Page 49 of His Secret Merger

I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over Juliette’s name. For a second—just one stupid, hungry second—I almost typedI miss you.Almost.

Instead, I locked the screen and set the phone facedown on the desk.

Mateo’s text flashed through my mind—his easy ask, his quiet trust.

A faint sound stirred at the edge of the silence—soft footsteps, the whisper of a door easing open.

I turned, heart thudding once in a way I didn’t expect.

Juliette stood in the doorway, the dim light catching the curve of her smile. Her arms were casually wrapped around her purse.

“I hoped you might still be here,” she said quietly.

The weight slipped from my shoulders for a heartbeat, and neither of us moved.

Juliette stood just inside the doorway, the glow from the hallway casting a soft outline around her. She wore dark jeans and a simple blouse, her hair loose around her shoulders, like she hadn’t planned to be here, like she’d almost talked herself out of it—and then came anyway.

I let out a slow breath and pushed back from the desk, running a hand through my hair. “You’re a surprise,” I said.

Her mouth curved in the faintest smile. “That makes two of us.”

I gestured to the chair across from me, but she shook her head and stepped closer instead, arms still loosely folded. She glanced around the office—the sleek furniture, the framed Kandinsky poster on the wall, the crystal decanter on the side table like some relic from a more polished version of myself.

“I came to grab a few things I left before I moved them to the new office,” she said, voice light, easy. “But… I figured I’d check on you first.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, watching her. “Checking on me?” I echoed, half a smile tugging at my mouth. “That’s dangerously close to caring, Vanderburg.”

Her laugh was soft but real. “Don’t get used to it.”

The air stretched between us, delicate and charged. I scrubbed a hand over my face, exhaling hard. “Board meeting ended a little while ago. It was… about as fun as you’d expect.”

Her brow creased slightly, the teasing edge slipping from her expression. “Rough?”

“Of course, they saw the news about the bankruptcy ofThe Cut of Her Jib. Now that we are bleeding donors, they are looking for answers... They want results,” I admitted, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “They want stability, fresh blood, a new face to reassure the donors. And they want it all by our annual gala.”

Juliette lowered herself onto the arm of the chair across from me, one foot braced lightly on the floor. “Sounds like you’re carrying the world, Damian.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sometimes it feels like it’s carrying me.”

We sat like that for a few quiet seconds, the tension softening just enough for me to breathe without feeling like my chest might crack.

“Look,” she said gently, “I don’t know if this is the best timing, or even if it’s my place, but…” She hesitated, biting her lip briefly, then met my gaze. “Do you want to grab a drink? Just a bar down the street. No business talk. No headlines. Just… people.”

My throat tightened, something sharp and hopeful cutting through the exhaustion.

For a beat, I almost did—almost gave in to the instinct to retreat, save face, and keep pretending I didn’t want more. That old, familiar armor had kept me upright through boardrooms and breakups, through headlines and losses. It was easier, safer, to stay behind it. To let her walk out of this office like she had walked out of that hotel suite, leaving me with nothing but the echo of what we could’ve been.

But the thing was, I did want more.

More than the casual texts and late-night calls. More than the passion we fell into when neither of us wanted to think too hard. More than the version of me that only showed up when it was convenient.

I wanted her laughter across the table, her voice cutting through the quiet when the nights got too heavy. I wanted the person who called me on my bullshit, who saw through the polished image and didn’t flinch.

So, yeah—I wanted more.

And for the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I was done pretending I didn’t.

I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the boardroom, the legacy, the endless expectations slide off my shoulders, just a little.

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