Chapter 79
Evelyn's POV
For three seconds we just stared at each other across the reception area. I watched something flicker in his eyes—surprise, confusion, something that might have been hurt or hope or both—before the professional mask slammed down.
"Evelyn," he said carefully. "I didn't know you'd be joining us."
"Last-minute addition," Julian said before I could respond. He stood, moving with that predatory grace that drew every eye in the room. "I needed someone with expertise in post-Soviet organizational structures. Mrs. Valentine's academic background makes her uniquely qualified."
It was smooth. Professional. Exactly the kind of explanation that made sense on paper.
But I could see the calculation in Adrian's eyes. The way he was trying to figure out what was really going on. Why I was here with Julian. Why we'd arrived together.
Why I hadn't told him I was coming.
"Of course," Adrian said. His voice was perfectly controlled, giving away nothing. "That makes sense." He turned to me, and there was something in his eyes that made my chest ache. "It's good to see you, Evelyn. It's been a while."
"It has," I agreed. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all." He held my gaze for a moment longer, and I could see him trying to read me. Trying to figure out what had changed. "You're always welcome here."
The words were simple, but they hit like a punch. Because they were true. Because despite everything—despite the scandal and the rumors and the impossible situation we'd found ourselves in—Adrian still wanted me around.
Still wanted me, period.
Julian cleared his throat. "Should we get started? I know you have a board meeting at three."
Adrian blinked, the spell breaking. "Right. Yes." He gestured toward his office. "This way."
He led us down a hallway lined with photographs of Winthrop's various projects—military contracts, energy infrastructure, technology partnerships. Each image was a reminder of the empire Adrian had inherited. The responsibility he carried. The world he operated in where everything was politics and power and careful negotiation.
His office was at the end of the hall, behind a door that required both a keycard and a fingerprint scan. The kind of security that suggested whatever was inside was worth protecting.
The door opened and we stepped into a space that was somehow both impressive and personal. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. A massive desk made of dark wood. Bookshelves lined with legal texts and industry reports. And scattered among the professional trappings—photographs. His father. His sister Catherine. His mother.
And one of me.
It was small, tucked on a shelf behind his desk where most visitors wouldn't notice it. But I saw it immediately. A photo from years ago, before everything went wrong. I was laughing at something off-camera, head thrown back, looking young and almost happy.
I looked away before Adrian could catch me staring at it.
"The files you requested are here," Adrian said, moving to his desk and pulling out a thick folder. "Recent competitive bids on defense contracts. Internal communications regarding our proposals. Financial projections." He set the folder down with a heavy thud. "Everything you asked for."
Julian moved forward immediately, all business. "I appreciate you pulling this together on short notice."
"It's fine." Adrian's eyes flicked to me briefly. "Though I have to admit, I'm curious why you need Evelyn's input specifically. What does post-Soviet organizational structure have to do with Winthrop's defense contracts?"
It was a fair question. And one that required a careful answer.
"We're looking at patterns," I said before Julian could respond. "How certain competitors might be leveraging relationships with Eastern European entities to undercut bids or gain insider information." I kept my voice level, professional. "My research focused on how former Soviet military structures evolved into private contracting firms. If someone's using those networks against Winthrop, I might recognize the patterns."
It was close enough to the truth to be believable. And it had the advantage of being something I actually knew about.
Adrian studied me for a moment, and I could see him processing the explanation. Looking for holes. Trying to figure out if there was more to this than I was saying.
"That makes sense," he said finally. "Though I'm surprised you're working with Titan now." He stopped, and something painful flickered in his eyes. "I thought you were taking time to figure out what you wanted to do next."
I was, I wanted to say. And then everything went to hell and I needed an exit strategy and Julian offered me one and now I'm standing in your office pretending I'm fine when I'm absolutely not.
"Circumstances changed," I said instead. "Mr. Russell made an offer that aligned with my interests."
The words came out more formal than I intended, and I saw Adrian's jaw tighten slightly.
"I see," he said. Then, to Julian: "Should we get started?"
"Actually," Julian said, and there was something in his tone that made my stomach drop, "I just remembered—Adrian, didn't you mention you needed to sign off on those revised safety protocols for the Jakarta project?"
Adrian looked up from the folder he'd just opened, confusion flickering across his face. "That's not until—"
"Your project manager sent three emails this morning." Julian's voice was perfectly casual, but there was something deliberate in the way he was steering the conversation. "Apparently the Indonesian government moved up the inspection date. You need to review and approve before end of business today or the whole timeline shifts back two months."
I watched Adrian's expression shift from confusion to resignation as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages. "Shit. You're right." He glanced at me, then at Julian, clearly torn. "I should handle this now. It'll take maybe fifteen minutes—"
"Take your time," Julian said smoothly.