Chapter 133: Low Neckline

Callum looked at the hand gripping his arm.

Dorian finally turned his head. "Do we understand each other, Sterling?"

Callum snatched his arm free without answering and immediately changed direction, taking a sharp turn to the right instead.

Naomi was already approaching. Her brows lifted slightly as she looked from Callum’s retreating back to Dorian.

There was a question all over her face as she stopped in front of him. "Everything okay?"

"No."

"Oh?"

"You look breathtaking."

"I’m sorry I’m late."

"Late?" Dorian frowned as though the concept itself was ridiculous. "Nonsense."

She could have shown up an hour from now dressed like that and he probably would have forgiven her before she reached the door.

Dorian hooked his elbow toward her and she slipped her hand neatly into the crook of his arm. He led her toward their assigned seats.

More heads turned.

He was used to attention but Naomi wasn’t which was why he kept glancing down at her. He expected the nerves to hit.

Expected the rambling to begin.

But she didn’t.

She kept her posture straight.

When another camera flashed directly in front of them, she simply turned her face slightly and gave a polite, professional smile.

Once they took their seats, Dorian kept hold of Naomi’s hand beneath the table.

He leaned closer, his mouth near her ear, and whispered something deeply inappropriate about the low cut of her suit.

Naomi’s eyes widened before she turned toward him with a wicked little smile, winked and laughed under her breath.

Unfortunately for Camille, she saw all of it.

She was standing just behind the curtain near the stage, supposedly helping her team get everyone into position before the programme officially began.

Instead, she found herself watching her ex-husband flirt shamelessly with his new wife.

Her first line of attack had already evaporated. Naomi had not arrived looking remotely out of place.

Dorian had somehow managed to clean his wife up.

What bothered her more was the way he looked at Naomi. The way he leaned toward her as if the rest of the room didn’t matter.

Camille had never had that.

Not even when they were married. Was he fucking her?

Surely not.

Surely Dorian wasn’t sexually attracted to this one. And yet the way his eyes had lingered over Naomi suggested otherwise.

If he was sleeping with her, then that would gut her. Because Dorian had never touched her. Even when Camille had tried.

Eventually, she had stopped trying.

Camille turned away sharply. "You, move that monitor two feet back."

One of the production assistants turned to her. "It was positioned there because—"

"I said move it. And why is that light still angled like that? Fix it before we begin."

Someone else immediately scrambled.

Within seconds, Camille was barking orders at anyone unfortunate enough to be around her. The night was not starting well.

A few minutes later, the auditorium lights dimmed slightly and the MC walked onto the stage to applause.

The programme began.

He welcomed everyone to the Blackstone Global Leadership Forum, thanked the sponsors, made a joke and managed to pull a genuine laugh from the audience.

The room loosened. Then movement near the entrance caught several people’s attention.

Dorian looked over. Lillian had arrived.

Only she wasn’t in the company of her husband.

She walked in alone, calm and completely unbothered by the attention her entrance immediately attracted. Her long brown and silvered hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She was absolutely stunning in an all black ensemble.

"Hi..." she said once she reached their table.

Dorian looked up.

And without seeming to realize he was doing it, his hand moved across the table and closed around Naomi’s fingers.

Naomi glanced down at their joined hands, then back at him. She waited for Dorian to say something.

A hello would have been nice. Instead, he stared ahead as though the woman standing beside their table was no more significant than a passing draft of air.

Naomi resisted the urge to elbow him.

Rude.

"Hello," she offered instead.

Lilian turned her attention to Naomi. "I’m told the Heathcliffes are at this table before I have to be up on stage." Her expression remained perfectly composed. "I’m Lilian Heathcliffe."

"Oh, of course." Naomi smiled politely. "Sure... have a seat?" She glanced at the seating arrangement.

There were three chairs.

She and Dorian occupied two of them, which unfortunately meant the only vacant chair was directly beside Dorian.

Dorian remained completely still as Lilian smoothed the front of her black trousers and sat down beside him, crossing one leg elegantly over the other before turning her attention toward the stage.

Naomi looked at Dorian again and saw that he was uncomfortable.

The first clue was the fact that he was squeezing her fingers so tightly she was beginning to lose circulation. The second was somehow worse.

There was absolutely nothing on his face.

Dorian usually had something.

Even when his expression was controlled, Naomi had learned to read the tiny things. A twitch, a raised brow, a tightening jaw.

That look he got when he was deciding whether someone was worth the effort. Right now, there was none of it.

He had gone completely blank.

Naomi’s lips thinned. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at yet.

Anger?

Resentment?

Pain?

Whatever it was, Dorian was obviously distracted, and that was a problem.

He was supposed to be on stage soon.

Naomi didn’t give herself time to think about anything else.

Especially the uncomfortable little question trying to form in the back of her mind.

What if he still feels something?

That could wait.

Dorian needed his head back in the room.

She pulled her fingers carefully from his grip.

His hand immediately tightened around empty air.

Naomi pushed her chair back and stood.

Dorian’s head snapped toward her as his stomach dropped.

Exactly what he had been worried about.

He’d done it. He’d messed up.

She was leaving. "Move this way," Naomi ordered.