Chapter 1756:


    Alban stood there for a moment, his prepared words dissolving into silence. He hadn’t anticipated that — not the hang-up, not the absolute absence of hesitation. She hadn’t simply declined to meet him. She had ended the call mid-syble, as though even a few extra seconds of connection were more than she was willing to offer.


    He found himself genuinely unable to read her. Did she dislike him that much?


    “You heard her,” Christina said, sliding her phone into her pocket with a light shrug. “She’s not interested.”


    Bain, who generally wore hisposure like armor, allowed himself a smile that carried just a touch too much satisfaction. “So, Mr. Martel — still interested in that meal?”


    The gibended with precision. Alban’s mood, already deteriorating, took a sharper turn downward. The smile on Bain’s face made him want to respond in ways that would not have been appropriate inpany.


    “Miss Jones,” he said, keeping his voice measured, “could you give me Gillian’s number? I’d like to speak with her directly.”


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    “I can’t do that,” Christina replied, without so much as a moment’s pause.


    Gillian’s contact information was not hers to share without permission, and that was the end of the discussion.


    “Then at least ask her on my behalf,” Alban said. The certainty in his voice had receded into something quieter. “I’m only asking for her number.”


    “I’ll mention it to her when I’m home,” Christina said evenly. “For now, shall we go to the restaurant?”


    “Still feeling hungry, Mr. Martel?” Bain asked again, the amusement in his voice impossible to miss.


    Alban had never genuinely intended to sit through dinner with the Jones siblings, and Bain’s relentless enjoyment of the situation made the prospect even less bearable. He held Bain’s gaze for a moment with a look that could have etched ss.


    “Something’se up,” he said tly. “We’ll find another time.” He turned and walked away, hisposure intact on the surface, though the dignity beneath it was considerably less so.


    Bain watched him go, his expression settling into quiet satisfaction, as though he had just won a small but meaningful skirmish.


    “Bain,” Christina said, arms folding as her eyes followed Alban’s retreating figure. “Do you think he actually has feelings for Gillian?”


    “Difficult to say,” Bain replied, choosing his words with care. “He could just as easily be trying to use her against us. Bonnie, keep your distance from him. Don’t give him room to maneuver.”


    “I know,” she said easily, tucking her arm through his as they began to walk.


    “I mean it — don’t take anything he says at face value. He has a way of appearing harmless while he’s already three steps ahead,” Bain said, the concern in his voice genuine and unguarded.


    The thought of anyone trying to deceive Christina sent a quiet, protective instinct running through him. He couldn’t help it. It was simply how he was wired when it came to her.


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