His tone was neither friendly nor professional.
Alastair froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“No partnership,” Julian repeated, a cruel, satisfied look spreading across his mouth. He was relishing this public execution.
“Your wife… offended me recently. I can’t do business with people who insult or disrespect me.”
His gaze lingered pointedly on my husband’s hand, still resting on my back.
I moved immediately, stepping smoothly out of Alastair’s grasp. My face was a mask of polite confusion.
“Oh, Mr. Hale, are you referring to the fender bender when I was on my way to pick up my husband from the airport?” I asked lightly, amused.
“My driver barely tapped your car. Of course, Ashworth Intimates will cover all damages. Including any psychological distress.”
I cut my eyes to the ceiling as the lie rolled off my tongue.
Julian’s eyes narrowed. He let the silence stretch for a beat, savoring the performance.
“A fender bender, she says,” he murmured to Alastair, that dark shadow of a smile playing on his lips.
Then, to me.“If you apologize properly, Elara, maybe I’ll reconsider the partnership.”
He was baiting me.
I said nothing.
“Go on then. Now’s the time,” he said, his voice low and private—despite being in a room of five hundred people. “Apologize.”
I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on.
“I truly am sorry.”
“Mmm.” A smirk curled his lips. “No. I don’t think you are.”
He moved in closer, unapologetically invading my space. Alastair had to step back.
Julian ignored him completely.
“That felt,” Julian said softly, eyes locked on mine, “insincere. Mechanical. Cold. Like you treated me that day.”
My pulse betrayed me—throbbing visibly in my neck.
He noticed.
Julian tilted his head, studying me.
“I think,” he murmured, “you’ll need to find a better way to apologize, after the indifference you gave me when I was the wronged party.”
I held my breath. He was too close. My body remembered him too well, and it was starting to react.
Julian leaned back just enough to smile politely for the cameras—an angelic expression masking a wolf.
“Well, it was nice to meet you. When you figure out how to apologize the correct way, contact me.”
He reached out and pulled me into a hug—perfectly acceptable for onlookers. His hand pressed lightly to the small of my back, his mouth near my ear.
“You owe me,” he whispered. “And I always collect. Make that apology good.”
