The personal question stills me.She remembers.Not just the sex—anyone could remember that.She remembers our conversations.The confession I’d made in the early morning hours, her head on my chest, fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin while I told her things I’d never said aloud.How my father used legacy as chains.How Margot deserved to take the reins more than I did.How I wanted to build something of my own, something that didn’t carry the weight of generations.Rare, that I share anything real.Rarer still that someone listens—truly listens—and remembers three years later.The rub is that I was fool enough to believe a stranger in my bed might stay.
“Do you live here now?”she asks, seeming to accept that I won’t answer some questions and moving on to less personal ground.
“I do.Almost three years.I travel, but New York is home.”I study her in turn.“And you?”
Her lips almost curve—almost.“Eight years.”
“Then we were bound to meet again.”
“I doubt we frequent the same places.”Her finger taps a rhythm on the armrest—always the piano in her.“I appreciate you not making a scene,” she says.
“That was chance.I was shocked.”
“If I’d known you were there?—”
“You wouldn’t have come?”My jaw tightens.“Unbelievable.”
“Perhaps it’s best I don’t work this project.KOAN can reassign easily.”
“Oh, I want you on the team.I need to trust—” I cut myself short.Trust her?Impossible.But I won’t let her vanish again, not without reason.“I want to know how much of Monaco was real.”
Her eyes soften—for a breath—before cooling again.Pity flickers there.I don’t need her pity.
What I need is to stop noticing the way her lips part when she’s about to speak.The elegant line of her neck.The rise and fall of her chest beneath that professional blouse.My body hasn’t forgotten Monaco, even if my mind knows better.Desire coils low, persistent, inappropriate.In my business, I routinely exercise control—when to indulge want, when to weaponize it, when to practice denial.She’s making me forget every lesson.
“The leak is an employee,” I say, hardening, putting the focus where it should be for the moment.“I need the culprit exposed before members flee.”
“Assuming it is an employee.”
“How could it not be?”It’s infuriating.“We treat them well.Raises.Extra leave.Loyalty rewarded.”
“Larger enterprises have been hacked.”
“Preferable, I suppose.”I exhale, releasing some of the tension that’s built since she entered the meeting.“At least betrayal wouldn’t wear a familiar face.”
She shifts.“Where are we going?”
“Lunch.”
“It’s not even ten.”
“Call it brunch.”
“Adrien—”
My scowl ends the protest.
“Alright.I can join you.”
“We could go to my place.But I thought you’d prefer the club.”
Her eyes widen.What has she heard?Rumors, perhaps.Gossip.The photos alone.Let her wonder.
“We should set boundaries,” she says, her voice now all business.“This is professional.Whatever happened between us?—”
“Was real,” I cut in.“For me.”
Her tapping stops.For a moment, vulnerability shadows her face.Then the mask settles, immaculate.“We need to focus on the case.Protecting your business, yes?”
