I know losing this woman isn’t a risk I’ll ever take.
Hours later, the city hums outside, quiet, respectful, like even the night knows better than to interrupt her sleep.
Cami’s curled in front of me, back warm against my chest. My arm rests around her waist; the other cradles her head against my bicep.
Stripe is stationed at the foot of the bed like a smug little sentry, while Shadow sleeps on the windowsill, tail flicking every few seconds as she dreams.
It has to be close to midnight. I should sleep.
But my mind won’t shut off.
Because sometime soon, I’ll have to sit across from Oliver Beaumont and tell him the hard truth. That I’ve been sleeping with his daughter. That I’m in love with her.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand.
Jenna The Ex glows on the screen like radioactive poison.Fuck. I meant to block her number. The call goes to voicemail…and seconds later, my phone buzzes again.
“Shit,” I mutter a quiet curse, carefully sliding out from behind Cami without waking her, or the kittens. Stripe gives a half-hearted protest but doesn’t move.
I snatch the phone, step into the hallway, and answer. “Unless someone’s dead, this better be important.”
Silence clings to the line for a moment before she exhales a brittle laugh, sharp and grating as nails on glass. “Well, hello to you too. Small world, huh?”
My jaw ticks. “What the hell are you talking about, Jenna?”
“Tess Armstrong,” she chirps. “Client of mine. Married Ryan Armstrong—remember him? Actor. Bahamas wedding. You drank too much rum and made that awful speech. Ring any bells?”
I don’t answer. Just lean against the wall, pinch the bridge of my nose, and force my pulse to steady.
Ever since our implosion, Jenna’s whining has had a way of poking old bruises, but tonight, she hits bone.
“Tess works for theGazettenow,” she continues, tone all faux-casual ice. “Fashion editor with a side gig in celebrity gossip. Great eye for couture. Even better one for secrets.”
A cold knot forms in my gut. “Jenna?—”
“Anyway, she dined at Lark & Harlow tonight. Said the food was excellent. But the view was even more fascinating.”
My stomach drops.
Cami deserves better than being yanked into Jenna’s toxic orbit.
“Apparently,” she goes on, “she saw you. With company. And Tess, bless her nosy little heart, sent me a few photos. As a courtesy, of course. Word hasn’t fully circulated about our…unfortunate demise.”
My phone buzzes with incoming images.
They load slowly, agonizingly, each pixel tightening around my chest like a vise.
And when the images finally sharpen, the air leaves my lungs in one violent rush.
Cami.
Me.
Seated together.
Close. Intimate. Exposed.
Another buzz. Two more images: one of us laughing with our heads leaned in; one of us cozy, my hand on her thigh.
