EVA
Alex sits across from me at the low table; his sleeves rolled up, his posture crisp. If he feels the sting of yesterday’s verdict, he isn’t showing it.
We’re in the second-floor sitting room, now Alex’s HQ. Once a cozy space with faded damask and mismatched chairs, it now looks like the operations wing of a small firm. Two laptops, binders, folders, stacks of documents, and a printer-photocopier in the corner.
He doesn’t do anything by halves.
“The audit is complete,” he says, pointing at a stack of three binders.
“Oh?”
“Basil and I wrapped it up yesterday morning.” His tone is brisk, professional. “The numbers were worse than I expected, but not catastrophic.”
“That’s a relief,” I say.
He hands me a thick manila folder. “I’ve mapped out a restructuring plan with new revenue lines, cost controls, and supplier renegotiations. It’s all here.”
I take the folder. It’s heavy. No surprise that his every spare moment over the last three weeks went into it. Well, except when we explored secret tunnels. And when we made love.
“It’s your call,” he says. “You can build on this or start from scratch. Either way, the contacts are listed. They’ll take your calls.”
I look up at him. “You make it sound easy.”
His mouth tilts into a hint of a smile. “That’s the point.”
Then he opens another folder containing CVs, references, and letters of recommendation.
“My shortlist for estate manager,” he says. “All three are competent, but with different strengths. Hospitality, agribusiness, public administration.”
When I take the file from him, our fingers brush. I pretend not to notice, though my breath catches. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. A stone-faced mask firmly in place.
Has he already moved on?
Me, I can’t shake last night. He’d heard the verdict from Derek before dinner, so he entered the dining room knowing he’d lost.
He went up to Millie and offered his hand. “Fair victory. Squarely won.”
My daughter positively glowed as she shook his hand.
He then turned to me. “Congratulations, Eva! You’ll do a fantastic job. I don’t doubt it for a second.”
Then he announced he’d be gone by noon today, after packing up and handing everything over. Millie’s bright smile faltered, and she turned glum.
I told him there was no rush. He was welcome to stay as long as he liked. He’d offered Millie, Brigitte, and me that courtesy. It was only fair to return it.
He thanked me but refused, his tone smooth and cool. But his eyes held a rare glint. What was it? Sadness? Heartache?
I must’ve imagined it.What I saw was just disappointment showing through the crack in his composure.
And now here we are, across a table buried in papers meant for me, though every line carries his mark.
“You’ve thought of everything,” I say, setting the estate manager folder on my lap. “Even the handover.”
“I try.”
“You don’t have to make it this easy for me.”
He raises a brow. “Would you prefer sabotage?”
