“Sean McGregor texted he has information. He’s going to call in a few minutes,” she shared. “And there’s something else I have to tell you.”

If I had to switch gears back to operator mode, I would—anything to keep my family safe. With my attention back on Juliette, I asked, “Would you like to be part of the conversation, or do you want me to relay what I learn after you hang out with Colin and my parents?”

Juliette brought her free hand to my chest. “I’d prefer to leave the op-y stuff to you. Just give me the highlight reel after, okay? No secrets.”

“No secrets,” I promised. “The one about saving your father’s company was my last one. I should’ve thought to tell you sooner.”

“I should’ve thought to thank you sooner.” She blinked a few times. “Gosh, did I remember in my state of shock to say those words to your dad?” Her cheeks turned pink, and I honestly couldn’t recall, but it didn’t matter. In my book, actions spoke louder than words nine out of ten times.

“Don’t thank me. It was meant to be.” I gently brushed my lips across hers, forgetting my sister was behind us.

Juliette let go of my hand and reached up to knock the brim of my hat up to a better position, allowing us to deepen the kiss. I groaned against her lips and sighed when she pulled away, remembering we weren’t alone.

Juliette fixed my hat and turned toward Izzy. “Sorry.”

My sister lifted her hand, waving off the apology. “Don’t be. I love seeing my brother happy.”

Juliette smiled at me, then ran a single finger along my forearm, a silent promise of more to come later.

I had to shut down my body’s immediate reaction before it physically presented itself by tenting my jeans. “Catch up with you soon.”

Once Juliette left, I trailed behind Izzy, grateful she didn’t try to strike up a feelings conversation on our way upstairs. I’d maxed out on my capacity to share anything personal for the day. Hell, for the year.

Once we were in Dad’s office, which was twice the size of mine back home—and double the amount of obnoxiousness in terms of luxury—I shut the door and waited for Izzy to talk.

She went over to Dad’s desk, an ornate, imposing thing, almost as regal as the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. It sat before a bay window, the dark velvet curtains drawn open, offering a view of the city skyline shrouded in a wash of pink and blue evening light.

Hudson stood behind her as she sat, asking me, “Are you good?”

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m not sure what I am.”