Julian's POV
The glass-and-steel expanse of the downtown art gallery was supposed to be a sanctuary of high-end indifference. I was there because a major acquisition required my presence, standing beside a municipal board member while sipping sparkling water I had no intention of drinking. My mind wasn't on the architecture exhibits or the overpriced minimalism hanging on the walls. It was anchored to a desk three floors beneath mine, locked in a silent war of attrition with a woman who had spent the last two weeks treating me like a ghost.
Then the air in the gallery shifted.
It wasn't a sound that drew me in; it was a frequency. A familiar, bright ripple of laughter that cut straight through the low hum of polite conversation.
My head snapped toward the grand staircase.
She was
