2. Henri #3
Henri let his gaze linger just a fraction too long on David, taking in the fine bone structure, the way his lashes cast shadows over warm, brown eyes when he looked down. The slight flush that crept up David’s neck only enhanced the porcelain quality of his skin.
“Welcome to La Sauvegarde, David. I trust HR is treating you well?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Rohan—“
“Call me Henri, please.” He winked, causing David to turn an even deeper shade of pink. Patricia rolled her eyes while James barely contained his grin. Henri felt something in his chest ease slightly. This he could do. This Henri, charming, confident, slightly inappropriate, was safe.
“If you’re quite finished making the intern question his life choices,” Richard cut in, his British accent crisp, “perhaps we could discuss why we’re investing in a sustainable energy startup?”
Henri offered one final glance at David, who was now practically glowing pink, and turned back with his CFO smile in place.
“That shade really brings out your eyes,” he murmured to David, then shifted easily. “And it’s not an investment, Richard. We’re acquiring EcoSphere outright.”
The server appeared with quiet efficiency. Henri ordered his usual rare steak, a Backbone Syrah, and turned back to the table without missing a beat. The server slowly circled the table, taking orders.
“Their production numbers are excellent, their tech solid.” Henri continued after the server finished. “But more importantly, they’re at a critical inflection point. Scaling requires capital and control. That’s where we come in.”
He slid his tablet across the table, already queued to a clean graph overlaying EcoSphere’s quarterly growth against La Sauvegarde’s forecasted ROI.
“Sustainable energy isn’t just the future. It’s the market’s pivot point now. EcoSphere’s cornering implementation, not just design. That’s the kind of edge we buy.”
Kenta looked up. “Their facilities are impressive, but why you specifically? And for a month?”
Henri smiled smoothly, folding his hands over his crossed legs.
“I’ll be conducting a full inspection. Production line, supplier integration, logistics readiness.
But more than that, EcoSphere’s scattered across twelve facilities in three countries.
Their supply chain runs through Germany and Denmark, with manufacturing partnerships in Scotland.
” He gestured toward his tablet. “A week gets you the London headquarters. A month gets you the complete operational picture before we commit to full integration.”
Richard nodded slowly. “The due diligence makes sense, but couldn’t the team—“
“Could,” Henri cut in smoothly. “But EcoSphere’s CEO specifically requested me. Apparently, our reputation for thorough integration processes preceded us. He wants La Sauvegarde’s CFO personally overseeing the transition timeline.”
The words slipped out confidently. Efficient.
Partially true, which made them easier to sell.
Gabriel had sent him to run, but the VPs didn’t need to know that. Henri kept his expression neutral as the conversation drifted from operational timelines to messaging strategies.
Thank God for Eric’s briefing packet. Henri drew from it again and again, answering questions with practiced ease. By the time dessert was offered, the VP team had all nodded along with Henri’s plans.
By the time coffee arrived, he’d made David laugh twice.
He brushed the intern’s shoulder lightly as they left the restaurant, just enough contact to see the blush bloom again. Control. Henri still had it.
Almost enough to forget the countdown ticking in his chest.
Back in his office, alone again, Henri slumped into his chair.
The illusion shattered on impact.
His reflection in the darkened screen looked sharp and whole. Designer suit, crisp collar, the perfect CFO. But inside? His gut twisted.
Thirty-two days.
Not just away from Marc, but away from Marc’s attention. His approval. His protection.
What if, without Marc there to correct him, to shape him, Henri became something Marc wouldn’t want back? The thought made his chest tighten. Twenty years of careful training, of learning exactly how to please, how to serve, how to be useful, and now he was supposed to just exist without direction?
What the hell was Gabriel thinking?
Henri pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Marc’s contact. He could call. Could explain. Could beg if necessary. But Marc had said no. Had gone silent. And Henri had learned long ago that pushing Marc when he’d withdrawn only made things worse.
The townhall went as smoothly as the lunch. Henri charmed his way through presentations and questions, tossing casual winks at the summer associates and sharing knowing smiles with various staff members. His CFO mask never slipped, even as his phone remained stubbornly silent.
Evening found him at Marc’s penthouse, stomach churning as he approached the biometric scanner. Maybe Marc had calmed down. Perhaps he was ready to talk, to explain what Henri should do.
The elevator had worked with his palm print, but the apartment... Henri pressed his hand to the sleek panel beside the door.
Double-beep. Red light.
Henri froze.
He tried again, more carefully this time. Slower. A perfect press of skin to scanner.
Double-beep. Red light.
His heart stuttered.
Henri stared at the panel, disbelief melting into dread.
In twenty years, Marc had never locked him out.
Even at his worst. Screaming, crying, disobedient. Henri had always had access. Marc didn’t deny entry. He waited inside. Waited to punish.
Marc preferred to exact his punishments in person.
But this... Henri backed away from the door slowly, understanding dawning. Marc never did anything without purpose, without planning. This wasn’t a malfunction or a moment of anger.
This was deliberate.
He turned and walked back to the elevator, his mind already cataloging what he’d need.
His apartment was only a few blocks away.
The place he technically lived but rarely spent time in, its rooms more museum than home.
Most of his clothes were at Marc’s penthouse, but he’d kept enough for appearances.
Henri let himself into the quiet space, flipping on lights that revealed furniture he barely remembered buying.
His suitcase sat in the hall closet, still bearing tags from the last business trip Marc had permitted.
He pulled it out and began to pack methodically, each folded shirt and pair of slacks a small act of defiance he didn’t quite dare acknowledge.
Within an hour, he was in a cab heading toward the airport, toward London, toward thirty-two days of freedom he had no idea how to navigate.