Chapter 18 Pierce #2
Refocusing on work is easy, and I end up losing myself in numbers and endless emails, not to mention the fake report I still need to write.
A soft knock makes me look up, expecting Thatcher’s familiar chaos.
Instead, Lior stands in my doorway with an expression that makes my stomach clench with unexpected anxiety.
“Got a minute?” he asks, though he’s already settling into one of my visitor chairs with familiar grace. “Noah and I are planning our anniversary trip next month, which means you’ll be running things while I’m gone.”
“Of course. How long are you away for?”
“Two weeks in Italy,” Lior says, watching my expression carefully.
“I know it’s not ideal timing with everything that’s been happening, but Noah is able to get away from work and has been planning this for a while now.
The question is, are you okay to handle things?
I’m sure the James situation will be way behind us, but this kind of situation always leaves a trail of rumors behind, and I won’t be here to dispel them. ”
The concern in his voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. He’s offering me his complete trust while I’m hiding yet another thing from him. “I’ll manage. You know I’ll cover for you anytime,” I say carefully, though the words taste bitter on my tongue.
Lior leans back in the chair, wearing a smile I know all too well, which makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. “You seem different lately,” he observes casually, though nothing about Lior is ever truly casual. “More relaxed. Almost happy, even.”
Heat rises in my face. “Just pleased with recent market performance,” I deflect, but the excuse sounds weak even to my ears. “Despite the current situation, the quarterly projections are quite promising, which makes for happy board members.”
“Mm-hmm.” Lior’s tone carries such obvious disbelief that I have to resist the urge to loosen my tie. “Nothing to do with personal developments then? You’re not seeing anyone?” The way he says it, it’s like he already knows the answer.
My pen slips from my grip as the information on my computer screen suddenly looks really interesting. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“No?” Lior scratches his short beard, and for the first time ever, I half-wish I wasn’t working for my ex.
“Come on, Pierce. Are you not going to give me something? Who’s the guy that’s turning your permanent frown upside down?”
“You’re spending too much time with your husband.”
“Still not enough, in my opinion, but that’s not the topic of this conversation.”
Before I can formulate another weak deflection, the door bursts open without warning.
Thatcher freezes in the entrance, lunch bags hanging from his hand as he registers Lior’s presence.
His expression shifts from enthusiastic to deer-in-headlights so quickly it would be comical under different circumstances.
“Mr. Van Stern…um, Lior,” he says. “I didn’t realize you had a meeting. I was just bringing Pierce…I mean, Mr. Dellcourt…that is…”
“Lunch?” Lior suggests helpfully, his smile carrying layers of meaning that make my stomach clench. “How thoughtful of you, Thatcher. Pierce does work too hard sometimes. It’s good he has someone looking after him, making sure he takes proper breaks.”
Thatcher’s face flames as he sets the bags on my desk with careful movements that betray his nervousness.
“Just doing my job,” he says quickly. “Proper assistant duties include ensuring executives maintain appropriate nutrition and work-life balance.”
“Of course,” Lior agrees smoothly. “Very professional of you. Though perhaps next time a knock might be wise? Some meetings require privacy for…discussing business matters.”
The suggestion in his tone makes Thatcher’s blush deepen further, but something determined settles across his features.
“Noted, sir,” he says firmly. “Though I should mention that Mr. Dellcourt’s blood sugar tends to drop around this time, which affects his decision-making capabilities regarding financial planning. ”
Lior’s laugh, genuine and surprised, breaks some of the tension crackling between us. “Duly noted,” he says, standing. “We can discuss this matter later, Pierce. When you’re properly fortified for financial decisions.”
After he leaves, Thatcher collapses into the recently vacated chair with a groan that carries equal parts relief and embarrassment. “That was…” he starts, then dissolves into slightly hysterical laughter that I can’t help joining.
“Awkward?” I suggest, reaching for the lunch bags. “Mortifying? A complete disaster?”
“All of the above?” Thatcher’s smile returns as he watches me examine our lunch options. “Though worth it for your favorite sandwich. The one from that place you pretend not to like because it’s too casual for your refined corporate image.”
I ignore his ribbing because I’ll have my revenge on him later. “You didn’t have to,” I say softly, but my hands carefully unwrap the sandwich like it’s something precious.
“I wanted to.” His expression softens. “Besides, someone has to make sure you eat something besides spreadsheets and calendar entries.”
We share lunch in comfortable silence. When Thatcher finally returns to his desk, I find myself thinking about Lior’s knowing looks and careful observations.
Maybe he’s right, maybe I am different lately. Maybe Thatcher’s influence has changed something fundamental in me. The thought should terrify me. Instead, I find myself not caring.