Page 195 of Ricardo

Owen takes it.

Frank Calhoun is not here.

But he has found its way into the room anyway.

Chapter Twenty Six

Ricardo

I am speaking with Harold Bexley from the hospital foundation when Julia’s attention moves away from me.

It is subtle. So subtle that most men would miss it.

Her body remains angled toward Patrice. Her smile does not fall. Her hand remains wrapped around the stem of her champagne flute, though she hasn’t taken a sip of it. Patrice is beside her, clipboard in hand, saying something with a small laugh.

But I know her now.

I know the difference between Julia listening and Julia calculating.

Her gaze sharpens past my shoulder, toward the sponsor wall.

I keep my expression attentive while Bexley continues speaking about pediatric expansion, donor matching, and community benefit reports. I hear enough to answer when necessary, but my attention has already shifted to her.

Much like it has all night. That dress is going to ruin my patience before the night is over.

Green silk follows every line of her body and constantly has me thinking about the suite upstairs where she got ready. And about taking the dress off her later.

Slowly.

I want to see it fall around her feet. I want to watch all that composure leave her inch by inch. I want my mouth on every place the silk touched.

Instead, I stand beside a hospital trustee and discuss community partnerships while Julia's attention strays somewhere else.

“Yes,” I say when Bexley pauses. “Send the proposal to Lorenzo’s office. He will review the numbers.”

Bexley smiles, pleased with himself. “Excellent. We are very grateful for the partnership.”

“As are we.”

He thanks me again and moves off toward the children’s hospital chair.

Patrice is already walking away from Julia, clipboard tucked against her side.

Julia remains still.

I step close enough that my shoulder nearly brushes hers.

“What did you see?”

Her eyes do not leave the sponsor wall. “Evan Rusk.”

I search my memory and find basic information

“You know the name?”

“Only a little,” I say. “Tell me more.”

“He’s a development attorney,” she says quietly. “South Harbor land trust work. Calhoun-adjacent, but carefully enough that his name would not mean anything unless you knew where to look.”