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Blaire sits at the long table with Helena and Clara. She glances up once, then returns to the valuation sheets in front of her. That tells me exactly how this is going to go.

“We’re almost finished,” Helena says.

“I only need the final recommendation,” I reply.

I take the empty chair across from Blaire. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

The discussion lasts another fifteen minutes. I ask one question about the valuation range and leave the rest to them. Blaire handles the client position with the same quiet authority she’s shown since returning to London, and I don’t interfere.

When Helena and Clara leave, Blaire closes her laptop.

“The flowers were beautiful,” she says.

“I’m glad,” I reply.

“You didn’t have to send them,” she says.

“I know.”

Her eyes meet mine. “Was that supposed to mean something?”

“It meant I was thinking about you,” I say.

Her expression softens, then disappears.

“That’s dangerous,” she says.

“For whom?” I ask.

“For you, if you keep this up,” she replies.

“Noted,” I say.

She gives me a look, and I let it go.

A moment later, she reaches for her bag and checks the time.

“You’ve been here all day?” I ask.

“Most of it,” she says.

“Have you eaten?”

She looks at me. “Why?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“Yes, Ross,” she says.

“Good.”

She studies me. “You’re being strange.”

“I’m trying restraint,” I reply.

The corner of her mouth lifts.

My phone vibrates against the table. I glance at the screen and see that I have seven minutes until my next call.