New York Billionaires Series

I reach for my binder, my handbag, following her out of the office. Toby gives me a thumbs-up and a mouthed good luck. Not a single part of me thinks he might be the mole. My gaze drifts over the back of Quentin, but for all his mutterings and bad moods, I don’t think it’s him either.

“Coming.” I hurry after Eleanor to Strategy’s conference room. In the spirit of saving time as well as miles to travel, this is a digital meeting. Exciteur has an entire camera setup just for this sort of thing.

When they work, that is.

Eleanor grows increasingly stressed as the technician struggles with the electronics.

“They’re waiting for us,” she hisses.

“Any second now…” he murmurs.

I open my laptop and prepare for taking notes, drawing up all the info I have on Nicour. The door to the conference room opens. I don’t look up, focused as I am on the numbers on the screen.

“Mr. Conway?” Eleanor asks. “I wasn’t aware you were joining this meeting.”

“Filling in for Clive,” he says. A chair is pulled out next to me, a familiar cologne scenting the air. Something knots in my stomach.

I look over, but Tristan’s gaze is focused on Eleanor and the techie. Cool, casual power on his face. Here he’s a man made for boardrooms and thousand-dollar watches, no trace of the handsome stranger from the Gilded Room or the caring man in my elevator yesterday.

I turn my focus back on Eleanor.

“There we go,” the technician says, stepping back. The projector screen flickers once, and then the good people at Nicour come into view, sitting at a conference table much like ours. Discussions begin, so I turn to my note-taking, focusing on the words being said and not on the man sitting a few feet from me.

It’s difficult, when he’s all I can concentrate on.

Eleanor defers to him when he deigns to speak, but he mostly lets her handle the show. Has he come to watch her performance? Or had he come to watch mine?

Perhaps he’d decided I haven’t been effective at finding the mole and chose to take matters into his own capable hands.

Tristan is the one who ends the meeting. My hands still on the keyboard of my laptop as he speaks, the depth of his voice filling the room.

“It’s been good to touch base with you,” he says. “Our team will have a new business strategy to present to you in a month’s time.”

“Looking forward to it, Mr. Conway. Thank you for taking the time.”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“Of course, Howard,” Tristan says. “Talk to you soon.”

The conversation clicks off and sudden silence reigns supreme. He taps his fingers along the table. “Nicour is one of our biggest clients.”

“And they’ll get nothing but our best,” Eleanor promises.

I close my laptop and look between them. Tristan still hasn’t given me a single glance since he entered the room. Is it only professionalism?

“Excellent,” he says and moves to stand, but Eleanor stops him with a cleared throat.

“While I have you here, might I ask a favor for the conference in Boston this week?”

He sinks back down, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I’m sure you remember our junior trainee, Frederica Bilson,” she says, nodding to me. “I’m aware that Strategy is only approved for four attendees for the conference, but she has a lot to recommend her. I’ve nothing but high praise for her and I’d like to include her from my department as well.”

Wow.

The praise makes my cheeks heat, but I meet Tristan’s gaze with a level one of my own. His eyes are bottomless, unfathomable. No hint that he recognizes me beyond the courteous.

“That would make your department the biggest we’re sending to the event,” he says.

“I’m aware,” Eleanor responds, “but she’s worth it.”

A pang of warmth spreads through my chest. Praise from her is rare indeed, but here she is, going to the mat for me.

Tristan pushes his chair back. “Very well. You’re going to the conference in Boston, Miss Bilson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Conway.”

“Thank your trainee supervisor,” he says dryly and nods to Eleanor. Another hit of his cologne strikes me as he walks past, and without as much as a goodbye, he disappears out the door. It shuts behind him with finality.

I open my mouth, but Eleanor stops me with a wry smile. “Don’t thank me yet, Freddie. It’ll be a lot of work.”

“I’m a fan of hard work.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed. That’s part of why I want you there. We’ll need all hands on deck.”

I nod, reaching for my laptop.

Eleanor smiles. “I’ve never met a more diligent note-taker.”

“It came in handy in college and it comes in handy now.”

“It sure does.” She gathers her own papers, standing. A frown mars her lips. “Mr. Conway’s not usually so… short.”

I focus very hard on looking pleasantly interested. “Who knows what bothers management?”

“Who knows, indeed.” She shakes her head, the clean-cut bob swaying. “Oh well. He’ll be excellent at the conference regardless, I’m sure.”

“Is he ever anything else?”

Eleanor shoots me a surprised glance. “Indeed, Freddie. I’ve sometimes wondered that myself.”

As I return to my desk, my hands tremble. Not with fear or nerves, not even with anticipation. The mess of emotions inside me includes far too many to be classified.

Yesterday, he’d held me like I was all he wanted. Yesterday, all I’d wanted had been him. And yet we’d stopped it. For me, it had been on account of this job, my career, my sense of self-worth. He’s not someone who dates, but I can’t forget the words seared into my mind-the sad way he spoke about why women want him. I can’t forget the way he is with his son.

Had I been wrong?

“I just heard the good news!” Toby says, sliding into view on his desk chair. “You’re going to Boston with us this week!”

“Another pair of hands on deck,” Quentin says from his desk, not turning around.