Chapter 70
Chapter 70:
Gaston was already moving toward his study, the tickets clutched in his hand like a prize. “I have to fly to London tomorrow morning for forty-eight hours, but I’ll speed things up. I’ll be back in time p>
He paused at the doorframe and looked back at her. “Thank you, Jocelyn. This is… unexpected p>
“It’s the least I could do,” she said, her chest tightening with a strange, sharp pang.
He disappeared into the study. Moments later, she heard his voice — strong and commanding — on the phone. “Leo. Cancel my schedule for next week. Everything.” A pause, a smile audible in his tone. “She booked a honeymoon p>
Jocelyn picked up her phone. Her fingers felt numb.
In the other room, Gaston was humming. He sounded happy. He was going to take his boyfriend on a luxury cruise, and she had made it happen.
She should feel good. She should feel like a competent partner in a business arrangement.
𝘕оvе𝗅𝘀 𝗂ո 𝗍𝘳𝖾𝗇d 𝗼n
Instead, she felt a hollow ache in her stomach, like she had just given away the last life raft on a sinking ship.
“Stop it,” she whispered to the empty room. “It’s strictly business p>
The morning light was gray and unforgiving as it filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Gaston stood by the front door, his carry-on bag slung over his shoulder, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit — the armor of the corporate warrior.
He lingered, his hand on the doorknob.
Jocelyn walked over, holding a travel mug of coffee. “Safe travels. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do p>
Gaston chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He took the coffee, his fingers brushing hers. The contact sent a jolt of static up her arm.
He leaned in. For a second, she thought he might kiss her lips. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
But he tilted his head and pressed his lips firmly to her forehead. It wasn’t a peck. It was a brand — warm, lingering, possessive.
“Wait for me,” he whispered against her skin.
He pulled back, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment, before he turned and walked out. The door clicked shut, the sound final and echoing through the large apartment.
Jocelyn touched her forehead. The spot burned.
“He’s just a good actor,” she reminded herself, forcing her legs to move. “He’s practicing for the cameras p>
But there were no cameras in the hallway.
She shook off the confusion and headed to the Wolfe Hotel. The atmosphere there had shifted overnight. The doorman greeted her with a snap of respect. The front desk staff stood straighter. The fifty-million-dollar contract had transformed her from a figurehead into a formidable leader.
Uncle Vincent was absent. His secretary said he was taking a sick day. Plotting, more likely.
Around noon, a courier arrived at her office and handed her a thick, cream-colored envelope with the Schneider crest embossed on the flap.
Jocelyn ripped it open.
Family Dinner. Tonight. 7:00 PM. Attendance Mandatory.