“This is more than we asked for,” he says.
My stomach flips.
I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a problem.
“It seemed prudent,” I say carefully. “I prefer to plan for variables.”
Rowan’s gaze holds mine for a beat, approving.
Caleb rises from his seat, then, finally, and walks toward me.
Up close, he’s even more composed. The kind of man who doesn’t waste expression.
“Caleb Mercer,” he says, holding out his hand. Like, he finally remembers we have never met.
I shake it. His grip is firm, brief, and efficient.
“Lucy Bennett,” I reply.
Rowan doesn’t come closer. He gives a polite nod from the end of the table.
“Rowan Black,” he says, voice low.
I nod back. “Nice to meet you, Mr Black.”
Theo stands abruptly, like he can’t sit still another second.
“So,” he says, eyes on me, “are you coming to the Christmas Party?”
I blink. “I’ll be working the event.”
His smile widens, slow and pleased. “So, you’ll be there.”
“Yes,” I say, confused.
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m an interesting problem.
Then he mutters, as if he'd forgotten other people exist, “You look soft.”
I stop so fast that my heel catches on the carpet.
“Excuse me?” I say, turning fully toward him.
Theo’s eyes go wide for half a second, then he laughs, throwing up both hands like he’s surrendering.
“Not like that,” he says quickly. “Not weak soft. Just... soft. Like… different. Nice.”
I stare at him.
He gestures at the men around him. “You see what I mean? Everything in here is hard edges. Sharp angles. Suits that look like they could cut paper. And then you show up, and you’re all...”
He flutters his hands vaguely in my direction like he’s trying to describe a feeling without having the vocabulary.
Elliot lets out a quiet laugh.
Julian’s face remains unreadable, but I catch the slightest tightness in his jaw, like he’s two seconds from telling Theo to shut up.
Theo, oblivious, continues.
