Julian’s hand paused over the paper, the pen hovering a fraction of an inch above the blank page. He let out a low, dry chuckle, shaking his head.
"Love, if we're going to conspire, we're going to do it right. I'm wealthy, not reckless."
He tossed the Montblanc pen back onto the desk, picked up his smartphone, and tapped the screen on speaker.
"Alistair," Julian said the moment the call connected.
A crisp, impeccably dry British voice crackled through the speaker. "Mr. Vance. It is a bit early for a Monday morning. I trust this isn't about another parking dispute at your townhouse?"
"Worse. I need a non-disclosure, risk-mitigation, and temporary partnership agreement drawn up immediately," Julian commanded, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk while keeping his eyes locked on
