.