Page 172 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Tamara glances at the screen.

“There. The persistence begins.”

I pick up the phone. “Close the door on your way out.”

“With pleasure,” she says.

Tamara leaves, and I answer the call.

“You’ve become difficult to reach,” Adrian says immediately.

“You’re calling from the other side of the planet.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

I lean back in my chair and look through the glass toward Manhattan spread below the forty-fourth floor.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad,” Adrian replies.

“Complicated.”

“That usually means expensive.”

“It might.”

“Then I’m listening.”

Adrian starts walking me through the changes in the Asia-Pacific deal, and I turn toward the financial model still glowing on the wall.

By 8:20, the apartment is quiet enough that I can hear the faint scrape of Camille’s fork against her plate.

She sits across from me at the dining table, elegant even after a full day, one hand curled loosely around the stem of her wineglass. Camille has always carried herself with an effortless polish that makes rooms settle around her. Tonight, though, there is a tiredness beneath it I have been noticing more often.

“You’re traveling again next week?” she asks.

“Tuesday through Thursday.”

Camille looks down at her plate.

“I thought we were supposed to meet with the planner Wednesday.”

I set my fork down.

“I can move it.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I’ll make sure it happens.”

Camille gives me a small, restrained smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Julian, that isn’t really the point.”

I know what she means, but I reach for the part I know how to solve.

“Then we’ll reschedule for Friday. I’ll block the afternoon.”