Sebastian Blake – First Person
"—our Zurich contact says the stocks will climb another three points if we move now. But if—"
I raised a hand. "Do it."
Silence.
Everyone at the table went still, waiting for more. I didn't offer any.
My mind should've been on the numbers. The expansion. The multi-billion-pound shift that could change the way this organization functioned across Europe.
But instead—
I watched one of the senior executives blink nervously.
At my hand.
The pink bandaid.
Still there. Mocking me in all its bunny-patterned glory.
Ray Lin.
Sunshine in a storm. Chaos in a hoodie. She had marched into my life with glitter and pink gauze and the audacity to scold me like I was a reckless schoolboy.
I flexed the knuckles beneath the plaster. It itched. I didn't care.
I should've taken it off.
I should've.
But when I got to my room last night, I just… couldn't.
Her touch was still there. Gentle. Furious. Clumsy. So deeply hers.
She held my hand like it wasn't a weapon. Like it deserved care.
"Sir?" my second-in-command, Kai, leaned in. "Should we finalize the transfer before midnight?"
I nodded. "Yes. Confirm it."
And then his eyes — betrayers — dropped to the bandaid, and he smiled.
Smiled.
I shot him a look so sharp he nearly dropped his tablet.
But the others? They noticed. One by one. Flickering glances. One of the Italians even snorted.
"She's got you wrapped around her glittery fingers already, huh?" someone muttered in rapid, amused Spanish.
I didn't answer.
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
They weren't wrong.