Page 93 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Julian’s mouth shifts. “For now.”

Lunch is served in a private dining room upstairs with most of the regional team. I take the open seat between Carlo and one of the younger finance directors, while Julian ends up across the table beside Alessandra and an elegant woman from the legal team named Giulia Moretti. The seating arrangement should make no difference to me, but I discover almost immediately that it does.

Carlo is entertaining, and the finance director asks thoughtful questions about American business journalism, so I have no trouble participating in the conversation. Still, my attention occasionally drifts across the table.

Giulia says something to Julian that makes him smile. It is a small smile, nothing remarkable, but irritation catches unexpectedly beneath my ribs. I reach for my water.

Carlo leans closer. “You’re going to make me nervous if you keep studying the table like that.”

“I’m listening.”

“To three conversations at once?”

“It’s an occupational hazard.”

He laughs.

When I glance across the table again, Julian is watching me. His eyes move briefly toward Carlo before returning to my face.

Interesting.

A few minutes later, Julian joins the conversation on our side of the table.

“You seem to have won everyone over,” he says.

I look at him. “Was that part of the assignment?”

“No.”

“Then you sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

Carlo smiles between us.

“Should I be offended that neither of you appears to remember I’m sitting here?”

“You should be used to executives ignoring you by now,” Julian tells him.

“Your father was much better at it.”

“That’s because he had practice.”

The table laughs, and the moment dissolves easily enough, but when I reach for my wineglass, Julian’s gaze remains on me for another second.

Later that afternoon, I am standing beside Alessandra reviewing a set of old regional reports when Julian joins us. He is halfway through a comment about the expansion timeline when his phone vibrates.

He glances at the screen. The change in him is immediate. The faint ease disappears from his face, his jaw tightening as his eyes move across whatever he is reading. I catch Vivian Cross’s name at the top of the screen before he turns it away.

“Excuse me,” Julian says.

He walks toward the far end of the corridor and answers the phone before he reaches the door. I cannot hear the words, but I can see enough. His shoulders go rigid. One hand settles against his hip while he listens, then he turns partially away from the room and says something short into the phone. The call lasts less than three minutes, but when he returns, the relaxed version of Julian I have been watching all day is gone.

Alessandra studies him. “Problem?”

“Nothing we need to deal with here,” Julian replies.

She holds his gaze briefly, then nods and turns back to the reports.