Page 51 of His Secret Merger

Inside, I stood at the sink, hands braced on the marble, staring at a version of myself I wasn’t sure I fully recognized. My lipstick was smudged—eyes too bright. A woman on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to name.

I smoothed my hair and took a steadying breath. And quietly, just for me, I whispered, “I can’t stay away from him.”

It wasn’t a confession to the mirror. It was the truth to myself, and if I was going to figure out how to make this last—whatever this was—I had to be willing to put down the armor.

I straightened, pressed my palms against the cool marble, and gave the woman in the mirror the smallest, bravest smile I could manage. Then I turned, ready to go back to the table.

Ready to go back to Damian.

By the time I slid back into the booth, Damian was idly tracing a fingertip around the rim of his wineglass, gaze distant, jaw tight. Whatever relaxed warmth we’d carved out over the past hour had slipped, leaving behind the man I recognized all too well—the one carrying a weight on his shoulders and pretending it didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” I said softly, nudging his knee under the table. “Where’d you go just now?”

He blinked, then offered a half-smile. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” I teased gently.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “The board meeting today… It was rougher than I let on.”

I leaned in, elbows on the table. “Tell me.”

For a moment, he hesitated—then something in his posture softened. He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling like the words were tucked somewhere up there. “They think I’m coasting on inheritance. Riding on my father’s name, my family’s money. They’re… not wrong.” His jaw clenched. “They want proof I’m invested. That I’m not just some billionaire with a nice portfolio.”

I watched him carefully, my heart tugging. “And are you?”

His gaze dropped to mine, raw and exposed. “I want to be more.”

It was such a quiet admission, so unlike the suave, deflecting man I usually sat across from, that it punched the air right out of my chest.

“Then let me help,” I murmured before I could overthink it.

His brow furrowed. “Help how?”

I took a slow breath, the idea forming even as I spoke. “What if Reliable Art Services partnered with Vérité? I mean, think about it—I can help appraise, advise, maybe even handle legacy pieces or estates. You can connect my clients with placement options or high-profile buyers. And if donors know I’m volunteering with the foundation and not on the payroll… it’s good for both of us.”

For the first time all night, something sparked in his eyes—not just interest, but something hungry, almost boyish. “Juliette, that’s… brilliant.”

I felt myself flush, warmth blooming low in my belly. “You think?”

“I know.” His laugh was soft, almost disbelieving. “You know, when I was a kid… my father thought the best way to show love was to ship me off to boarding school. And my mother—” he hesitated, just briefly, “she left while we were living in Paris. I guess I’ve been carrying around this idea that you can’t really count on anyone. But here you are.” He shook his head, a little dazed. “Showing up.”

I squeezed his hand, feeling something crack open between us. “Maybe we can both rewrite a few stories.”

Damian was already reaching for his phone, thumb flicking over the screen. “I have an idea—let’s call Gabrielle and loop Anthony in. I want to hear what they think about this.”

I pulled out my phone and dialed Gabrielle. She picked up on the second ring, laughter in her tone, with Anthony’s voice in the background, cheering loudly at whatever game he was watching.

“Hey,” I said, smiling at the sound of home. “Can I put you on speaker?”

“Of course. What’s up?”

Damian leaned in, voice low and eager. “Anthony, it’s Damian. Juliette has this idea—partnering Reliable with Vérité. Appraisals, donor relations, estate consulting… It’s a natural fit. What do you think?”

There was a beat of silence, then Anthony’s voice, bright and sure. “That’s exactly the kind of innovation the board’s been craving. And frankly, Damian, it’s the first time in weeks you’ve sounded excited about something. Do it.”

Gabrielle chimed in, teasing, “Told you she was the sharp one.”

Damian laughed—a real, chest-deep laugh that lit his face from the inside out. When he ended the call, he reached across the table, catching my hand.

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