Renato answered Sabrina’s call because he thought she knew nothing.
She waited until Tuesday afternoon, after Konrad’s lawyers confirmed the proxy document but before Rafael confronted the cousin. Then she called from the Hartmann garden and asked whether he would help with the foundation gala.
“Of course, princess,” Renato said. “Anything for the family.”
He had called her princess since she was six. The word used to mean affection. Today it meant he expected no serious question to follow.
“I need a European sponsor,” Sabrina said. “Someone discreet. Mom says you’ve been meeting private lenders here.”
Renato did not answer.
“Who told Helena that?”
“No one. I saw your name on a guest list in Manila.”
That part was true. The lender had sponsored a trade dinner six months earlier. Sabrina had remembered Renato leaving before dessert with a man whose company badge did not match the sponsor table.
“Those were personal meetings,” he said.
“Perfect. Personal lenders love foundations. They need photographs proving they are kind.”
“Do not contact them.”
She let hurt enter her voice. “I was trying to help.”
“Then help by staying out of this.”
“Out of what?”
Renato swore under his breath. “Your father should have sold assets last year. Now everyone wants to blame me because I protected my family.”
“From MHH?”
“From Rafael. He controls distributions, board seats, everything. I borrowed against my own company. That vote is the only security the lender would accept.”
“Who is behind the proxy?”
“I don’t know.”
“You signed without knowing?”
“The fiduciary is regulated. The debt gets extended Friday. Nothing happens unless I miss payment.”
“Can you make it?”
The call ended.
Sabrina stood beneath a beech tree with the phone against her ear until the disconnected tone stopped. Renato had not confessed to selling the vote. He had revealed shame, resentment, and dependence—enough to know that pressure, not loyalty, would decide him.
She sent Issa a written summary and marked every inference as an inference. Martin had taught her that distinction ten years ago. She had ignored it in the paper and remembered it in real life.
At dinner, Konrad presented an alternative: the Hartmann family office could provide part of the needed equity if MHH sold a profitable warehouse portfolio and accepted independent governance. The capital was smaller than Lucio’s and slower to arrange. It would reduce the amount Valcourt needed to supply.
Rafael disliked the sale. Lucio disliked the dilution of his role. Both men described their objections as concern for MHH.
“What does Sabrina think?” Helena asked.
The table turned toward her.
Sabrina placed her napkin beside her plate. “I think we need the Hartmann option completed even if we choose Lucio’s. A proposal is not a choice if refusing it leaves nothing.”
Konrad nodded once.
Rafael said, “The timing may not allow both.”
“Then let Issa compare the timelines. Don’t reject it because the sale hurts.”
“The portfolio generates cash.”
“Not twelve billion pesos before January.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. Lucio looked almost pleased.
Sabrina continued. “Renato cannot make Friday’s payment without help. He does not know who controls the fiduciary. His lender believes the proxy will force us to negotiate.”
Rafael’s anger was quiet. “You called him.”
“Yes.”
“Without counsel.”
“I did not threaten him or promise anything. I asked about a foundation sponsor and let him explain why I was foolish.”
Lucio leaned back, studying her. “Social engineering.”
“Conversation.”
“The difference is disclosure of purpose.”
“Then perhaps your intelligence company should stop making ordinary human behavior sound criminal.”
Martin lowered his gaze to his plate. She could not tell whether he was hiding amusement or disapproval.
After dinner, Rafael and Konrad went to the library with the lawyers. Helena left to call Eduardo’s physician. Lucio received a call from Paris and moved into the front salon.
Martin was alone in the family office annex, updating the proxy map.
Sabrina closed the door behind her but did not lock it.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
“You should be sleeping,” he said without turning from the display.
“You should stop beginning conversations with health advice.”
“You are still on Manila time.”
“So are you.”
“I am working.”
“You keep saying that as if work is a medical exemption.”
Martin removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He seemed tired enough to lose some of the distance he maintained in Manila.
Without the glasses, he also seemed unfairly younger.
Sabrina stayed on the other side of the desk.
“I will not touch you,” she said.
His hand stopped.
“I did not ask for that assurance.”
“You needed it.”
“I did not.”
“Your pulse disagrees.”
Martin put his glasses back on. “This has become harassment of a non-evidentiary biological response.”
Sabrina blinked. Then laughed.
Affront crossed his face.
“You cannot say things like that and expect me not to laugh.”
“I was serious.”
“Exactly.”
The corner of his mouth moved before he controlled it.
Her pulse jumped, humiliatingly pleased.
“What brought you in here?” he asked.
“Renato’s proxy. Is Lucio behind it?”
The humor left him at once.
“We cannot prove the beneficial client. VSS used the same fiduciary for a market inquiry. Lucio says Valcourt does not control the proxy.”
“And you believe him?”
“At present, yes.”
“Because of evidence or loyalty?”
“Both.”
Sabrina approached the desk and stopped before entering his reach.
Martin measured the distance between them.
Then at her face.
Then, with visible determination, back at the proxy map.
“If you found evidence against him,” she asked, “which one would win?”
“Evidence.”
“You took too long.”
“It is a serious question.”
“So is this.”
She made herself ask without a smile.
“Do you want me?”
Martin became still.
The display changed behind him as Threadline refreshed a record. Blue lines moved. Amber warnings appeared. Martin did not seem to see any of it.
Sabrina continued before courage turned back into performance.
“Not whether you approve of me. Not whether Lucio does. Do you want me?”
His fingers found the edge of the desk.
“Why do you need the answer?”
“Because I have been using flirtation to avoid hearing no, and you were right. I am asking now.”
With no flirtation left to hide behind, Martin had nowhere to retreat.
“If I say yes, what changes?”
“I stop wondering whether I invented this alone.”
