“Hmm.” He studied me for a long moment. “I’ll speak with him. In the meantime, go home and pack. The plane leaves in three hours.”
Three hours?
“Make the most of this opportunity, Isabella.”
I left his office feeling like I was drowning. I needed to see Dimitri, needed to talk to him about this, but when I checked his office, he wasn’t there. His secretary said he was in meetings all day.
The message showed as delivered. Then read.
But no response came.
I went back to the mansion to pack, checking my phone every few minutes.Still nothing.
By the time the car arrived to take me to the airport, my phone remained silent.
He’s just busy, I told myself as I climbed into the car. He’ll call when he can.
Three hours later, I boarded the plane with no word from him.
As Virginia disappeared beneath the clouds, I pressed my hand to my chest where the bond stretched thin, remembering his words. Trust me, Isabella.
Zurich wasbeautiful in a way that felt almost cruel.
Clean streets lined with centuries-old buildings, crisp mountain air, and the distant Alps rising like sentinels. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated it.
Instead, I felt numb.
The team checked into a sleek hotel near the financial district. I barely noticed the luxury suite, the view of Lake Zurich, or the complimentary champagne waiting in my room.
All I could think about was Dimitri. And his silence.
The first meeting with Crane Internationale was scheduled for the next morning. I’d spent the flight reviewing files. They were a tech conglomerate looking to merge with our manufacturing division. Good synergy, solid financials, minimal risk.
I expected a standard corporate negotiation.
What I got was Alexander Crane.
He strode into the conference room like he owned not just the company but the entire city. Tall, silver-haired, probably in his mid-forties, with the kind of commanding presence that screamed Alpha. His eyes—pale blue and sharp—swept over our team before landing on me.
And staying there.
“Mr. Crane.” Richard, our team leader, stood to shake his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us.”
“My pleasure.” But Crane’s gaze never left my face. “And you are?”
“Isabella Garrett.” I stood, extending my hand professionally. “Executive Assistant to Mr. Ravencrest.”
His handshake was firm, assessing. “Isabella Garrett.”
Throughout the meeting, my attention kept drifting to my phone. Waiting for a notification. A call. A text. Anything from Dimitri.
Nothing came.
I forced myself to focus on the negotiation. Crane was sharp, demanding, pushing back on every projection and assumption.
By the end of the meeting, he’d made a decision.
“I admire your analytical precision, Ms. Garrett,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And I’d like to assign you to the core diligence team. Your projections flagged a discrepancy my own analysts missed.”
