“I’ll be right there,” she says.
When she steps inside, she closes the door behind her without being asked.
She doesn’t sit.
That tells me everything.
“This is personal,” I say. “Not work.”
Her expression doesn’t soften. “Then talk.”
I don’t decorate it.
“The night at The Vault,” I begin.
Jamie’s eyes flicker—just once. Not surprise. Recognition.
“I didn’t know she was going to be there.”
“And you still ended up with her,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Because she was roofied.”
Jamie exhales sharply.
“I took her to the hospital. She stayed at my place. Mark and Alex were there. I didn’t leave her alone.”
“That’s not why you called me in here,” Jamie says.
She’s right.
“The next night,” I say, “I went back out.”
“To forget her,” Jamie says flatly.
“Yes.”
I keep going.
“I drank too much. I went home with someone. I didn’t get her name.”
Silence.
“And then you took Audra to dinner,” she says.
“Yes.”
“And you were intimate with her,” she continues. Not a question.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell Audra.”
“No.”
Jamie steps closer.
“Do you know what you did,” she asks.