“You are still negotiating marriage.”
“I know.”
“My work can affect whether your family keeps its company.”
“I know.”
“I report to the man who wants to marry you.”
“I know.”
“And wanting you does not make acting on it honest.”
It hurt, but less than another refusal. At least she had the truth she had asked for.
“Thank you,” Sabrina said.
She turned toward the door.
“Wait.”
The word came out too quickly.
She stopped.
Behind her, the desk gave a hollow thud.
Sabrina turned.
Martin had tried to come around it and caught his hip against the corner.
He stood very still.
She stared. He stared back.
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked.
“No.”
“You keep colliding with furniture when I’m nearby.”
“That is statistically unsupported.”
“You hit a shelf in Manila.”
“One shelf and one desk do not establish causation.”
Her smile came before she could stop it.
Martin checked the distance to the nearest shelf, which made her smile widen.
“Don’t,” he said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Your ears are red.”
Martin closed his eyes for one long second.
The laugh that escaped her was softer than before.
Then Martin came around the desk.
Without furniture between them, his restraint seemed more fragile. His hands stayed at his sides as if he did not trust them anywhere else.
“Are you choosing me,” he asked, “or choosing the man Lucio cannot control?”
Sabrina’s smile disappeared.
“Tonight, I am choosing one kiss. I don’t know what I can choose after that.”
He searched her face.
Martin took too long to answer.
Sabrina could hear the faint electronic hum of the display and, absurdly, her own heartbeat.
“You can stop it at any point,” Martin said.
“So can you.”
“I know.”
“You sound as if you don’t.”
His mouth tightened.
“That is because you make good judgment unusually difficult.”
Heat moved through her at the admission.
“Martin.”
“Yes?”
“You are doing it again.”
“What?”
“Trying to make desire sound like a technical malfunction.”
“It feels operationally similar.”
Sabrina laughed once.
His fingers tightened once against the edge of the desk.
Then she stopped teasing him.
“Do you want me?” she asked again.
Martin touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.
She had expected hunger. His tenderness unsettled her more.
His hand shook. Only slightly.
She turned her face into his palm.
“Yes,” he said.
The word was barely audible.
Sabrina’s breath caught.
Martin swallowed.
“Yes,” he repeated, stronger this time. “I want you.”
Then he kissed her.
The first contact was restrained, almost formal. A question asked with his mouth.
Sabrina answered by catching the front of his shirt and kissing him again before he could retreat into good judgment.
Martin made a startled sound against her lips.
She smiled into the kiss.
That made everything worse for him.
His hand found her waist. The other hovered beside her shoulder for one absurd second, as though awaiting authorization.
Sabrina caught his wrist and placed his palm against her back.
“There,” she whispered.
Martin’s breath left him.
“You are very directive.”
“You need help.”
“That is debatable.”
She kissed him again.
His control failed without becoming rough.
He drew her closer. The quiet sound he made against her lips erased ten years of wondering whether she had imagined his desire. Sabrina opened her mouth, and Martin stopped being the man who could brief a board without blinking.
His glasses shifted.
She felt them touch her temple.
Martin pulled back at once. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“My glasses.”
“Martin.”
“Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
He did.
This time Sabrina pressed him against the edge of the desk.
Papers shifted behind him.
Martin broke the kiss.
She stared at him, breathing hard.
“Did you just stop because of the documents?”
“They are the original lender copies.”
For one second Sabrina could not believe him.
Then he turned, gathered the pages with frantic care, and moved them to the opposite side of the desk.
She laughed into her hand.
Martin held her gaze. “They are evidence.”
“I know.”
“You are laughing.”
“I know.”
“This is a secure records annex.”
“I know.”
“You are impossible.”
“You said that about yourself first.”
“I did not.”
“You agreed.”
“That is different.”
She reached for him.
Martin smiled then—briefly, helplessly, beautifully.
Sabrina kissed the expression away.
His hand moved along her back, stopping where her dress left skin exposed. Heat gathered low in her body, fast enough to frighten her. She had flirted with men who knew exactly how attractive they were. Martin touched her as if every response taught him something he had never allowed himself to study.
When she drew him closer, his breath broke.
“Sabrina.”
The way he said her name made it sound less like a warning than a confession.
“Yes?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“That was not agreement.”
“No. It was evidence.”
He stared at her.
She smiled.
“You created this problem,” he said.
“Then stop kissing me.”
Martin kissed her.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
They separated so quickly that Martin nearly hit the desk again.
Sabrina caught his sleeve.
He froze.
Konrad’s assistant passed without entering.
Neither of them breathed normally for several seconds.
Martin collected his glasses from the desk.
Sabrina blinked. “When did you take those off?”
“I don’t know.”
She studied him.
That answer, from Martin, might have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
She smoothed her dress. He straightened his shirt, then straightened it again.
“This cannot happen again while you are negotiating with him,” Martin said.
“You kissed me.”
“I know.”
“You came around the desk.”
“I know.”
“You moved the evidence.”
“That was necessary.”
Sabrina laughed.
Martin’s face softened, then grew serious.
“Do you regret it?” she asked.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“That makes it worse.”
Pain and relief tangled together.
She wanted to touch his face again.
She did not.
For once, neither of them used flirtation to hide what the silence meant.
Lucio was waiting in the main hall when Sabrina returned. His call had ended. His gaze settled on her mouth before moving to Martin, who emerged several seconds later carrying the proxy file.
“The flight plan changed,” Lucio said.
“We are not returning to Manila?” Rafael asked from the library door.
“Not yet. The lender negotiations moved to Paris, and my father has arranged a meeting with the European credit committee.”
Lucio’s attention returned to Sabrina.
“We leave for Le Bourget tomorrow afternoon.”