I smile awkwardly as I look around the table.
“Emily, this is my father, George.” He gestures to the older man.
“Hello,” I whisper nervously.
“Hello, dear.” He smiles warmly; he’s in his sixties and looks like an older version of Jameson and Elliot. Gorgeous and distinguished with those piercing blue eyes.
“This is Martin and Gerrard, Max and Barry,” Jameson says as he points around the table. “And on the end are Calvin and Jake.”
“Hello.” I force a smile. I’ll never remember all these names.
“This is the corporate investigation team,” Jameson continues. “Jake will be the eyes on the floor, and the other five men will be assessing the data that’s collected.”
I watch him as he talks, devoid of emotion, and my heart cracks a little. He’s completely unrattled by me . . . by us.
There
