Chapter Four: Julian Cross

I hadn't seen Julian Cross in eight years, nine months and twelve days.

I knew the exact number because the last time I'd seen him, he'd asked me not to marry Grant.

It wasn't his finest moment.

It wasn't mine either.

Monday morning, Julian stood at the far end of Monroe Capital's executive conference room wearing a charcoal suit and an expression that suggested the intervening years had done absolutely nothing to improve his humility.

He was taller than I remembered.

That annoyed me immediately.

“Camille.”

“Julian.”

His eyes traveled over me, not lasciviously but carefully, as though confirming that I was real.

“You look well.”

“You sent funeral flowers to my house.”

“They were white roses.”

“With a condolence card.”

“I was expressing sympathy.”

“You've always had difficulty with normal human behavior.”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“And you've always liked the flowers.”

Damn him.

I had.

Evelyn entered before I could respond.

“Wonderful. You're already fighting. Saves time.”

“Aunt Evelyn.”

She kissed my cheek and took her seat.

Julian's expression changed almost imperceptibly at the word aunt.

“You didn't know?” I asked.

“I knew Evelyn was your aunt.”

“Then why do you look surprised?”

His gaze remained on me.

“I didn't know about the controlling interest.”

Interesting.

Apparently my grandfather had kept secrets even from Monroe Capital's lawyers.

“Does everyone in my life think I'm poor?”

Julian laughed.

“No one who has seen your shoe collection thinks you're poor.”

I hated that I almost smiled.

The other committee members entered, and the room shifted from personal to professional.

I was grateful for it.

Julian began the presentation.

Within ten minutes, I understood why Evelyn had sounded concerned.

Whitmore Technologies had grown aggressively over the previous three years, using debt to finance acquisitions Grant believed would position the company for a public offering.

The acquisitions hadn't performed as projected.

Revenue was up.

Cash was not.

Worse, several financial covenants attached to Monroe Capital's senior credit facility were dangerously close to being breached.

“Management is requesting an additional forty million dollars,” Julian said, “along with modification of the existing leverage covenant.”

I scanned the materials.

“What happens if we decline?”

His eyes met mine.

“Based on current projections, Whitmore may experience a liquidity event within sixty to ninety days.”

A liquidity event.

Corporate-law language for they may run out of money.

“Does Grant know that?”

“He should. These projections came from his CFO.”

I looked at Evelyn.

“Where is the CFO?”

“Joining management at ten.”

“And Cole Brand Strategies?”

Julian flipped a page.

“I assume you're referring to the related-party concern.”

So he'd seen it too.

“Is it related-party?”

“That depends on the relationship.”

Every person at the table became intensely interested in their documents.

Evelyn cleared her throat.

“I've informed the committee that Grant and Camille are divorcing. Camille will not participate in any final vote where counsel determines recusal is appropriate.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Julian nodded.

Professional.

Controlled.

Exactly as he had always been when other people were watching.

The meeting continued for another hour.

When it ended, I gathered my papers slowly, hoping Julian would leave first.

He didn't.

Of course he didn't.

Eventually, only the two of us remained.

“You married him,” he said.

I looked up.

“We're beginning with that?”

“I've had almost nine years to think of an opening line.”

“And that's what you came up with?”

“I discarded several worse options.”

I closed my folder.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You're welcome.”

“And I'm sorry.”

His expression changed.

“For what?”

I knew what he wanted me to say.

For leaving.

For refusing his calls.

For choosing Grant.

For the way we'd ended.

I wasn't ready.

“For the fact that you're apparently going to spend the next several months billing my family's company to deal with my husband's financial incompetence.”

He stared at me.

Then he laughed.

Really laughed.

The sound did something uncomfortable to my chest.

“I missed you,” he said.

The words were quiet enough that I almost wished he'd made another joke.

“Julian.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't.”

His smile disappeared.

“You're right. I don't.”

He picked up his briefcase.

At the door, he stopped.

“For what it's worth, Camille, I'm sorry about your marriage.”

This time there was no sarcasm.

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

He left.

I remained in the conference room for another minute before my phone buzzed.

Grant.

I'm downstairs.

Of course he was.

Management's presentation was next.

I gathered my papers and walked toward the elevator.

The doors opened before I reached them.

Grant stepped out.

Vanessa was beside him.

Her eyes widened when she saw me.

Mine went immediately to the visitor badge clipped to her dress.

VANESSA COLE

COLE BRAND STRATEGIES

Grant looked from me to the conference room behind me.

Then Julian emerged from the adjoining office.

For one extraordinary moment, all four of us stood there together.

My husband.

His pregnant mistress.

My former fiancé.

And me.

Julian glanced at Grant, then Vanessa, before settling his attention on me.

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

I knew that look.

This is her?

I gave him one in return.

Behave.

Unfortunately, Julian Cross had never been particularly good at doing what I told him.

He extended his hand to Grant.

“Mr. Whitmore. Julian Cross, outside counsel for Monroe Capital.”

Grant stared at the offered hand.

“I know who you are.”

Julian smiled.

“Excellent.”

Then he turned to Vanessa.

“And you must be Ms. Cole.”

Vanessa shook his hand.

“Yes.”

“Good. We have several questions about your invoices.”

Her smile disappeared.