Chairs scraped back and people started murmuring about follow-ups and tilines as the eting wrapped. I gathered my notes, balancing the folder in one hand and my half-finished coffee in the other.
I turned to leave quietly hoping to slip out behind the rest—until a warm hand tugged the file out of my grip.
I blinked and turned slowly. "Sir?"
Adrien didn’t even pause. "Your hand must hurt. Let carry that."
Wait—what? He wants to carry my file, again!!
I stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. Was he... serious?
Was he actually speaking to ?
My brows pulled together. "Sorry?"
He didn’t look at directly, his gaze fixed sowhere past my shoulder, or perhaps at the folder itself. "It’s heavy," he repeated, his voice low as if stating a fact.
The file was... a standard project file. Maybe ten pages? Not exactly a cinder block
I turned slightly just so I could make sure he wasn’t talking to soone behind . But nope. It was just . Him and a room now empty.
He shot another look, brow slightly raised. "Miss Miller. You’re keeping waiting."
My mind went black. "I—I’m fine, sir."
"I didn’t ask if you were fine," he replied coolly. "I said let carry it."
Before I could react, he was already walking ahead of , my file under his arm like it belonged there. I blinked again and followed closely behind, heels tapping fast to keep up.
Was I dreaming?
Hallucinating?
Did he take sothing this morning?
Because if this was real life, Adrien Walton just voluntarily carried sothing for soone.
And not just anyone—.
What was happening?
I pinched my thigh through my skirt. Ouch. Definitely awake. And this weird situation was more painful than the pinch.
ADRIEN’S POV
She didn’t even fight on the file.
Nice.
I didn’t look back, but I could feel her confusion trailing behind like a second shadow. Good. That ant it was working.
Yeah. I was doing great.
I heard her steps falter for a mont behind before she matched my pace again. She still didn’t trust it. But she walked behind , at least she hasn’t handed in her resignation.
And once again: progress.
I an, was I shocked at my own finesse? A little. But mostly, I was impressed. With .
Look at that composure. That professionalism. That human interaction with zero emotional combustion.
Caron was right—unfortunately. The "not-being-an-asshole" thod had results. She hadn’t rolled her eyes once in that eting. Hadn’t snapped. Hadn’t looked at like I was personally ruining her life.
Small wins.
I didn’t even realize I was smilling as we left the office and I silently chuckled at my flippin’ incredibleness.
I guess that’s why they call Mr. Perfect.
Because I am.
Perfect.
At everything.
I didn’t need her to like .
I just needed her to show up today, sit beside and survive that lunch with my mother.
And maybe... maybe stop looking at like I was the villain in her personal horror movie.
But that part wasn’t urgent.
Still grinning, I shook my head proud of the fact that not only had I not scared her off this morning—I’d actually offered to carry her file like a civilized, evolved man.
She was probably speechless back there. Maybe even a little impressed.
Then—
"What’s funny, Mr. Walton?" ca her voice. Dry and unamused. Way too close.
I almost tripped when her voice pulled from my mont of self-satisfaction. I coughed once. "Nothing."
"Nothing important," I clarified, straightening my tie unnecessarily. My internal high-five session juddered to a halt. How dare she interrupt my mont of quiet triumph? And creep up on like that?
Silence followed, but I could feel her eyebrow raise, judging . I could feel the judgnt radiating off her like heat.
"Let’s go," I muttered, speeding up.
I almost forgot she was behind .
I hurried down the hallway, my footsteps echoing too loudly in the quiet space. Just get to the lifts and outside. Away from her looming presence that seed to suck the air right out of the room.
Her steps were steady and didn’t change, just trailing behind . It was creepier than if she’d sighed or made a sarcastic remark. The silence felt heavy, like she was watching trip over my own confidence.
I clenched. So much for Mr. Perfect. I was Mr. Panicking-Slightly-Because-My-Employee-Caught--Grinning-Like-An-Idiot-At-My-Own-Brilliance. This wasn’t the composed exit I’d envisioned. The one where I strode confidently, file in hand and employee trailing respectfully. This was a hasty retreat.
ISABELLA’S POV
He laughed.
Just... laughed.
Out of the blue.
We were walking back after the eting, and he actually laughed. Quietly, sure, but still. A real laugh like sothing genuinely amused him. I blinked, confused.
What exactly is he on?
Crack?
Because honestly, what normal person smiles at themselves in the hallway like they just won an imaginary award?
Nothing about Adrien Walton made sense today. The coffee. The laugh. The actual human behavior. I was starting to think soone replaced him with a half-functional clone.
He was startled.
Actually startled. Like I jumped out from behind a curtain with a gaphone. He nearly tripped over his own expensive loafers, catching himself with a hand against the wall.
"Nothing," he said, his voice a little too tight and a little too fast. He coughed. "Nothing important."
He straightened his tie, which wasn’t even crooked. He looked flustered. If a flock of pigeons hadn’t just spontaneously burst into song outside the window, I would have sworn the world was ending.
I didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.
I could feel the heat radiating off him again, but this ti it wasn’t just impatience. It was... embarrassnt? No, that couldn’t be right. Adrien Walton didn’t do embarrassnt. Maybe it was defiance? Annoyed frustration, definitely.
"Let’s go," he muttered, sounding like he was confessing to a cri. He practically power-walked down the hallway.
I followed him in silence, heels tapping lightly behind his long CEO strides.
We reached my desk—my little corner of peace right outside his high-and-mighty office—and he gently set the file he was carrying on the edge.
Gently!
"Start wrapping up," he said, adjusting his cuff like we were casually discussing stock prices. "We’re leaving in thirty minutes for lunch."
Right. Lunch with his mother.
Fake girlfriend duties.
"Got it," I replied.
I suppressed a sigh and turned back to my desk. The project folders were spread out before , their contents still swirling in my mind like a chaotic storm.
I needed to focus on the task at hand, but the thought of spending the next few hours pretending to be soone I wasn’t with a woman who might think I didn’t belong in Adrien’s orbit was more distracting than any deadline. I exhaled slowly.
Thirty minutes.
But my focus faltered when I noticed him still standing there.
Lingering.
Long enough for to glance back again, brow raised.
"Is there sothing you need?" I asked, sharper than necessary. My patience was hanging by a thread.
He didn’t flinch. Just glanced around the open office space before stepping closer, lowering his voice.
"I know you’re not exactly thrilled about this," he said. "But I need you to play your part and not be too worked up."
I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes slightly.
He added, "My mother can be a bit... overexcited. Like a burst of energy."
"A burst of energy," I repeated. My expression remained carefully neutral, but internally I was already anticipating the headache this afternoon would bring. ’Overexcited’ and ’burst of energy’ coming from Adrien Walton, the human ice sculpture himself, sounded suspiciously like code for ’unbearably intense and possibly judgntal’.
"So just smile, nod, and survive the lunch without flipping the table?"
His lips twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Exactly."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at him for a second. "Great pep talk, Mr. Walton. Very inspiring."
His lips twitched again, this ti less suppressed. "Glad I could be of service. Now, less inspiring comntary, more wrapping up. Thirty minutes."
And just like that, he walked back into his office.
I exhaled and turned back to my screen, muttering under my breath.
"Burst of energy. Wonderful."
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