MR SINCLAIR
924 Words
Lucien's POV
"...No."
I signed the final page of the contract without taking my eyes off it.
"We're not postponing the Milan acquisition."
The voice on the other end of the line fell silent.
"If legal needs another forty eight hours, they can have it. If finance needs another week, they can't."
I set my fountain pen down.
"I'll be in Italy tonight. I expect every outstanding issue resolved before I land."
"Understood, Mr. Sinclair."
"Good."
I ended the call and placed my phone beside the stack of neatly organized files on my desk.
Silence returned to the office.
The kind I preferred.
A soft chime came from my laptop.
A new email.
Maison Élise.
Efficient.
I opened it without a second thought.
The boutique always forwarded purchase confirmations made through Sinclair Hospitality's executive account.
The invoice appeared on the screen.
I scanned the itemized list briefly before my eyes settled on the total.
$24,816.47.
A quiet chuckle escaped me.
That explained very little.
I reached for my desk phone and pressed a familiar extension.
The call was answered almost immediately.
"Maison Élise. This is Isabelle."
"Lucien Sinclair."
Her tone straightened instantly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair."
"I've just received Miss Monroe's invoice."
"Yes, sir."
I glanced at the total again.
"Did she finish shopping?"
"She did."
"And that's everything?"
"Yes, sir."
I frowned almost imperceptibly.
"Did you bring out the executive collection?"
There was a brief pause.
"We did."
"The couture selection?"
"Yes."
"The private showroom?"
"Yes, sir."
I leaned back in my chair.
"And?"
Another pause.
"Miss Monroe politely declined most of it."
I looked out the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.
"Why?"
"She insisted she already had more than enough."
Enough. According to whom?
"She apologized several times for feeling as though she was spending too much of the company's money."
Of course she apologized.
I hand her everything and she treats it like it is borrowed.
She'd been handed a corporate card with no limit...
...and worried about buying ten outfits.
Most executives I'd hired over the years had done the opposite.
They treated company accounts as invitations rather than responsibilities.
Miss Monroe had treated it as a privilege.
That was... refreshing.
"Have the remaining selections packed."
There was a beat of silence.
"Sir?"
"The pieces she declined."
"The... entire collection?"
"If it was selected for her, she'll need it."
"Of course, Mr. Sinclair."
"And don't tell her."
"Understood."
I set the receiver back into its cradle and turned my attention to the reports waiting on my desk.
The Chicago quarterly projections.
Three acquisition proposals.
An updated revenue analysis from our European portfolio.
I worked through each one methodically, making notes in the margins before signing the approvals that required my authorization.
A knock sounded against the door.
"Come in."
Evelyn, my executive coordinator, stepped inside carrying a leather portfolio.
"The Milan briefing documents you requested."
She placed them neatly on my desk.
"Your pilot also asked me to let you know the aircraft will be fueled and ready for departure by six thirty."
I nodded.
"Hotel?"
"The Presidential Suite at Villa Bellavista has been prepared."
I looked up.
"And hers?"
Evelyn blinked once.
"I'm sorry?"
"And Miss Monroe's room?" I asked.
Evelyn glanced down at her tablet.
"I've reserved one of our executive suites on the fourth floor."
I closed the folder in front of me.
"Move her."
She looked up.
"Sir?"
"Book her into the adjoining suite."
For the first time in years, Evelyn hesitated.
"...The adjoining suite?"
"The one connected to mine."
Silence settled between us.
She didn't argue.
She simply looked at me for a fraction of a second longer than usual.
I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands across my lap.
"Is there a problem, Miss Hall?"
Her expression smoothed instantly.
"No, Mr. Sinclair."
"I didn't think so."
She tapped a few notes into her tablet.
"I'll have the reservation changed immediately."
"The connecting sitting room will make meetings more efficient," I said evenly. "We'll be working around the clock while we're in Italy."
"Of course."
She gave a small nod, though I could tell she was mentally rearranging the schedule already.
"Anything else, sir?"
"Yes."
I checked the time on the clock behind my desk.
"They should be arriving at Bellamore Atelier by now."
"I'll notify them."
"They're already expecting her."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Evelyn's mouth.
As she left, I rose from my chair and crossed the office toward the floor to ceiling windows.
Manhattan stretched endlessly beneath me, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun.
The city never stopped moving.
Neither did I.
Reaching up, I loosened the knot of my navy silk tie, tugging it down just enough to ease the pressure around my collar.
The top button of my crisp white shirt followed.
A rare concession.
I rolled each shoulder once before unfastening the silver cuff links at my wrists.
One.
Then the other.
They landed softly on the edge of my desk.
I folded the sleeves back with practiced precision, revealing strong forearms lightly dusted with dark hair and the steel watch that had scarcely left my wrist in over a decade.
A text from James.
Miss Monroe has completed her first fitting. We are now en route to Bellamore Atelier.
Right on schedule.
I allowed myself the faintest hint of a smile.
She was punctual.
Efficient.
Adaptable.
Qualities I valued.
My gaze shifted once more to the skyline beyond the glass.
Italy would be... enlightening.
For both of us.
- Writer
