"Morning," she whispers, her voice husky.
She pushes herself up, clutching the sheet to her chest. She looks happy. She looks like a woman who expects a kiss, a coffee, a continuation of the intimacy we built in the dark.
"Morning."
I don't look at her. I can't. If I look at her, I'll crawl back into that bed, and everything will burn. I keep my eyes on my phone screen, scrolling through emails I've already read three times.
"You're dressed." Confusion creeps into her tone. "I thought... didn't we say room service? Lazy Sunday?"
"Change of plans." My voice comes out clipped. "I have to go into the city."
"The city?" She sits up straighter. "On a Sunday? Brooks, did something happen? Did Royce try something else?"
"Everything's fine." I keep my gaze on the screen. "I need to review the Q2 projections with the finance team. In person."
It's a lie. The Q2 projections are fine. I need to be in a glass office forty stories above the ground where I can remember who I am.
"Oh." She hesitates. "Okay. Well, I can come with you. I need to run some errands anyway. Maddy has been texting me about?—"
"No."
I finally look up. I force my face to go blank. Professional. The face I wear across the negotiation table when I know I have a losing hand but can't show it.
"You need to stay here." I straighten my jacket. "My mother is expecting you for tea at four. If you aren't coming, she'll want to know why. She'll be disappointed and ask questions."
Ivy flinches. The smile drops off her face like it's been slapped away. She pulls the sheet tighter around herself.
"Right," she says quietly. "Can't disappoint Betty. The optic."
"Exactly. We can't afford to drop the ball now. Royce is gone, but the board is still watching. We need to maintain the... stability."
She stares at me. Her eyes search mine, looking for the man who held her last night. Looking for the one who whisperedYou're mine.
She doesn't find him. Because I hid him.
"Brooks," she says quietly. "About last night."
My heart hammers against my ribs.Don't say it meant something,I plead silently.Don't say you care. Because if you do, I won't be able to leave.
"Last night was... a release," I say.
The word tastes like acid. It is cruel. It is reductive. It is the only thing I can think of to make her hate me enough to stay safe.
Ivy recoils. She actually recoils, pressing herself back against the headboard. Her face goes pale.
"A release," she whispers.
"We let the adrenaline get to us," I say, focusing on my cufflinks so I don't have to see the hurt in her eyes. "The storm. The Aston situation. It was a high-stress environment. We sought comfort. It's understandable. Biological, really."
"Biological," she says. Her voice is flat now. Dangerous.
"Yes. But it complicates things. We have a contract, Ivy. We have boundaries for a reason. If we... continue this, it jeopardizes the objective."
"The objective," she says. "Right."
"It's the priority," I say firmly. "It has to be. I can't let... personal entanglements distract me. I need to be focused."
"And I'm a distraction," she says. It's not a question.
