Monday morning arrived crisp and surprisingly bright. After a week with Becca and Luke, she felt… lighter. The relentless grind of the office, the constant pressure, had faded just enough that she could breathe. She even smiled to herself as she sipped her coffee on the bus, watching the city blur past the rain-streaked windows.
Her bag was packed with her notes and her laptop — the familiar weight a small comfort rather than a burden. She had missed the office, in her own way, but part of her had relished the week away. Sleeping in late with the children, watching Luke's face light up at the smallest things, listening to Becca recount imaginary adventures with unrestrained enthusiasm… it had reminded her why she worked so hard.
The moment she stepped off at her usual stop, the London air felt colder than she expected. She pulled her coat tighter, muttering under her breath about the damp and then forced herself to focus. Work awaited. Reports, meetings, schedules — but she was ready. Refreshed.
Or so she thought.
The office had felt immediately different with her away. Empty, quieter, a little colder. He had handled client calls, meetings, urgent matters, but there had been a gap in the energy of the place — Isabelle's presence.
He noticed her the moment she walked back through the office doors. Her hair was tied neatly, coat buttoned to her chin, cheeks flushed from the morning air. She looked… composed. In control. But he could see the subtle shadows under her eyes, the tight line of her shoulders as if she was already preparing for a day of work.
He wished he could do more. Something to make her burden lighter, even just a little. But he had learned to hold back, to let her lead and to step in only when necessary.
By mid-morning, she had settled at her desk, organising the files that had been used while she was away, checking emails that had piled up in her absence and catching up with the campaign updates Robert had left. She was focused, sharp, and efficient — exactly as she had been before half-term.
But then Julian Becker's name appeared in a client email. Her stomach tightened. She hadn't expected him to contact her directly after the last time she had seen him. The subtle undercurrent of attention he always gave her made her uneasy.
She was typing a polite, professional response when she felt a presence behind her shoulder.
"Everything okay here?"
Robert's voice was quiet, calm, yet it carried a subtle edge she couldn't ignore. She glanced up. His eyes scanned the screen, the email and then back to her, just briefly enough for her to feel the protective weight of his attention.
"Yes, I've got it," she said, forcing her tone light. "Just responding to an email."
He nodded once, silently, as if that was enough. Then he turned and walked down the aisle of desks, but remained close enough that she could feel his presence lingering without him intruding.
He watched her work, noting how tense her shoulders had gone as soon as she'd seen Julian's email. His jaw tightened. He didn't like clients who made her uncomfortable, even subtly. He couldn't — wouldn't — allow anyone to edge her out of control in his presence, or without some intervention.
Still, he didn't approach directly. It wasn't his place. Patience, observation and subtle intervention were often more effective than outright action. He would step in when necessary, just enough to protect her, without undermining her professionalism.
He needed to act. But he would do it carefully. Quietly. Without drama.
By lunchtime, Julian was at her desk in person, leaning casually, smiling as if he had every right to be there. She straightened, stiffening instinctively.
"Isabelle, I thought I'd stop by," he said, his grin easy, his voice low and familiar. "Can we go over the campaign notes?"
She took a measured breath. "I'll go over them here, thanks," she said politely, keeping the conversation professional.
His hand brushed lightly against her chair, and she flinched inwardly. "These are the final samples," she muttered, adjusting her chair to move away from him.
He noticed it immediately. The subtle movement, the tension in her posture, the way her eyes flicked to the floor. He had been monitoring her desk from a distance, and he had anticipated Julian visiting — he had hoped he wouldn't cross the boundaries after the last time he was there.
He stepped in lightly, voice calm, but firm: "Isabelle, why don't you take a break? Step outside for a few minutes."
"Excuse me?" she asked, startled.
"Just a break," he said. "I'll handle this."
She hesitated, caught between surprise and relief, before gathering her things and leaving hurriedly.
Outside, the city felt almost unreal. The spring air was crisp, the sun peeking weakly through the clouds, the faint hum of traffic seemed distant. She exhaled, letting the tension she hadn't realised she was holding seep out in quiet shivers.
Her phone rang a few minutes later.
"You handled him?" she asked Robert quietly.
"I did," he replied evenly. "He won't bother you again today."
She felt a strange warmth — gratitude, relief, and something she couldn't name — as she listened to him. She wanted to say something, but the words faltered in her throat.
Instead, she simply nodded, murmured a soft thank-you, hung up and allowed herself a few minutes to just breathe.
Hearing her finally exhale, he felt a small release of tension himself. He hadn't spoken harshly, hadn't overstepped, but she knew he had been there for her. He could hear it in the way her voice relaxed, the way her breath deepened.
It was enough for now. Quiet, subtle, intervention. No confessions, no flirtations, nothing romantic. Just care. Watching. Being present.
And that, he realized, was all either of them needed.
When she returned to the office, her pulse had slowed and her focus sharpened again. She carried on with her work, meticulously updating the client file, organising the schedules, and preparing for the next phase of the campaign.
Yet beneath the routine, beneath the professional exterior, a subtle tension lingered — the unspoken current between her and Robert, threaded with concern, quiet connection and a growing awareness of each other's presence.
She told herself firmly: It's nothing. Just friendship.
But deep down, she knew the truth. Something had shifted. Something delicate and charged had been awakened; and there was no ignoring it, even in the middle of a busy London office.