Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 159: The Familiarity Beneath

The newsroom was already busy when Audrey Sawyer arrived. Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows along the east wall, catching the glow of computer monitors that lined the long rows of desks. Market tickers crawled steadily across several large screens mounted near the ceiling, numbers shifting constantly as the trading day unfolded.

Phones rang intermittently. Editors moved between desks. Someone near the back of the room argued quietly about a headline.

Audrey set her bag beside her chair and switched on her computer. The familiar rhythm of the newsroom settled around her almost immediately. She skimmed through the overnight market reports first, then opened the internal message board where editors posted assignment updates.

A new message appeared near the top of the list. Pemberton Corporation — Strategic Development Briefing.

Audrey paused. She opened the document.

The announcement outlined a new investment expansion into infrastructure and hospitality projects across several major cities. It wasn’t unexpected—Pemberton had been positioning itself in that sector for months—but the timing suggested something larger was being prepared.

Her editor’s voice came from the neighboring desk. "Audrey."

She looked up. Martin stood with a folder in one hand, reading glasses balanced near the end of his nose.

"You saw the Pemberton update?"

"Yes."

"Give them a call."

"Clarification?"

"Exactly. Nothing complicated." He tapped the edge of her desk lightly. "Just confirm the expansion timeline and financing structure."

Audrey nodded. "Understood."

Martin moved on to the next desk.

Audrey looked back at the screen for another moment before reaching for her phone. The number for Pemberton Corporation was already saved in her contacts.

She pressed the call button.

The line rang twice. Then someone answered.

"Pemberton Corporation."

"Good morning," Audrey said. "This is Audrey Sawyer from Financial Ledger. I’m calling regarding this morning’s development release."

"One moment please."

The line went quiet. Audrey leaned back slightly in her chair while waiting. The newsroom noise continued around her—keyboards tapping, phones ringing, quiet conversations overlapping.

Then the line clicked again.

"Gilbert Pemberton."

His voice was calm. Familiar.

Audrey sat up slightly. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

A short pause followed.

"Calling about the release," Gilbert said.

"Yes." Audrey pulled the document back onto her screen. "I wanted to confirm a few details regarding the infrastructure expansion."

"Of course."

His tone remained entirely professional.

They moved through the conversation easily. Audrey asked about the projected timeline. Gilbert explained the phased investment schedule. She asked about financing. He clarified the corporate structure behind the project. Their discussion moved smoothly through numbers and planning details, the same way countless professional calls had unfolded between journalists and executives.

But the familiarity between them lingered quietly beneath the conversation.

When Audrey finished reviewing the last point on her list, she closed the document.

"That answers everything I needed."

"Good."

Another brief pause followed.

Then Gilbert asked, "Are you still covering the infrastructure sector?"

"Yes."

"Then we’ll probably speak again."

The statement was neutral. Practical. But it carried an ease that neither of them acknowledged directly.

Audrey nodded slightly, though he couldn’t see it. "Most likely."

"Good."

The call ended a moment later. The line clicked dead. For a moment she held the phone against her palm, feeling the warmth it had gathered during the call. Gilbert’s voice still lingered somewhere in her memory—calm, familiar, entirely professional. She should have already moved on to the next task. The article wasn’t going to write itself. Yet her hand remained where it was, resting against the phone, as if waiting for something else that wasn’t coming.

Then she set it down.

Audrey lowered the phone and placed it back on her desk. For a few seconds she sat quietly before turning back to her keyboard.

The article needed to be written. Numbers verified. Quotes placed into context.

Work resumed.

Across the city, Gilbert set his phone down on his desk. The office around him was quiet. Pemberton Corporation’s executive floor rarely carried the same noise as a newsroom. Most of the work happened behind closed doors or inside conference rooms where discussions stayed controlled and deliberate.

Gilbert returned to the document open on his screen. But his attention drifted briefly toward the phone resting beside the keyboard.

Audrey’s name still appeared in the recent call list.

He could delete it. That would be the simplest approach—remove the evidence, clear the log, move forward without distraction. His finger hovered near the screen for a moment. Then he lowered his hand without touching it. Some things didn’t need to be erased. Some things just needed to be left where they were, acknowledged but not acted upon.

He returned to the report.

By evening, Montclair’s streets had begun to fill with the usual after-work traffic. The bar Nate owned sat along one of the quieter side streets, its warm lighting visible through the large front windows.

Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed. Music played softly from hidden speakers near the ceiling. Several regular customers occupied the tables along the back wall.

At the counter, Nate polished a glass while watching the door.

It opened a moment later. Julian stepped inside first. Franz followed behind him.

"Evening," Nate said.

Julian slid onto one of the stools. "Business booming?"

"Always."

Franz took the seat beside him. "Where’s Gilbert?"

"Late."

Nate set the glass down and leaned against the counter. "What’s the excuse today?"

"Work," Julian said.

"That’s his excuse every day."

The door opened again a few minutes later. Gilbert entered, removing his coat as he walked toward them.

"There he is," Nate said.

Gilbert took the empty seat. "Traffic."

"That’s a new one."

Julian pushed a glass toward him. "You missed Franz’s arrival."

"I assume he survived."

"Barely," Nate said.

Franz gave him a brief look.

The conversation settled into the familiar rhythm of old friends. They spoke about business developments first. Franz listened more than he spoke, occasionally adding a quiet comment when necessary.

At one point Nate noticed Gilbert glancing briefly at his phone.

"Expecting a call?"

Gilbert shook his head. "No."

"Then stop checking it."

Gilbert set the phone on the table. "Habit."

Julian leaned back in his chair. "Dangerous one."

Franz watched the exchange quietly.

Gilbert didn’t respond. Instead he turned the phone over so the screen faced the table.

The conversation moved on. Nate began telling a story about a particularly demanding customer earlier that afternoon. Julian interrupted twice. Franz eventually laughed.

The atmosphere remained relaxed.

But for a moment, Gilbert’s phone lit up briefly against the table surface. The screen displayed the recent call history.

Audrey Sawyer’s name still appeared near the top.

Gilbert noticed it.

Then he turned the phone fully face down.

No one commented. No one asked why. That was the nature of this group—they noticed everything and said almost nothing. Gilbert kept his hand resting near the phone, not quite touching it, as if the gesture itself was enough. Beside him, Franz lifted his glass without looking over. But he had seen.

The conversation continued.