Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 134

Cameron’s POV

Wednesday produced the meeting issue.

There was a point in the mid-afternoon when the calendar was clear-a gap between two calls, forty minutes, the kind of space that usually filled itself with the work that accumulated between scheduled items. I was at my desk. Lucian was at his.

Cham

He was on the phone, the work phone, making the kind of call he made on my behalf to manage logistics that didn’t require my direct involvement and solving it himself. I could see him but not hear him through the glass.

I looked at a document. Looked at the glass wall. Looked at the document.

This was the situation I’d identified as requiring management. Being in adjacent spaces, aware of each other, with no immediate professional task creating the close distance that it required between us for me to navigate without creeping Lucian out.

Was he aware I was staring at him? Did he hate my staring? I should stop staring, he feels uncomfortable. My mind rambled as I couldn’t concentrate on what I was doing which was bad.

“I’m going to get coffee,” I said, to no one in particular, because Lucian was on the phone and couldn’t hear me through the glass.

I went to get coffee.

The coffee station was at the other end of the floor, a three-minute walk each way. I made myself coffee that I didn’t particularly want-I’d had three cups already-and stood at the station for an additional four minutes reviewing something on my phone that could have waited, and then walked back.

By the time I returned, Lucian had finished his call and was working through something on his computer. The moment had passed.

Thursday was the files.

There was a set of documents that needed to go to the legal team by end of day, which was a routine. transmission that Lucian would normally handle by bringing me the final versions for signature before sending them. He arrived in my office at two-fifteen with the stack, and I looked up from what I was doing and said “leave them on the corner, I’ll get to them in an hour” rather than the usual process of him staying while I reviewed the key pages and we identified any last-minute changes together.

It was faster, I told myself. More efficient. He had other things to do.

He looked at me for a moment with the expression he had when he was receiving information and was deciding what to make of it. “There’s a change in the Hendricks section that you’ll want to note,” he said. “Section four, third paragraph. Legal revised the language from the version we discussed.”

“I’ll find it.”

Avoiding Tactres

“It’s a significant change.”

I’ll find it, Lucian. Thank you.”

He put the documents on the corner and left.

Claim

I found the change. It was significant. It was the kind of thing that would have taken him forty-five seconds to point to and thirty seconds for me to assess, and because I’d routed around that process it took me eleven minutes to locate and another seven to understand the full implication.

I sent the documents to legal.

At my desk, I told myself that the extra time was worth it. That the alternative-Lucian standing beside my desk again, close, pointing at a specific paragraph-was a situation that required management until he had made his own determination about the conversation we’d said we’d have, and that it was my job to make sure that determination was made in an environment of zero pressure, which meant maintaining the distance until he indicated he was ready for something different.

This was the considerate approach. I was certain of it.

On Friday morning, Durian called.

I answered at my desk, which meant the call happened in the office, which meant I had the presence of mind to keep my voice professional rather than using my personal tone to answer.

“How’s the week been?” he asked, in the tone he used when he was asking something other than what he was asking.

“Fine,” I said. “The Singapore itinerary is finalized. Meridian is stable.”

“I meant personally.”

“Professionally and personally are overlapping this week,” I said.

“That’s not a good sign.”

“It’s a fine sign. I’m being careful.”

“Define careful.”

す

I looked at the glass wall. Lucian was at his desk, working. From this angle I could see the side of his face, the particular quality of attention he had when he was doing something that required precision-the slight focus, the still quality.

“I’m giving him space,” I said quietly.

“How much space?”

“Appropriate space.”

A pause. “Cameron. Are you leaving rooms?”

I said nothing.

23

Avoiding Lacties

Clam

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