I watched the way he took notes—left-handed, his script sharp and angular. I watched the way his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders when he leaned forward. I watched the slight furrow of his brow when a panelist said something he clearly disagreed with. He was intense, focused, giving the speaker his complete attention without fidgeting or checking his watch.
It was distracting. It was intoxicating.
When the panel ended and people began gathering their things, I didn’t move immediately. I waited, feigning interest in my own notes, until I saw him stand.
He turned, his eyes scanning the back of the room as if he knew.
When his gaze locked onto mine, a slow smile spread across his face. He didn't look surprised. He looked pleased.
I stood, my heart hammering a little faster than necessary, and made my way to the aisle. He met me there, blocking the flow of traffic, creating that private space around us again.
“I saw you at lunch,” he said, his voice low, intimate despite the crowd. “I was going to come rescue you, but you seemed occupied.”
“Occupied is one word for it.”
“I couldn’t help but notice the gentleman who joined your table. The one in the three-piece suit who looked like he was auditioning for a role inWall Street.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ve seen him around. Who is he?”
“Arthur Vance. Our CFO.”
“Ah.” A shadow flickered across Patrick’s expression, his protective instinct flaring visible. “I thought I’d seen him before. Maybe not, since he’s your colleague.”
“I’m not sure if I would call him a colleague or a competitor,” I said, the honesty slipping out before I could check it. It was dangerous to say that aloud, but with Patrick, the truth felt safer than the lie. “We hired him a year ago, and he’s already... positioning himself after Marco...”
I trailed off, unable to say the words.Replacing him.
Patrick nodded, stepping closer. The air between us heated up, smelling of his subtle cologne and coffee. “And you’re not interested in being positioned.”
“I’m interested in running my company,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Good.” He shifted his papers to his other hand, leaning in until his voice was a rough murmur near my ear. “For what it’s worth, Theresa... you strike me as someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. Don’t let a man in a fancy suit tell you otherwise.”
The vote of confidence—simple, direct, from a man who had no reason to flatter me—hit me hard. My throat went tight. I looked up at him, caught in the intensity of his blue gaze, and for a terrifying second, I wanted to lean forward. Just an inch. Just enough to close the gap.
“It was good to see you again, Theresa,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. “I hope the rest of your conference is bearable.”
“Thank you, Patrick. You too.”
He held my gaze for one more heartbeat, then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there, frozen, as the room emptied around me. The small pang of disappointment that he was gone was sharp and physical.
I snapped back to reality as the next group of attendees started filing in.What are you doing?Marco had been gone just two months. Two months. And here I was, following a stranger into a meeting room just to stare at the back of his head. Noticing the way his eyes crinkled. Feeling that spark, that heat, that... life.
Guilt settled in my chest like a cold weight, heavy and suffocating.
I checked my watch—two more sessions. Two more hours of smiling and networking, of pretending I wasn’t simultaneously grieving my husband, fighting for his company, and feeling things I had no business feeling.
As I walked out of the room, I caught sight of Arthur across the lobby. He was watching me, his expression cold.
That cleared my head instantly.
I had bigger concerns than a momentary connection with a Scottish researcher I’d likely never see again. I had a company to save, a legacy to protect, and four children waiting for me at home.
I squared my shoulders, adjusted my blazer, and walked toward the next battle.
Chapter
Eight
