The charity auction was an exercise in polished boredom. Crystal glasses chimed in a steady rhythm, mixing with the low murmur of a hundred conversations about money and influence. I stood by Charles’s side, a silent, observant shadow, my role perfectly calibrated. I was present enough to be acknowledged, but invisible enough to be overlooked. It was a delicate balance, and I was good at it.

"Charles," a voice cut through the polite hum, smooth as silk and just as strong. "I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you considered these things a tax write-off with mediocre entertainment."

A man approached, flanked by two assistants. He was in his late forties, with silver at his temples and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He moved with an easy confidence that spoke of old money and newer ruthlessness. His name was Julian Thorne, a CEO from a rival firm, a man Charles had bested in a hostile takeover the previous year.

"Julian," Charles’s reply was cool, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I’m here to support the arts. And to observe my competition."

Julian’s gaze slid from Charles to me, and it lingered. It wasn’t a casual glance; it was an assessment, sharp and intrusive. "And this is?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already had a good idea. "Your new shadow. I’ve heard a lot of whispers."

"Eric Hart," Charles said, the introduction simple, but the way he shifted infinitesimally, placing himself slightly more in front of me, was a clear, unspoken claim. "He handles what matters."

"Handles what matters," Julian repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked me up and down, a deliberate, insolent appraisal. "I’m sure he does. You have a good eye for assets, Charles. Always have." The word ’assets’ hung in the air between us, a deliberate provocation.

I didn’t flinch. I kept my expression neutral, my posture relaxed. "Mr. Thorne," I said, my voice even. "It’s a pleasure. I’ve followed your acquisition of Aerion Tech. A bold move."

Julian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t expected me to know his business, let alone comment on it with informed precision. "It was," he said, his tone losing some of its playful edge. "Very bold."

"Boldness is irrelevant without execution," I countered smoothly. "The market will be the judge of that."

Charles said nothing, but I could feel the shift in the air beside me. It wasn’t disapproval. It was something closer to interest. He was watching me handle his rival, and he was letting me.

Julian’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to retort, but a sharp, dressed-down assistant with a tablet appeared at his elbow, whispering urgently in his ear. Julian’s jaw tightened. He shot a last, venomous glance at me before turning his attention to the assistant. "Fine," he clipped out. "Tell him I’m on my way."

He gave Charles a curt nod. "We’ll have to finish this conversation another time."

"I look forward to it," Charles said, his voice dangerously mild.

As Julian walked away, the tension dissipated, leaving a strange, charged silence in its wake. Charles looked at me, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a new light. "Aerion Tech," he said, a statement, not a question.

"I do my research," I replied.

"So I see," he said.

A server passed between us with a tray of champagne, the soft clink of glass briefly cutting through the noise. I took one without thinking, more for something to do with my hands than any interest in the drink.

The cold stem grounded me, steadying the sharp awareness still lingering under my skin. Across the room, a few eyes lingered longer than they should have. Not curiosity. Recognition. That was new. And unlike Julian, they weren’t bold enough to approach—yet.

Just then, Charles’s own assistant, Lisa, materialized out of the crowd, her expression urgent. She moved directly to Charles’s side, her voice a low, confidential murmur that I couldn’t quite catch. I watched as Charles listened, his face a mask of impassivity. His body remained still, but I saw the change in his eyes—the sharpening of focus, the rapid, silent calculation.

Lisa finished her report and stepped back, waiting.

Charles didn’t respond to her. He didn’t look at me. He simply stared out at the crowd for a long, silent moment, the gears turning behind his eyes. Then, as if a decision had been made and locked into place, he turned.

"Lisa," he said, his voice crisp. "Clear my schedule for the next three days."

"Sir?"

"All of it," he commanded. Then his gaze landed on me, and the impact was physical. "We’re leaving tonight."

I felt a jolt, but kept it from my face. "Where?"

"Paris." He said it as if he were discussing the weather. "The Lacroix deal is falling apart. Their CEO is playing games. I’m going to remind him who holds the cards." He looked at Lisa. "Have the jet ready. We leave in two hours."

He didn’t ask if I was available. He didn’t explain why I, specifically, was needed. He simply stated a fact, and expected it to be obeyed.

As Lisa moved away to make the arrangements, I stood beside him, the murmur of the auction fading into the background. Paris. The city was a variable I hadn’t planned for. It was a disruption to my carefully constructed schedule, my methodical investigation. But as I glanced at Charles’s profile, at the hard, determined set of his jaw, I realized it was also an opportunity. An unexpected trip. A new environment. A private jet.

The seduction gambit was about to enter a whole new arena. I would have to adjust my plan, but I would not abandon it. I would simply have to be more creative.

And I would have to do it while trapped thousands of feet in the air with the one man I couldn’t afford to want, and couldn’t afford to fail.