The boardroom was quiet except for the shuffling of paper and the occasional scrape of a pen.
Damien didn’t hear a single word.
Not the quarterly forecast. Not the supply chain concerns. Not even the new projections James had personally compiled.
He was looking down at his phone again.
Nothing. Still.
The screen was blank. Just the time. 4:26 PM.
He shifted in his chair, jaw tight, one hand clenched around the Montblanc pen similar to the one he’d already snapped in half earlier.
This was ridiculous.
He didn’t wait. They waited for him.
And yet—here he was, checking his phone like a boy after his first confession, pretending to scroll through something important every ten minutes just to disguise the disappointment when the lock screen stayed empty.
No text. No call. No Maya.
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