Page 50 of His Secret Merger

“I could use a drink,” I murmured.

Juliette’s smile softened, a little warmer this time, as if she could hear everything I hadn’t managed to say.

“There’s a place around the corner,” she offered, stepping in just far enough to bridge the space between us. “Good wine. Terrible music. Low expectations.”

A dry laugh worked its way up my throat—unexpected, unpolished, and somehow more honest than anything I’d said in days.

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

For the first time all week, the tight band across my chest loosened. Just a little. Just enough.

I reached for my jacket, glancing at her as she leaned casually against the doorframe.

“Juliette,” I said quietly, and when she looked up, it hit me harder than I expected. “Thanks… for showing up.”

She shrugged, the corner of her mouth tipping up. “Not sure if I’m doing it for you… or for me.”

“Or for both of us,” I muttered. And just like that, the night felt less heavy. The future… maybe not easier, but not quite so impossible.

We left the office together, side by side—not as business associates, not as lovers, but as something in between.

“I’ll meet you there, Jules.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Juliette

The bar was tucked into the corner of the Ocean Breeze Hotel, all low lighting and deep velvet booths, the kind of place where voices softened, and time stretched. I spotted him before he saw me—Damian, sitting at the far end, one elbow draped over the back of the booth, a glass of red wine in hand, his jacket carelessly tossed beside him. His shirt was open at the collar, his tie gone, his hair a little mussed from the day. He looked… tired. And beautiful. And like the man I had been trying and failing to forget.

When his gaze lifted and found mine, something in his face changed. Not the public mask he wore at galas and boardrooms. Not the polished charm I’d seen him use a hundred times before. Something real.

He stood as I approached—old-fashioned, unnecessary, but it made something warm flicker low in my chest.

“I missed you, Jules,” he said quietly as he reached out to caress my cheek. “I’m sorry about the way things turned out in Germany.”

In the past, I would have laughed it off, tossed him some light comment, and kept it breezy and safe. But instead, I just stood there, feeling my heart tip forward in my chest.

“I missed you, too,” I admitted, the words tasting strange and sweet on my tongue.

We settled into the booth, the candles on the table flickering between us. The first sips of wine loosened my shoulders, the softness in Damian’s voice unspooled some knot I hadn’t even known I’d been carrying. We talked about everything and nothing. The new office. The weather. A ridiculous art world scandal had popped up in the news that morning.

But beneath it all, the current pulled at us—the one we kept trying to ignore but never could.

When the second glass arrived, Damian leaned back, eyes half-lidded, thumb brushing the rim of his glass. “You ever think,” he murmured, “we were just pretending to keep it casual?”

My laugh was soft. “If we were, we were terrible at it.”

He smiled—faint, almost private—and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to the space between us.

That was when I felt it—the weight of my own armor. The independence I wore like a shield. The need to stand on my own, do it all myself, prove I didn’t need anyone. I saw it in Gabrielle’s eyes earlier, the way she watched me fuss over every detail of the new office, the way she gently offered help, and I gently brushed her off.

The truth hit me with the kind of quiet clarity that only comes with candlelight and confession:

Perhaps my fierce independence wasn’t just a strength. Perhaps it was a cage.

The secret that kept me from emotionally growing.

I excused myself, murmuring something about the restroom. I needed a breath, a moment to gather my thoughts.

---