Chapter 46
“Is it?” Evelyn touched her cheeks, feeling the heat radiating beneath her fingertips. The warmth was unmistakable. Flustered, she averted her gaze. “Maybe it’s just the alcohol.”
“You haven’t even had a sip yet,” Tristan pointed out bluntly. For all his sharp business acumen, he was hopelessly oblivious when it came to reading women. He had no clue that Evelyn’s flushed face had nothing to do with wine and everything to do with the man constantly occupying her thoughts.
“Ugh, you’re impossible!” Evelyn shot him an exasperated glare before striding ahead, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
Tristan stood frozen, bewildered. He had no idea what he’d said wrong. With a sigh, he hurried after her, his long legs easily closing the distance.
They arrived at the wine cellar—a vast, temperature-controlled room lined with rows of exquisite bottles, each carefully selected by Sebastian. He knew Evelyn enjoyed the occasional glass, and he’d spared no expense in curating this collection for her.
Every bottle was a masterpiece, some rare vintages acquired through private auctions. There were wines here even Reginald Whitmore didn’t own. If Evelyn ever decided to sell them, she could buy two estates in Faircrest without batting an eye.
Her eyes landed on a bottle of Romanée-Conti, nestled just out of reach on the top shelf. She stretched onto her tiptoes, fingers brushing the neck of the bottle but failing to grasp it.
Then Tristan was behind her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. With effortless ease, he plucked the bottle from the shelf. The proximity sent an unexpected jolt through him—her perfume, something light and floral, wrapped around his senses. His pulse stuttered. “Here you go, Ms. Sinclair.”
“Ah, the perks of having a six-foot-tall secretary,” she teased, though her mind betrayed her with an image of someone taller—someone like Sebastian. Anyone else paled in comparison.
She mentally scolded herself. Just thinking about him made her head spin more than any wine ever could.
“Let me open that for you,” Tristan offered. “It’s tricky with one hand.”
Without hesitation, Evelyn slammed her cast against the edge of the table. The plaster shattered, freeing her arm. “That thing was driving me insane,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just broken a medical device. Tristan gaped at her.
“Back during the war, a broken arm was nothing,” she continued, her tone chillingly detached. “I’ve seen men lose legs. One minute you’re joking with a comrade, the next they’re carried back with half their face gone.”
She spoke with the grim acceptance of someone who had stared death in the eye. Tristan couldn’t reconcile this hardened version of her with the elegant heiress who sipped champagne at galas.
As the wine breathed, her phone buzzed incessantly. The Secret Society group chat was exploding.
Julian: Sebastian, how does a judicial department official like you have so much free time? Do you know Sebastian had someone hack into our case files? Luckily, I upgraded the security to S-grade. That amateur didn’t stand a chance.
Evelyn’s breath hitched.
Sebastian: What the hell? Does he suspect something?
Julian: Hey! Watch your language! Show some respect!
Sebastian: Go to hell!
