THE NEW ASSIGNMENT
1316 Words
Chapter Eight
The New Assignment
The Milan campaign had changed things.
Not dramatically.
At least, not at first.
There were congratulatory emails, new meetings, and a sudden increase in people who seemed interested in knowing who I was.
My name appeared in places it hadn't appeared before.
For the first time since I'd moved back to the city, I felt like I was finally getting somewhere.
Then Adrian Vale decided to complicate it.
Again.
It happened on a Monday morning.
I was halfway through reviewing the campaign's international rollout when my assistant appeared at my door.
“Lilian?”
I looked up.
“Mr. Vale wants you upstairs.”
I stared at her.
“Again?”
She smiled awkwardly.
“He didn't say why.”
Of course he didn't.
I grabbed my notebook and headed upstairs.
Adrian's office was quiet when I entered.
He was standing beside the window with his phone pressed to his ear.
“No. Move the meeting to Thursday.”
A pause.
“I don't care what their schedule looks like. Mine takes priority.”
He ended the call and looked at me.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He returned to his desk and opened a folder.
“You've seen the Milan numbers.”
“Yes.”
“They're good.”
“Very good, apparently.”
His eyes lifted.
I smiled innocently.
He didn't.
“I'm assigning you another project.”
I straightened.
“What kind?”
“Vale Holdings is launching a luxury division next quarter.”
He pushed a document toward me.
“We're bringing together three of our existing brands under one international campaign.”
I scanned the first page.
Paris.
Milan.
London.
New York.
It was huge.
“You want me to lead this?”
“Yes.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“Because you understand the market.”
“That sounds almost like a compliment.”
“Don't get used to it.”
I smiled.
He continued.
“I'll be overseeing the business side. You'll handle the creative direction.”
“So we're working together.”
“Yes.”
Something about the way he said it made my smile fade.
He looked down at the papers.
“We'll have regular meetings.”
“How regular?”
“Once a week.”
I nodded.
That wasn't terrible.
I could manage one meeting a week with Adrian Vale.
Probably.
Then he added, “Possibly more during the launch.”
I sighed.
“You really know how to ruin a sentence.”
His mouth twitched.
Barely.
But I saw it.
For the first time since I'd met him, I saw Adrian almost smile.
Then it disappeared.
“You start tomorrow.”
I gathered the documents.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“Don't let the success of Milan make you careless.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I don't.”
“I know.”
The words were simple.
But they sounded different coming from him.
I left his office with the folder pressed against my chest.
I wasn't sure what bothered me more.
The size of the project.
Or the fact that I was beginning to understand Adrian.
Not completely.
Not even close.
But enough to know that the coldness wasn't his entire personality.
There was something underneath it.
Something guarded.
Something tired.
And I didn't know why I wanted to know what it was.
By Wednesday, my life had become a collection of meetings.
Creative meetings.
Budget meetings.
Production meetings.
Client meetings.
And one particularly unpleasant meeting with a man from finance who seemed to believe that every creative decision was personally designed to bankrupt him.
Sophie was the only person who seemed entertained by my misery.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.”
“You wanted a bigger role.”
“I didn't mean this big.”
She laughed.
We were sitting in a small café near the office during lunch.
For once, we weren't discussing Adrian.
Sophie was telling me about a photography project she'd been trying to land for months.
“You should take it,” I said.
“I might.”
“You've been saying that for weeks.”
“Because I'm waiting for them to offer me more money.”
I laughed.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“The woman who suddenly remembers capitalism exists.”
She grinned.
Our conversation drifted to other things.
Her apartment.
My terrible cooking.
A man she'd met at an event.
The possibility of taking a trip later in the year.
Normal things.
It felt good.
For an hour, I wasn't a missing wife.
I wasn't a mystery.
I wasn't the woman Adrian Vale couldn't stop looking at like he was searching for someone who wasn't there.
I was just Lilian.
And I liked being her.
The following week, Adrian and I had our first project meeting.
He arrived eleven minutes late.
I looked at the clock.
“You're late.”
He took his seat.
“I own the company.”
“That doesn't make you immune to clocks.”
He looked at me.
“You've become very comfortable.”
“I'm becoming comfortable with the fact that you haven't fired me yet.”
“I haven't considered it.”
“Good.”
He opened the presentation.
We worked.
Actually worked.
There was no hostility.
No accusations.
No mention of Elena.
Just business.
And strangely enough, we worked well together.
He was decisive.
I was stubborn.
He wanted numbers.
I wanted ideas.
Somehow, between the two, we managed to build something that neither of us would have created alone.
At one point, I pushed a photograph across the table.
“This.”
He looked at it.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Too predictable.”
I smiled.
“That's exactly what you said about Paris.”
His eyes met mine.
“You remember everything I say?”
“Unfortunately.”
For a moment, something changed in his expression.
He looked at me differently.
Not like Elena.
Not like the woman who had disappeared.
Like me.
Lilian.
I felt it.
And then he looked away.
“Fine,” he said. “Keep it.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
He returned to the presentation.
But neither of us spoke for a few seconds.
That evening, Adrian remained in his office long after everyone else had left.
His assistant placed another file on his desk.
“Anything else, Mr. Vale?”
“No.”
She left.
He opened the file.
It was the report on the new campaign.
Lilian's notes covered almost every page.
He read through them slowly.
He hated how easily she challenged him.
How she laughed when he was serious.
How she refused to be intimidated by him.
How different she was.
And yet—
There were moments.
Tiny moments.
A look.
A gesture.
A particular way she tilted her head when she was thinking.
Things he remembered.
Things he hadn't thought about in years.
He closed the file.
He shouldn't be doing this.
Lilian Brooks wasn't Elena.
She couldn't be.
Elena had left.
Elena had chosen to leave him.
And Lilian had a completely different life.
Yet somehow, Adrian found himself looking forward to their meetings.
That irritated him more than it should have.
He picked up his phone.
His assistant's name appeared on the screen.
He hesitated.
Then said, “Cancel my dinner tomorrow.”
“Which dinner?”
“The one with the Harringtons.”
A pause.
“May I ask why?”
Adrian looked at the file on his desk.
“I have work.”
He ended the call.
Across the city, Lilian was completely unaware that the man who claimed to hate her had just rearranged his evening because he wanted another hour in the same room with her.
And neither of them was ready to understand why.
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