Page 145 of The Rebel Billionaire

Our conversation is clearly over when she drops her gaze back to whatever document she’s reviewing.

I return to my desk and sit down, the urge to call Mother pressing hard. I’ve never been one who ignores my instinct, and it’s screaming that something has happened, that Brooke needs someone in her corner… that she’s alone in a strange city. But doing so without her permission will destroy the trust we’ve built. Despite everything, I keep telling myself she’s a grown woman.

* * *

We make our way to the boardroom. The haunted woman from earlier is gone, replaced by flawless Brooke. Walking beside me is once again the consummate professional I’ve come to recognise and admire over the past couple of months. It’s as though I imagined that earlier version of her.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” she says, although it’s impossible to miss her white knuckles as they grip the client packs.

“Let’s do this,” I say, leading us into the main boardroom, where some of our high-profile contacts and clients are already waiting alongside several of the St Clair board members and Mother.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.”

It’s then that I look down and spot it.

Italian.

“Brooke,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.

She looks up, her eyes questioning. I glance down at the pack she handed me, her gaze following mine. She freezes, the colour draining from her face.

“Sorry, everyone, it looks like I grabbed the wrong packs from my desk. Brooke, can you get the English packs?” I say, smiling calmly at those seated around the table. “Jumping ahead of myself, I should have left it to the professional.”

There are a few chuckles from around the table.

She moves swiftly, collecting them up and apologising as she goes. Her hands are shaking by the time she reaches me.

Her eyes meet mine. The hollow look is back.

“Excuse us.”

I manoeuvre us to the door.

“Brooke, are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as soon as we’re out of earshot.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “It was my mistake.”

“Let’s not worry about that now. Can you collect the other packs from my desk?” I ask gently, not wanting to startle her.

She nods, hesitating for a split second before turning and leaving.

I return to our room full of guests.

“Sorry, everyone, I received a call from the UK as I was heading out. As you can imagine, with fashion week fast approaching there are many plates to juggle.”

“No need to apologise,” Trevor says, one of our longest-standing contacts. “I don’t know how you juggle it all.”

“Practice, but as you can see, things happen. Coffee and pastries, anyone, while we wait?”

Brooke reappears a couple of minutes later, slightly breathless, handing me the correct packs.

“Thank you,” I say, nodding as she hands them out.

She goes to take a seat.

“That’s all. I know you have a mountain of tasks to complete. Sasha can take the notes for today’s meeting,” I say, shooting Dominic’s PA a look that has her sitting upright and smiling brightly.