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“The collection office sent the detailed Whitcombe schedule you requested,” she says.

“I’ve already opened it,” I reply.

“The private-sale review is tomorrow morning at ten,” she says.

“You have the European acquisition call at nine-thirty.”

“Move it to nine,” I tell her.

“Add the collection meeting to my calendar.”

She makes the change on the tablet.

“There’s archive work scheduled tomorrow afternoon as well,” she says.

“Leave that open for now,” I reply.

“Send me the rest of the timetable and keep me copied on anything requiring Trust authorization.”

“Of course,” she says.

She checks the tablet once more.

“Geneva is still at four, and the New York expansion review is at six.”

“Keep both.”

“I will,” she replies.

She leaves and closes the door behind her. I look back at the schedule. I’m perfectly capable of being honest with myself about this.

The Whitcombe project legitimately touches the Trust, the collection and ultimately my authority. There are meetings where my presence makes sense. There are others where it doesn’t. I intend to know the difference. I also intend to take every reasonable opportunity this transaction gives me to be near Blaire.

I spent years respecting the distance between us because I was the one who created it. I decided that leaving her alone was the least intrusive thing I could do after making the decision that ended us.

That logic worked when Blaire existed somewhere across an ocean, building a life I had no right to examine.

It doesn’t feel nearly as persuasive now that she’s here.

I won’t interfere with her work. But I’m finished deliberately removing myself from her path.

If the Whitcombe project puts us in the same room, I’ll be in the room. If she’s angry about that, she can be angry. If she wants distance, I’ll respect the boundaries she actually gives me.

What I won’t do is decide for her, again, that the only acceptable outcome is for me to disappear. I already made that choice once. I know what it cost me.

***

At ten the next morning, I walk into the private-sale conference room just as Helena Price is closing the door behind Simon Vale. Blaire is already seated near the center of the table with her laptop open and several folders arranged in front of her, and she looks up the moment I enter. The reaction is small enough that nobody else in the room would notice it, but I do. Her expression stays composed, though something tightens around her eyes before she looks back down at the file in front of her.

Helena stands. "Ross," she says.

"I wasn't expecting you this morning."

"I had an opening," I reply.

"I thought I'd sit in."

Helena nods once and tells me it's no trouble at all, and I take the empty chair at the far side of the table rather than the one closest to Blaire, which seems to surprise her more than my arrival did. Clara Mendel is seated beside Helena, with Simon across from them, while Blaire has positioned herself at the end nearest the presentation screen, which tells me immediately who is leading the discussion from Charlotte's side. Good.