That would be the smart thing.
The safe thing.
But when have I ever done the safe thing when it comes to Corin Saelinger?
“Hey,” Corin says from the doorway, and I jump.
I immediately set the printouts on the desk.
Try not to look too guilty or anything.
“You’ve been in here awhile,” he continues. “Everything okay?”
I don’t answer immediately. Finally I slide the printouts across the desk toward him. “You told me the truth.”
Corin goes completely still. “What?” His voice is careful.
I tap the papers. “During the storm. When you told me. I believed you at the time. Mostly. But there was this tiny part of me that wondered if maybe you were just telling me what I wanted to hear. Making yourself look better so I’d sleep with you again.”
Way to sound professional.
He flinches. “Amara—”
“But this.” I gesture at the printouts. “It’s proof. You tried to stop it. Multiple times.”
He picks up the top page, and I watch his jaw tighten as he reads his own words from five years ago.
“Where did you find these?” He doesn’t sound angry. Just weary.
“Filing cabinet on the right. Archived board minutes.” I cross my arms, then uncross them because it makes me look defensive.
Corin sets the papers down carefully, like they might explode. “I’d forgotten these were here.” When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper. “You know, I’ve spent the last five years convinced I was complicit. That I enabled Diana’s fraud by not pushing harder. That Leena’s destroyed reputation was my fault. That losing you was exactly what I deserved.”
My throat feels tight. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He’s close enough now that I can smell his scent. Leather and sea-salt and that faint cedar smoke that clings to his clothes.
My body remembers what we did in his study.
The way he lifted me against the wall.
The way he made me come apart with his hands and mouth and everything else.
Focus.
This is important.
“So what now?” he asks. “What changes?”
I consider that. “I already forgave you when you told me four weeks ago. So. Nothing, I guess?”
“Nothing? And us?” He gestures vaguely between us. “The contract ends in two days. You were planning to leave.”
How does he know that?
“I was considering it,” I admit. “Seemed like the smart move. Professional boundaries and all that.”
His jaw tightens. “Right. Professional boundaries.”
