Chapter 490
Chapter 490:
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not part of Titanova anymore. And Titanova’s clean. If someone starts spraying bullets in the middle of Paris, it means every effort I made to clean up the company was for nothing. That, or you’ve run it into the ground in my absence. Is that what’s happened p>
“Of course not!” Kylian threw his hands up and smacked the roof. The metal gave a small dent under the impact. “I’m just worried about your safety p>
“I’ll be fine p>
“Anyway,” Kylian said, shutting the case, smart enough to know when to quit. “We’ll meet up with Lea. Go over the reports. Operations. Performance p>
“I trust you with all of it p>
Kylian was Titanova’s CFO—brains sharper than his fists—and those fists had taken down a man with a machete once.
“I can’t stay long. Just give me the highlights. Any issues p>
“Bialystok,” Olivier said. “Our office is stuck in some ridiculous bureaucracy loop. Hidden fees, zoning disputes. And now every cousin and ex-owner within a hundred-mile radius is claiming they own the land. Someone’s blocking us p>
I flicked through my mental contact list. “I know a guy. He runs the local fixers. I’ll make a call p>
“This is why you’re the boss!” Olivier saluted me in the rearview mirror.
The car pulled into a grim-looking building on Rue des Cévennes in the 15th arrondissement.
“We bought the place,” Kylian explained. “Figured it’d be a good forward base for our Paris expansion p>
I nodded, didn’t say anything.
Since I handed the reins over to Kylian, Olivier, and Lea, I’d been easing myself out of Titanova.
The company would always be part of my history, but it didn’t need to be part of Mira’s and my future.
𝖀𝖕𝖉𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 g⍺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗲𝗅𝘀․𝗰𝗈𝗺
The lift took us to the eighth floor.
The doors opened straight into an office.
And standing right there in front of us was someone I hadn’t seen in years.
“Ash p>
There were tears in her eyes.
“You seem distracted,” Fabrizio said. “Is something wrong p>
“What? Huh? Oh, nothing.” I shook my head.
“Either that, or Rue des Barres has lost its charm. We just walked past the Fontaine Stravinsky, and you barely glanced at it p>
I looked around.
It really was beautiful.
Paris and romance were practically synonyms, and in early spring, the city was absurdly pretty.
The chestnut trees lining the street were just starting to leaf, spilling soft green over the cream-colored façades.
Bright awnings flapped above bakery doors, café tables spilled onto the pavements, and the breeze smelled of flowers and warm bread.
I pictured walking here with Ashton, hand in hand.
The thought made me smile—then frown.