Page 54 of His Secret Merger

Anthony stretched out in his chair, arms folded loosely. “Tell me more about your merger plan. And what about Louisa’s shoes? You still looking for someone to fill them?”

I exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “It’s… in motion.”

Juliette shifted in her seat, sliding her tablet forward. “We’ve been talking,” she said, her voice even but laced with purpose. “And I think there’s a way to steady the ship without forcing Damian to pull a miracle out of thin air.”

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “We?”

Juliette gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Reliable Art Services. And before anyone panics—no, I’m not gunning for Louisa’s job.” She glanced at me, then back to them. “I’m not an executive. I’m not here for a paycheck. But I do have clients, connections, and a pretty good reputation in the art world—and I’m willing to volunteer some of that weight on weekends to help right this ship.”

She tapped the tablet. “Estate consultations. Appraisals. Helping families who don’t know what to do with inherited art. And on the flip side—helping Vérité’s donors feel like they’re part of something meaningful again. Not just a black-tie event, but a movement that actually connects art with community.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Anthony sat forward slowly, steepling his fingers. “You’d do that as a volunteer.”

Juliette’s smile softened. “I care about this place. And Damian. And you know what? If it helps keep this foundation alive, I’m in.”

My chest tightened, something raw and unexpected pressing behind my ribs.

Anthony’s mouth twitched, like he was holding back a grin. “Well, damn. That’s… exactly what the board’s been starving for.”

I caught Juliette’s eye, something unspoken hanging between us, sharp as a live wire. She was offering herself, not as a lifeboat, but as an anchor. And maybe for the first time, I realized I wanted to be anchored.

Anthony turned to me, mock-serious. “And you, Sinclair? Are you prepared to be outshone by your volunteer staff?”

I grinned. “Oh, I’m all in.”

Gabrielle clapped her hands once, bright and satisfied. “Well, dear, perhaps we should get back home. Aria can only stay a few hours.”

Anthony nodded in agreement. They grabbed a few leftover pastries and were gone.

Juliette commandeered the whiteboard back at the office like she’d been born for it. Markers in hand, hair tied up in a messy knot, she sketched circles and arrows, names of donors, potential auction items, and possible themes spilling across the board in loops of bold handwriting.

I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her work. For a moment, I wasn’t thinking about the board, the gala, or the fallout from the last few weeks. I was just watching Juliette—sharp, focused, flushed with purpose.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching me mid-smirk. “Are you going to help, or just stand there looking smug?”

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “I’m taking notes. You’re a force of nature.”

Juliette rolled her eyes, though a smirk played on her lips. “We need items that spark real interest—big-ticket, one-of-a-kind experiences, not just another silent auction basket stuffed with wine and cheese. Think private tours, dinner with collectors, and exclusive gallery previews. And we need donors with serious reach. Anthony mentioned he’s working on recovering a piece from the Devereux’s stolen collection. Maybe we can feature it.The Monuments Men and Women Foundation is about to wrap up their search for the original owner, but so far, they’ve come up empty.”

She tapped the marker against her lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ve got the Rolodex, Sinclair. Don’t make me charm it out of you.”

I leaned back in my chair, grinning slowly. “Oh, I’m counting on you to try.”

I pushed off the doorframe, crossing to where she stood. “I’ll make some calls. Anthony can help, too—he’s got a couple of collectors in his pocket who owe him favors.” I reached past her to pick up a pen, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo. “You’re good at this.”

Juliette let out a soft laugh, not looking at me. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

I ducked my head, brushing a kiss against her temple before I could second-guess myself. “Not surprised. Impressed.”

Her breath hitched, just for a second, before she shook it off and tapped another note onto the board.

We worked for another hour, the energy between us humming like a live current. She called Gabrielle twice to bounce ideas. I texted Anthony, looping him in on some of the higher-profile donors. Somewhere between organizing art lots and debating whether the dress code should be black tie or cocktail chic, Juliette turned, hands on her hips, eyes bright.

“This could actually work,” she murmured.

I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers without thinking. “You’re the one making it work.”

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