Page 127 of Diego

The thought pushes everything else aside for a moment.

I watch her as Montes begins talking to Callum about the recording timeline. Blair presses her lips together briefly and shifts her weight, one hand settling against the side of the table.

Something is wrong. I am sure of it now.

Whether it has anything to do with me is another question.

I cannot deal with it yet. Montes is still here. The attorneys are still gathering their things. There are final instructions being exchanged about keys, building access, recording, and whatever else remains before everyone walks out and this place becomes mine.

So I finish my wine and force myself to pay attention.

But every few seconds, my eyes return to Blair.

She catches me once.

Her expression changes slightly before she looks away.

Fine. We can finish this first.

Then everyone else can leave.

And once I have her alone, I am finding out what the hell is going on.

The last of the goodbyes takes longer than I expect.

Montes shakes my hand again before leaving, Martin follows him out with Priya, and Callum pauses near the elevator long enough to remind Nadia about something related to recording the deed before the two of them head out together.

I barely hear half of it. My attention keeps drifting back toward Blair, who is taking an unusually long time putting documents into her briefcase.

I am grateful she is moving slowly.

I had been preparing to invent some reason to keep her here after everyone else left, but apparently I do not need one. By the time the elevator doors close behind the last person, Blair is still in the living room with her briefcase sitting on the table beside her.

I turn away from the entry and find her standing in front of the windows.

She has her back to me, arms folded loosely over her chest as she looks out over the city. The posture is almost protective, which catches my attention immediately because Blair does not usually look like someone trying to hold herself together.

Her outfit is exactly the sort of thing she always wears to work: fitted skirt, one of those blouses I am developing a serious appreciation for, and another pair of heels tall enough that I have started wondering whether she owns anything remotely sensible.

If today were different, I would already be thinking about getting her out of all of it.

Well, except the heels.

I am thinking about that anyway. It's just not my priority right now.

Something has been wrong with her since the garage, and whatever it is has followed her upstairs. She made it through the closing without faltering once, but I have watched her closely enough now to recognize the difference between Blair being composed and Blair working very hard to appear composed.

Still, she is here.

She could have packed up and left with everyone else, but she did not.

I walk back into the living room, loosening my tie, and glance toward the nearly full wineglass she left on the table earlier.

“You barely touched your wine.”

Blair looks over at the glass.

“Was it not to your liking?”