He told himself it was just another trip.
Japan for two weeks — clients, negotiations, damage control. The usual chaos wrapped in polite smiles and tight deadlines. He'd done this a hundred times before.
But this time, leaving felt different.
He caught himself glancing across the office more often than he should, memorising the way she frowned when reading an email, the way her pen tapped absently against her notebook when she was deep in thought.
When he told her he'd be gone a couple of weeks, she'd smiled politely and said, "We'll manage, don't worry."
He'd nodded, said something businesslike — "You always do."
But the truth was, he didn't like it.
He didn't like leaving her in that office full of sharks, didn't like that Richard would keep her too late, or that half the clients had already noticed how she carried herself; poised, capable, quietly stunning.
Maybe some time away would be good, he told himself.
Maybe they both needed to remember where the line was.
He packed his bag that night with a kind of restlessness he couldn't name.
The office felt wrong without him.
It wasn't something she'd admit to; not to anyone, not even herself. But Robert's absence left a stillness behind, a strange quiet that made the hours drag.
Work didn't stop, of course. The client file was one of the biggest accounts they had, and Richard had asked her to step in to handle day-to-day communication while Robert was abroad.
The first video call had gone smoothly. The client, Julian Becker, was charming in the way men who were used to getting what they wanted often were; easy smile, perfectly groomed, words dripping with polite arrogance.
"Isabelle," he'd said in his smooth Swedish accent, "Robert never told me he had such an impressive assistant."
She'd smiled professionally. "He doesn't, Mr Becker. He has a colleague."
He'd laughed, leaning back in his chair. "I stand corrected. A beautiful one, too."
Her smile froze for half a second before she moved on briskly to the next agenda point.
Japan was miserable, wet, and exhausting. The meetings went late, the clients were demanding and the jet lag had lodged behind his eyes like a dull ache.
But every night, he caught himself thinking about her.
Wondering how she was handling things. Whether Richard had piled too much on her plate again. Whether she'd remembered to eat between calls.
He told himself it was professional concern. Just making sure the project stayed on track.
But when he opened his inbox and saw her name in his notifications, his pulse always quickened just a little.
Her updates were concise, detailed; exactly what he'd expect. But the few personal lines she added, the little asides about the latest office gossip or London chaos, made him smile despite himself.
He typed a reply one night and deleted it twice before sending something deliberately short:
Robert:Excellent work, as always. Don't let Richard overwork you.
He didn't add the rest — I miss our coffee breaks. The office here feels cold without your laugh in it.
Julian Becker's emails grew more frequent.
Then came the texts; somehow he'd found her mobile number, though she'd never given it to him.
At first, they were work-related. Then they weren't.
Dinner next time I'm in London?
You deserve a break from Richard's empire.
Robert doesn't appreciate how valuable you are.
She ignored the last one entirely.
When she mentioned the growing attention to Richard, he'd just chuckled.
"Oh, don't be so serious, Isabelle. It's harmless. If he likes you, it's not the worst thing. Clients like to feel… appreciated. Keep him happy, but within reason, of course."
She'd frozen. "You mean flirt with him."
He'd shrugged. "You're good at reading people. Do what you feel you must. It's all part of the game."
The words made her stomach twist.
She wasn't here to play games. She wasn't like Eleanor, or Sienna, or the others who'd turned charm into strategy.
Still, she smiled, professional as ever. "Understood."
But inside, she was boiling.
That night, she stayed late at the office. Alone. The city hummed softly outside. She caught herself missing Robert's steady presence, the quiet reassurance he brought without ever saying much at all.
It unsettled her; how much she noticed his absence.
By the start of his second week in Japan, he'd heard through one of the marketing assistants there that Becker had been "very taken" with Isabelle.
The comment was tossed casually while talking about London, but it lodged deep in his chest.
He shouldn't care. It wasn't his business.
But when he imagined Becker's slick tone, his laid back flirtation, his self-satisfied grin, the same one Robert had seen charm boardrooms, he felt an irrational urge to put his fist through something. Maybe through Becker's face.
That night, he called Richard under the pretence of checking progress.
"Everything fine with the Becker file?"
"Perfect," Richard said cheerfully. "Isabelle's handling it brilliantly. He's quite smitten with her, actually. Good for morale."
Robert's jaw tightened. "Morale?"
Richard laughed. "Don't sound so shocked, my friend. Clients flirt; it happens. She can handle herself."
"I'm sure she can," Robert said evenly. "But she shouldn't have to."
There was a pause. Then Richard sighed. "Don't start getting possessive, Robert. You're not her keeper."
No. He wasn't. But as he hung up the phone, the word possessive echoed in his mind like a confession.
By the third week, she was counting the days until Robert's return.
Becker had crossed from charming to intrusive; calling her "Bella," insisting she send files and mock-ups "directly to him," ignoring boundaries she'd politely made clear.
She handled it with calm professionalism, never losing her composure. But every time her phone buzzed, her heart gave a small, tired lurch.
The office was quieter than usual that afternoon, the late winter sun spilling through the blinds. She looked at the clock, it was nearly six. The workday was over, but she stayed, staring out at the city, wondering why she suddenly felt so small.
Then her phone buzzed again — a message this time, but not from Becker.
Robert:I'm back in London tomorrow. Coffee? My treat. I think you deserve one.
She stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back, fingers trembling just slightly.
Isabelle:You have no idea how much I need that coffee.