Camille Rowan did not rattle easily.
Yet when Gabriel Kane stepped fully into her space, she felt the shift in atmosphere.
Not louder.
Heavier.
Up close, he was sharper than she remembered. Clean lines. Tailored precision. The kind of man who measured rooms before committing energy to them.
She maintained her professional tone.
"My team is available this afternoon," she said smoothly. "If you'd like, we can schedule a consultation."
Gabriel studied her without overt arrogance. Just evaluation.
"I was hoping," he replied evenly, "to speak with you directly."
Camille held his gaze.
"We prioritise client suitability," she answered. "The Ivory Crown operates on standards."
A flicker of approval crossed his expression.
"As it should."
Silence stretched — not awkward. Intentional.
He could have allowed the assistant to intervene. Could have given a surname and let reputation do the work.
Instead, he stepped closer — not invading, but narrowing the distance enough to make the moment personal.
"I attended the Arts Gala on Tuesday," he said calmly.
Recognition surfaced in her eyes, though her expression remained composed.
"So did half the city."
A subtle challenge.
Gabriel almost smiled.
"I noticed you," he continued.
Not flirtatious. Not crude.
A statement.
Camille's chin lifted slightly. "Many people did."
"Yes," he agreed. "But I would regret it if I did not introduce myself."
There it was.
Not desire.
Not performance.
Intention.
The assistant behind the desk pretended not to listen.
Camille studied him carefully now — assessing posture, tone, consistency. He did not lean. Did not attempt charm. Did not comment on her dress.
He simply stood, steady.
"Gabriel Kane," he said, extending his hand.
She looked at it for a brief second before accepting. Her grip was firm. Controlled.
"Camille Rowan."
His thumb brushed lightly against her knuckles — not a caress, merely contact — but awareness travelled between them with unsettling clarity.
She released first.
"Regret is a strong word," she said evenly. "We've never spoken."
"I prefer to avoid missed opportunities," Gabriel replied.
Her lips curved faintly — not invitation. Not dismissal.
"Opportunity," she repeated. "That implies expectation."
"It implies curiosity," he corrected.
The air shifted again.
Camille considered him.
He did not seem reckless. Nor desperate. Nor entitled.
That made him more dangerous.
"Very well," she said finally. "You may have fifteen minutes."
Gabriel nodded once.
Fifteen minutes.
He had closed acquisitions in less time.
But as he followed her deeper into The Ivory Crown Studio, he realised something unsettling:
This negotiation would not follow familiar rules.
And for the first time in a long while, Gabriel Kane was not entirely certain he would remain in control.