[Narrated: 3rd limited, adjacent to Jude's perspective]
Three months since he found out about the engagement. Three months since he stopped picking up her calls.
One month since she finally got the hint.
Tricky business, that though. Seeing her most days throughout, professional and polished, keeping the line drawn like it hadn't already been crossed a hundred times. In a cab. On the phone. In his head during quarterly reviews when she'd lean over the conference table, close enough that he could smell her shampoo.
She chose Teddy, he told himself on repeat. And Teddy? He chose her back the way you're supposed to: with a ring, with promises, with his parents at Sunday dinners. Like a normal person. A decent person.
What could he offer her to counter?
Everything he had.
Which of course wasn't sufficient, would never be enough. Would actually be... Detrimental.
If she really knew what he was, things he engaged in to get to where he was, she'd recoil in horror at the depravity. Gasp at the scale.
Because she'd already scolded him for "cutting corners" when he was just optimising for outcomes. Looked down from that high horse of hers, brows raised in judgment at the way he shaped narratives, bent data to win clients. Which was rich, coming from someone who'd never built anything, never had to make the ugly choices that keep a company alive. It was his pragmatism that paid one hundred salaries month on month, balanced a hundred equations simultaneously.
"We are growing a business here, not running a church" he said to her once, when she challenged him on a formality, during an all-hands meeting. The conference room had gone quiet - that type where you know you've landed something at a cost. A discontinuity in what was supposed to be a smooth function.
His mistake.
The staff wanted some lofty vision, a leader to root for, a collection of slogans that'd make them feel noble while chasing his bottom line. And Bells just stood there, disappointment creasing her forehead. And he hated that he cared what she thought.
He hated even more what she'd said, when he'd told her he loved her after the awards. Right there in front of Teddy. Plainly:
"You misunderstood."
That had stung. Still did.
Yet - then came the cab. An opportunity to show her just how acute his comprehension was…
The memory made him shift in his chair. Simple setup, really. Bells was such a creature of habit, she booked with Addison Lee, every single time. One quick call while she was in the bathroom. Cancelled her ride. Offered, chivalrously, to share his.
The rest was history now, branded into his nervous system. Hand on her knee. The quiet permission he knew she'd grant because she'd said yes to Teddy with her head, sure, but her body? It belonged to him. Drawn to him like a limit approaching infinity - inexorable, inevitable.
That night. Those evenings when he saw the skin on her neck prickle when he'd as much as glanced at her with intent. How her nipples peaked through her dress during client dinners when he sat close enough to brush against her.
He shifted in his chair. Harder than he should be in the office at 10 AM.
Ping.
Reality, knocking.
---
From: Yen Park, PA to Mr Yamamoto
Subject: London Visit
Dear Jude,
A polite notice that Mr Yamamoto has arranged a visit to London next week.
If you act quickly, I can schedule you in. He's partial to Italian cuisine.
I'll be there too.
Kind regards,
Yen Park
----
That commanded his attention, pulled him out of his lust. Though speaking of lust…
That liaison with Yen, still paying dividends two years on. Good. Useful.
An investment that continued to compound.
Larssens ran a small pilot project for Yamamoto a year ago. Success: resounding.
Still, follow-up: meagre. Minimal probability of conversion. But now this - gift wrapped and perfect. A chance to pitch directly to the decision node. An opportunity he had to engineer through… this alternate channel.
He inhaled, leaned back in his chair, scanned the office through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Blinds all the way up. Always watching. Tracking patterns. Observing how his staff moved, who lingered in the kitchen too long, the smiles exchanged. Sometimes he could read their lips, catch words they thought were private.
They talked about him constantly, he knew because he monitored the data streams. Their emails. Slack. Logs he sampled and scrutinised at regular intervals. Just tracking productivity. Understanding underperformance. Hunting for outliers. Sometimes finding out who was fucking whom. Not that he was bothered, as long as they hit their targets and kept it off-site.
He parsed through Annette's messages most frequently - the woman was pure information.
"Congratulations Bells! I can't believe you kept that bombshell quiet!"
The bombshell: her engagement. That's how he'd found out. Through his corporate surveillance, not from her mouth. Apparently she'd accepted weeks prior, though no ring for a month. He would have noticed.
"I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself…" Bells had responded.
She didn't want to attract his attention so she'd lied through omission.
And there it was, again. The care he despised. The unease of it, the longing. The term he couldn't eliminate from the equation. Even after everything - after she'd chosen, after she'd made it clear - he still wanted her to seek him out, confide in him, treat him with some modicum of respect. She could have told him during those calls - she hadn't. Every time he lingered around her in the staff area or her office - she hadn't.
He'd asked her to stay behind after the strategy meeting that morning. The room emptied slowly. Keith gathering his laptop, Mark checking his phone, Annette making some comment about lunch plans. Bells stayed in her seat, perfectly still, waiting.
When the door finally closed, she looked at him.
"You okay?" she asked. Cautious, her voice carried care.
"Yamamoto's in London next week."
She inhaled.
"When are you free?"
"Anytime. I'll rearrange things."
Of course she would.
"It'll have to be dinner. Italian."
"Oh."
One syllable. A whole conversation in it. They hadn't had one of those since the cab. He looked at her, testing. She met his gaze evenly, maintaining equilibrium.
"Of course," she said eventually.
"Great. I'll have Annette try to get us into Il Silenzio."
"Michelin star's the way."
"Two."
"We'll get them." That soft smile again.
Must've seen something flicker across his face because she looked away. Perhaps giving him grace, cognisant how her smile made his pupil dilate and pulse spike up slightly.
He nodded, gathered his things, stood.
"Speak soon."
They both left without another word. The line still drawn. Parameters maintained within bounds. Restraint in place.
For now.