Page 21 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

"We've exchanged four sentences," she says.

"Four good ones," I say, and I mean it exactly the way it sounds — flat, precise, an observation rather than a compliment. It's true. That's the only justification I let myself need.

I watch her absorb that, watch something flicker behind her eyes that might be surprise or might be something closer to recognition, and I realize, somewhere in the part of my brain that's supposed to be handling this rationally, that I've already decided something else entirely — something fully formed, unspoken, sitting there a second before I open my mouth to say it.

I don't examine it. I just say it.

"I'll handle her interviews."

The words are out before I've finished deciding whether to say them, which isn't how I operate. Adrian's eyebrows go up — real surprise, not performed — and for a second neither of us says anything, the three of us standing in a triangle of silence that Sophie Callahan is clearly too professional to be the one to break.

"You will?" Adrian says.

"Yes."

"I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I," I say, evenly. It's true enough to say without flinching.

I stay a few minutes longer — long enough to confirm logistics, long enough to watch her ask one sharp, specific question about access that tells me she's already thinking three steps past this introduction — then excuse myself for the board meeting I actually have. I've seen enough for one morning.

The walk back to my own office takes ninety seconds. It feels longer. I replay the last ten minutes without meaning to — the particular blue of her eyes, unwilling to be the first thing to look away; the low, even sound of her voice, matching mine instead of performing warmth the way most people do in rooms like that one; the fact that I offered to personally run a project I had every intention, twenty minutes ago, of delegating to someone junior enough that I wouldn't have to think about it again. I don't have a good explanation for any of it. I have several bad ones, and I discard each of them before I reach my own door.

Daniel is waiting when I get there, tablet already in hand, which means he's already heard.

"So," he says. "You're running it personally?"

"I am."

"Full access?"

"Full access."

"Your schedule?"

"My schedule."

He doesn't ask why. He's worked for me long enough to know the difference between a question that will get him a real answer and a question that will get him a version of the truth engineered specifically to end the conversation, and he's decided, correctly, that right now isn't worth the effort of finding out which one he'd get. He just looks at me for a beat longer than strictly necessary — a quiet that says he's noticed something and is choosing, generously, not to say it out loud.

"I'll clear it with legal," he says finally.

"And I'll let the Boston site know you'll be coming up personally for the technical interviews instead of sending someone from the team."

"I hadn't decided that yet."

"You had," Daniel says.

"You just hadn't said it yet."

He's not wrong, and we both know it, and neither of us says anything else about it. He heads out to make the calls, and I sit back down at my desk, and I stare at the half-finished board memo for considerably longer than it deserves before I manage to make myself start typing again.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, underneath the memo, underneath the numbers, there's a low, persistent awareness I don't have a name for yet — not quite anticipation, not quite unease, something closer to the specific, unfamiliar sensation of having rearranged my own life around someone I've known for less than an hour, and lying to myself, competently, about exactly why.

Chapter Four

Sophie

The leather portfolio rests open across my lap as the cab crawls through Midtown traffic, every page inside marked with color-coded tabs I've rearranged three times since leaving my apartment. Blackwell Industries occupies nearly every business publication worth reading, yet the articles all tell the same polished story. Record growth. Strategic acquisitions. Visionary leadership. Awards. Philanthropy. Innovation. Every sentence feels carefully managed, as though hundreds of interviews have been distilled into the exact version the company wants the public to believe.