Page 48 of Caterina

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Absolutely not.

He holds my gaze. Says nothing. Just waits.

There is no impatience in it. No apology either. Just that same infuriating calm certainty that if he is asking me to move, there is a reason.

On the screen, someone is still talking.

I force my attention back to the call and say, “Excuse me one second.”

I mute myself, then turn my chair just enough to face him without letting the screen see anything but part of my shoulder.

“What?” I hiss.

His voice is low enough not to carry. “You’re backlit.”

I blink.

He goes on before I can snap at him. “From the hallway side and from the access lane below. Anybody looking for a shot or even a visual read gets one with you sitting here.”

I stare at him.

Of course, that is what this is.

Not some power play. Not some random disruption. Just another maddeningly logical thing that only someone like him would notice.

“It is my office,” I whisper.

“That doesn't eliminate the danger,” he says.

I hate him a little in that moment.

Not because he is wrong.

Because he is right, and I know it immediately.

And because he knew I would know it immediately.

He inclines his head once toward the chair at the side of the desk again. “Move the call there.”

I look at the laptop screen. Three people waiting. My own reflection faint in the black margin beside the presentation. Then I look back at him.

“This is intrusive,” I say under my breath.

“Yes.”

No argument. No denial. Just yes.

That steals some of my momentum.

I unmute myself. “Sorry,” I say smoothly to the screen. “I’m going to shift seats for a moment. The lighting is fighting me.”

Harold chuckles like I just told a funny joke. “Of course.”

I close the laptop halfway, stand, carry it the few steps to the side table area, and sit again with the camera angled back toward the wall instead of the window. Better background. Better light. Safer, apparently.

Adrian steps back immediately once I’m repositioned, as if he has no interest in looming over the call any more than necessary.

Which, again, makes it harder to resent him.

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