"Is that so?"
"She's brilliant with branding," Miles continued, as if I weren't standing right there.
"I've been trying to convince her to reconsider our... professional relationship."
The double meaning hung in the air between us. I wanted to scream, to run, to dissolve into the expensive carpet beneath my feet.
Instead, I stood frozen, trapped in this surreal tableau.
"I'm sure Ms. Blake is more than capable of making her own professional decisions," Lucas said, his tone cooling slightly.
He turned to me, perfectly composed. "It was a pleasure meeting you."
With a slight nod, he excused himself from our group, moving away with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to commanding any room he entered.
I watched him go, a bizarre cocktail of emotions churning through me. Shock. Embarrassment.
And underneath it all, a traitorous flicker of desire that refused to be extinguished even by this revelation.
"Dad's heading back to San Francisco tonight," Miles was saying, oblivious to my internal meltdown. "But he'll be there for the strategy meeting with your marketing firm on Tuesday. I was thinking maybe you could join us for dinner afterward? Your insights on the Westlake project would be valuable."
I barely heard him.
My attention remained fixed on Lucas's retreating back, watching as he stopped to speak with John Parker across the room.
As if sensing my gaze, he glanced back, his eyes finding mine unerringly across the crowded space.
For one unguarded moment, I saw it all reflected in his expression—the shock, the recognition of our impossible situation, and something else.
Something that mirrored the confusion in my own heart.
No regret.
"Savannah?" Miles's voice broke through my daze.
"Are you listening?"
"I—I'm not feeling well," I managed, the first honest words I'd spoken since the revelation.
"Excuse me."
I fled, ignoring Miles's concerned questions and Zoe's startled expression. Blindly, I made my way through the dining room and into the nearest restroom, locking myself in a stall as my legs finally gave way.
My hands shook violently as I gripped the metal partition. My skin felt too tight, too hot, as if I might burn up from the inside. The bathroom's cool air did nothing to soothe the scorching heat of mortification spreading through me.
Lucas Turner.
I had slept with Lucas Turner.
I pressed my forehead against the cool metal, trying to steady my breathing. Images from last night flashed through my mind—his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the intensity in those blue eyes as he'd moved above me. Eyes so like his son's, and yet so different.
My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat. I swallowed hard, fighting the wave of nausea.
What had I done?
More importantly, what would I do now?
My phone buzzed insistently in my purse. Zoe, no doubt, wondering what had happened.
