She glances back.
"You haven't been coming to the pool in the mornings." The observation comes out awkward, stilted. "Six a.m. The invitation still stands. If you want."
Her eyebrows rise. "I figured you and Ivy wanted privacy."
The implication in her tone makes my chest tighten. Does she know? How much has she seen? Heard? There was only the one when we’d gotten carried away in the pool, but Madison wasstaying over at a friend’s. “It’s a pool, not a private meeting. You're welcome to use the facilities.”
She studies me for a beat too long, like she's weighing whether to say more. "Okay. I'll think about it."
Her footsteps retreat down the stairs, along with her quiet chatter at the cat.
I cross to the doorway and watch until she disappears around the landing, Marley's tail the last thing visible before they're gone. The house settles back into silence, but it’s different now. Emptier. Like her company and quick retorts took up more space than I realized.
What the hell just happened? Why did I invite her to join us?
I’m a liar. I know why. It’s because “you’re not as much of a jerk as you want everyone to believe” landed somewhere I didn’t expect. Because her opinion matters, and I don’t know when that started or how to make it stop.
And Ivy—
I scrub a hand over my face. For a week, I’ve been telling myself this is temporary. Physical. A way to burn off tension while we’re both stuck here. Clean. Simple. Manageable.
Nothing about this feels manageable anymore.
Not the way I calculate how many mornings we have left before she goes back to New York. And when the hell did I start counting days instead of crossing them off?
I straighten in my chair and bring up the acquisition reports on my screen. The movement pulls at my button-up, revealing Ivy’s hair tie wrapped around my wrist. I’d pulled it free this morning in the sauna, watching her dark hair tumble down her shoulders. I should give it back. Instead, I snap it once against my skin, a sharp sting that does nothing to refocus my thoughts. The numbers on the screen blur together.
Two months. That’s all that's left. Two months before they leave, and I get back the silence I used to crave.
The thought should be a relief.
It’s not.
Chapter Nineteen
Ivy
I stare at the New York State Bar Ethics Guidelines on my laptop screen until the words blur together. Rule 1.8(j): Sexual Relations with Clients.
My cursor hovers over the comments section. "The Rule applies to any lawyer who engages in sexual relations with a current client..."
Client. Current. Representation.
Blackstone Bourbon? I was hired by the company, not by Thorne personally. And whatever this thing is between us started before any representation began. On the train. When we were strangers.
Besides, it's not a relationship. It's physical. Temporary. We've both been clear about that.
I scroll down to the conflicts of interest section. The rule exists to prevent situations where personal feelings might compromise professional judgment. But I'm not compromising anything. My legal advice is sound. My work is excellent. The fact that I'm sleeping with Thorne Blackstone doesn't change my analysis of EPA regulations or environmental remediation protocols.
It's fine.
I close the laptop.
It's fine.
This mantra sounds like a lying client.
At the bottom of the stairs, I hear the mixed voices of the Blackstones and head to the dining room. My short heels click against the hardwood floor, each step the drumbeat of walking toward something inevitable.
