Charlotte didn’t quite understand what that line meant, but the atmosphere in the elevator turned awkward
in an instant.
Sydney noticed the flicker of discomfort on Caleb’s face and almost laughed. Then she looked up and met Julian’s direct, unwavering gaze.
“Ms. Wilson, seems like you’re not too busy on the project. No need for overtime?”
It was a jab without bias. He spared no one.
Every word reeked of textbook capitalism, as if he wanted everyone to work themselves into the ground.
Sydney’s smile faltered. She replied stiffly, “What’s left can be done from home.”
“Oh?” Julian tilted his head, thoughtful. “Even a hopeless romantic like you still has energy for after–hours work?”
Sydney rarely felt embarrassed, but she wanted nothing more than to throw herself down the elevator shaft right now.
Everyone probably assumed she had wanted to marry Caleb out of obsessive love.
Caleb certainly didn’t notice her discomfort. If anything, he looked pleased, chuckling softly. “Don’t tease her. She’s a shy girl.”
The elevator arrived smoothly at B1.
As the group stepped out, another elevator door opened nearby. A department director rushed out, panting, and hurried to Julian. “Mr. Sterling, there’s an urgent file that needs your signature.”
Julian immediately straightened. He took the folder, pulled a fountain pen from his suit pocket, and signed his name in fluid strokes.
Sydney recognized the handwriting. It was strong and deliberate, Julian had taught her calligraphy once, and her own writing still carried traces of his style.
She was about to look away when her gaze caught on the pen in his hand, She froze. “Mr. Sterling, why do you have that pen?”
it was a irthday gift she had given Bruce. It was a one at a kind, custom–made fountam pen. There shouldn’t have been another like it.
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