Family Business

30. Sleepover

**Xavier POV**

Another day of my father fucking praising Trent for those summary sheets and catching the issue in revenue. Something about it rubbed me the wrong way, and I couldn't place it. He sent us out the PDFs meticulously, at least 5-10 every other day on each of our projects. When did he find the time? He was usually in meetings with us almost constantly.

We had cut off the ballsy hotel that had managed to skim off millions from us. The lawsuit Tristan had filed would reconcile that for us. We had a press conference in two weeks. Trent was selected to be the speaker, since he had caught the issue in his summary sheets. He was over the fucking moon.

When I got home at the end of this exhausting week, I realized I must have forgotten my fucking phone. I usually never did that, but since I was on it so much lately, I had plugged the damn thing in to charge and completely spaced it. Probably distracted by you-know-who in her short skirt, showing off a killer set of legs.

I swore I could hold off getting it until the morning, but it was itching at me. I didn't like not having my phone. It practically had my whole business on it. If someone was calling me or there was an emergency, I wouldn't be on top of it.

It was nearing midnight, and I was trying to ignore the voice screaming at me. It would be insane to drive all the way back now to get it. But I must be fucking crazy, because I was jamming the keys into my Mustang and headed that way. The streets were empty at a time like this, front row parking. Flashing my badge in front of the scanner to unlock the lobby, I strode inside and headed straight to the top floor, still in my suit. I hadn't been sleeping well recently, and hadn't even changed into pajamas. Why bother? All this about Trent's summary sheets, the hotel ripping us off, Faith's time here coming to an end... it was killing me.

There was my phone, sitting on my desk connected to its electronic umbilical cord. I swooped it up and headed back to the elevator.

But then I spotted it. The low blue light from one of the only cubicles up here. The one by the conference room. Hers.

I pensively approached, did she leave her computer on? She was usually pretty meticulous about closing everything for fear of anyone going through it.

The breath left me seeing her fast asleep, slumped over her desk. What the everlasting fuck was she still doing here? I was sure she had been gone when I left today. All her stuff was gone and she was nowhere to be found. I looked at the screen she had fallen asleep to.

Of fucking course.

She was in the middle of drafting one of those summary sheets that Trent fucking insisted he made entirely by himself. Of course she was fucking making them. The precision, readability, meticulous layout, attention to detail, concise and accurate recaps of everything we needed to know at a glance. Shit sent me into an immediate fucking rage. She was here, passed out on her fucking desk working on this shit while he took the credit and the glory. Lapped up the praise from my fucking dad. Was Trent making her do this, working herself to exhaustion?

"Hey, Red," I tried to keep the fury hidden as I softly ran my hand over her cheek to wake her, drifting down her back. "Baby girl, wake up."

She woke with a start despite my attempts at being gentle. It took her a second for her drowsy eyes to focus and recognize me as I shoved my hands in my pockets, watching her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she tried to straighten herself out, then noticed her screen and clicked over to her browser as fast as she could. She was hiding it. Her apprehensive gaze came back to me, a bit nervous. Though I wasn't sure if it was from me catching her sleeping here, what she had on her computer screen that would certainly out her father, or if she was just uncomfortable with our proximity.