The announcement came Wednesday morning.
Charles gathered the senior leadership team in the main conference room, his expression carrying the particular gravity reserved for significant news.
I sat near the back, tablet ready, expecting routine updates about quarterly projections or client developments.
"Pemberton Corp is launching a new product line in Paris next week," Charles began.
"A prestigious event requiring senior leadership presence. The European market has been a priority for expansion, and this launch will set the tone for our international strategy moving forward."
A murmur rippled through the room. Paris. International expansion. The kind of high-profile opportunity that could make or break careers.
"Sebastian will lead the delegation," Charles continued. "His marketing expertise and strategic vision make him the natural choice to represent us."
Sebastian nodded, accepting the assignment with characteristic confidence. Then his grey eyes found mine across the room.
"I'd like to request Belle Ashworth specifically as my assistant for the trip," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the space.
"She's proven herself invaluable during the Harrison project. Her coordination skills and attention to detail will ensure the launch runs smoothly."
James straightened in his chair, tension radiating from every line of his body.
"With respect, Belle is assigned to evaluate both CEO candidates. Taking her exclusively for a week compromises the integrity of that process."
"The evaluation can continue when we return,"
Sebastian replied coolly, not even bothering to look at James.
"Unless you'd prefer we send someone less competent and risk botching the most important product launch of the year? I'm sure the board would appreciate that approach."
"That's not what I'm suggesting, and you know it. I'm pointing out that this arrangement creates an unfair advantage. A week alone in Paris, working closely together…"
"Are you implying something inappropriate, Whitmore?" Sebastian's voice turned dangerous. "Because that sounds like projection to me."
"Gentlemen."
Charles's tone cut through the mounting tension like a blade.
"That's enough. The decision is made. Belle goes to Paris. Her skills are needed for this launch, and her evaluation responsibilities will resume upon her return. This is professional. Practical. Inarguable."
James's jaw tightened, but he had no grounds to challenge Charles directly. Not without revealing the personal motivations behind his objection. He settled back in his chair, seething silently.
I kept my expression neutral, even as my stomach churned with conflicting emotions. A week in Paris. With Sebastian. After what almost happened in the conference room.
The meeting adjourned, and I spent the rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday drowning in logistics.
Flight arrangements, hotel bookings, venue confirmations, schedule coordination—the details consumed me completely, leaving no room for complicated feelings about complicated men.
Thursday evening, the office emptied gradually around me. I stayed late, finishing the travel documents that needed to be perfect before tomorrow's departure.
By eight o'clock, the floor had fallen silent except for the hum of computers and the distant sound of cleaning crews working their way through the building.
I headed to the storage room for the backup files on European market research—materials Sebastian had requested for the flight. The small space was dim, illuminated only by the spillover light from the hallway.
I was reaching for a folder on the upper shelf when a shadow fell across the doorway.
James stood there, blocking my exit. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, exhaustion and something darker etched into his features.
"Paris with Sebastian." His voice was tight, barely controlled. "How convenient."
I turned to face him fully, keeping my posture calm despite the alarm bells ringing in my head. "It's work, James. Nothing more. Charles made the assignment based on project needs."
"Is it?"
He stepped inside the storage room, and I heard the soft click of the door closing behind him.
"Just work? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like Sebastian found a way to get you alone for an entire week. And you didn't exactly fight the arrangement."
"I didn't need to fight it. It's a professional assignment. I'm doing my job."
"You've been avoiding me for weeks, Belle."
He moved closer, his presence filling the small space.
"Ever since that kiss in this very room. You won't look at me. You rearrange your schedule to stay on Sebastian's side of every project. You practically run in the opposite direction whenever I enter a room."
"James, don't—"
"I can't stop thinking about it."
His voice cracked with something raw and desperate. "That kiss. The way you responded before you remembered to push me away. I know you felt it too, Belle. I know you can't have forgotten."
My back hit the wall. I hadn't realized I'd been retreating until there was nowhere left to go.
James pressed in, closing the distance between us. His hands found my hips, grip firm and familiar, sliding beneath the hem of my blouse to touch bare skin. The contact sent electricity racing through my veins.
Six years of muscle memory ignited instantly. My body remembered his hands, his warmth, the way we used to fit together.
It responded before my mind could intervene—pulse quickening, breath catching, heat pooling low in my stomach.
His mouth found my neck, lips tracing the sensitive skin below my ear. His fingers traced my ribs, climbing higher with deliberate slowness.
The sensation was familiar and devastating, pulling me back into patterns I'd thought were broken.
"Tell me you don't want this," he breathed against my skin, the words vibrating through me. "Tell me honestly that you feel nothing, and I'll walk away. I'll never bring it up again."
I closed my eyes. The truth burned in my chest, ugly and undeniable.
I did want it. Some treacherous part of me still craved the comfort of what we'd been, the security of something known.
The connection remained, buried but alive, waiting for moments of weakness to resurface.
That was the problem.
"This isn't right."
The words cost me everything. They scraped against my throat like broken glass, tearing at the part of me that still loved him despite everything.
"Whatever we had, however real it felt—it's over, James. It has to be."
He froze. His hands stilled against my skin, his mouth lifting from my neck.
Slowly, painfully, he pulled back. His eyes met mine, wounded and searching.
"It could be right," he said quietly. "If you'd let it. If you'd give us another chance instead of running toward men who don't know you the way I do."
"I can't." My voice broke on the words. "I can't go back to who I was with you. I can't pretend the last month didn't happen. And I can't keep letting you touch me like you still have the right."
He stared at me for a long moment. I watched the hope drain from his features, replaced by something that looked almost like acceptance.
Then he stepped aside, leaving the path to the door clear.
I walked past him without looking back. My hands trembled as I pushed through the doorway, my legs unsteady beneath me.
Behind me, silence. He didn't call after me. Didn't try to stop me. Just let me go.
I made it to my desk before the shaking became uncontrollable. I sat in my chair and stared at the travel documents spread across my keyboard, wondering when my life had become so impossibly complicated.
Tomorrow, I would fly to Paris with Sebastian.
And I had no idea who I would be when I returned.