He looked like she’d punched him. “Right.”
Lizzie tugged at the hem of the borrowed shirt that barely skimmed her thighs. “Giana lent me this shirt,” she said, desperate for any other topic.
Will swallowed hard. “It’s mine, actually.”
“Oh.” The air felt suddenly too warm. “Cool.”
Will’s knuckles went white on the doorframe. “Good night, Lizzie,” he said, voice rough. She nodded, throat tight, and walked away before she did something stupid—like beg.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Will didn’t move for a long time.
* * *
From the Desk of William Pemberley
Pemberley Estate Bedroom — 10:00 PM
I have never been closer to throwing every promise, every warning, every shred of decency out the window.
She was wearing my shirt.
My shirt.
And those thighs.
I had to grip the door like it was the only thing keeping me on the right side of the line my father drew.
She still chooses her career.
Even half-drunk, she still pointed out that her career was important.
I can’t ruin her.
I can’t be the reason every future win she gets is questioned.
I can’t be the reason people whisper “she slept her way up.”
I can’t be the reason her name gets dragged through the mud because of me.
I made the rule for a reason.
No dating employees. No exceptions.
I’ve seen what happens when lines blur.
I’ve seen careers stall. I’ve seen women become footnotes instead of leaders.
I’d never do that to anyone.
Especially not to her.
She’s too good for that.
Too brilliant.
Too fierce.
