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Pregnant. Annulment papers in my arms. Everett apparently lying by omission on a scale that makes my head hurt.

The doors start to slide shut.

A hand catches them.

And then—because this day is committed to theatrical cruelty—Sienna steps into the elevator.

She stops when she sees me.

I stop when I see her.

For one ridiculous second we just stare at each other.

I move to get out.

Sienna catches my elbow. "Absolutely not."

"Let go of me."

"No."

The doors slide shut. The elevator starts moving.

I stare at her hand until she releases it.

She looks exactly like the kind of woman who would belong beside Everett Kauffman in a town car on a gray Seattle afternoon. And apparently heartbreak has turned me into a cliché because the sight of her still hurts.

"I really don't have the energy for this," I say.

"For what?"

I laugh once, sharp and tired. "You tell me."

Something in her expression shifts. Not guilt. Not smugness.

Then she says, "He's in love with you."

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me."

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't a joke."

My grip on the folder tightens. "I saw him with you."

"Yes," she says dryly. "Because I was telling him about Jeremy."

I go still. "About Jeremy?"

She studies my face, then swears under her breath. "Oh, for God's sake. You really don't know anything, do you?"

That should make me angry. It just makes me tired.

"No. Apparently I don't."

Sienna leans back against the opposite wall.