Page 21 of Discretion at Its Finest

The silence in the room was deafening. No one challenged it. They all knew it was true; they’d just been waiting for someone to say it out loud.

I leaned back slightly, letting the silence settle before continuing. “From here on, our focus isn’t just numbers. It’s perception. Investors want to see stability, not panic. That means presence, doing whatever it takes to remind the public and the media this family isn’t crumbling.”

A few exchanged looks were passed, but they said nothing.

“Ms. Devereaux will help coordinate the appearances,” I added, tipping my head toward Genevieve without looking at her directly. As if all the men finally realized she was still here, their eyes locked onto her. I was sure her gaze was burning a hole into my skull as she glared at me. “She has a background in public relations and event management, experience we’d be foolish not to use. Names, locations, guest lists, everything goes through her before it reaches me.”

“With the press involved,” someone began, eyes finding mine, “what happens if they decide to speculate about…”

He trailed off, looking between her and me. As he did, I couldn’t help the slow curve of a smile trying to tug at my lips.

“Let them. A good scandal tends to draw more attention than a clean reputation ever could.”

The meeting had adjourned and Genevieve sat silently, watching me from the seat I’d forced her into.

“You’re giving them false hope,” she said finally.

“Better than me giving them actual hope like Gregory and falling through every time.”

Her lips parted, a retort on her tongue, but she bit it back. I almost smiled. I leaned against the table, arms folded, studying her. “You used to know when I was lying. You’d feel it before I finished the sentence.”

“I still can,” she murmured, her eyes flickering slightly as she reminisced.

“Eugene has a hell of a tell when he lies,” I added.

She narrowed her eyes. “My son doesn’t lie.”

“Every kid lies, Vieve.” I shrugged. “But he’s good at it. Could lie through his teeth if he wanted.”

“You’ve spent, what, maybe five hours total with him?” Her voice sharpened. “How would you even know—”

“His eyes,” I said simply. “Some kids won’t look at you when they lie. Others stare too much. Eugene? He blinks. Twice like he’s trying to take the lie back and undo it.”

She stilled. Just for a second as her breath hitched. It wasn’t obvious, but I caught it. The way her chest rose high and fast even as her hands stayed perfectly in her lap so she could will them to stay still.

“So you’re watching my son now? Analyzing him?” she asked, voice cooler than before—but her pulse rising, the panic growing in her voice had already betrayed her. I knew my words were going to get to her, but I wanted to see her rile and worked up.

Instead of that reaction, however, she had that same look in her eyes when she saw me with him, when he ran to me. A look of fear… Something was wrong.

“I’m observing,” I said, slow. “His mannerisms. The way he talks… the way he acts.” My eyes dragged over her face. “It’s familiar.”

“My son is kind. He’s sweet, he’s innocent. He’s notyou.” She shifted slightly in her seat, crossed one leg over the other with deliberate calm, performing composure. “Whatever you think, whatever story you’ve already written in your head—”

“What could I be possibly think, Vieve?” I asked, cutting her off.

She didn’t verbalize what she had been thinking, what she was afraid of. She simply glared at me with all the fury she could muster up.

“Leave him out of it.”

“You say that like I ever had a choice. You think I came back to pick apart your perfect little life? That I’m here just to cause damage?”

“That’s all you’ve wanted since you stepped back intoourlives.”

I stared at her silently, letting the tension in the air thicken between us before I pushed to my feet, towering over her. My hands found the arms of the chair as I leaned in, forcing her back against the seat. Her soft panicked breaths fanned against my face, her scent invading my lungs, making me rethink every decision I’d made until this point.

“Our?“ I repeated, watching her delicate throat gulp.

“Reid,” she warned, but it came out softer than she meant. Not quite a protest or a surrender.