He leaned back with a shrug. “Don’t blame me if she starts liking me more than you.”
Damien’s glare could’ve shattered glass.
James, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. “Is there anything else, Monroe?”
Monroe hesitated, then cleared his throat as well. “If I may, sir… just something small.”
Damien glanced over, his expression unreadable.
Monroe continued, “During dinner earlier, Jamie mentioned something—said that once he’s fully recovered and able to work, he wants to buy Ms. Thompson a pen. Her dream pen. A Montblanc Meisterstück Classique.”
There was a brief pause.
“She loves to write in a journal,” Monroe added, softer now. “Apparently she’s always dreamed of owning one, but never thought she could afford it.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. Not even Ashcroft. Because tha
