The conference room had barely cleared before Julian's voice boomed again, cutting through the dispersing crowd like a rally cry.
"We're not done celebrating yet, people. BBQ at Le Fumoir Rouge. My treat. Eight o'clock sharp. No excuses. This Phoenix deal deserves a proper send off."
Eleanor stood at the edge of the room, folders tucked under her arm, her mind still reeling from the meeting's undercurrents.
The subtle exchange with Calder lingered like a ghost—his quiet support, the way his gaze had held hers just a fraction too long. But it was nothing. It had to be nothing.
Chenonceau was a mistake, a reckless night fueled by champagne and frustration, not some budding affair. She was married to Julian, for God's sake.
Confused didn't even begin to cover it. Every time she glanced
