Nope. Mirror first. Emotions later.
Except her body was still trembling. Still feeling Caleb's hands, the bookshelf against her spine, the way she'd reclaimed something lost today. Fun. Confusing. Exactly what she'd needed in the moment.
But then Arthur.
Arthur.
Quiet, competent Arthur who'd stepped in the second Caleb retreated into wherever actors go when the scene ends. Who'd pulled out a silk handkerchief like he carried emergency aftercare supplies. Who'd settled her onto his lap with the same careful precision he probably used to balance budgets.
"I've got you. Let's get you cleaned up."
And she'd let him. Let herself be tended to like a problem with a solution, because her brain had still been floating somewherebetween the bookshelf and the ceiling and her body felt like it belonged to someone who made much bolder life choices than she usually did.
And then she'd kissed him to close the distance he’d never pressed her to cross, because apparently tonight was the night April Feuller made decisions that would require processing later.
His mouth met hers like a conclusion, not a question. Like he'd been waiting for her to do the math.
When had Arthur become her bedrock?
Not just tonight. All day, maybe. The audit. The supplies he'd brought. The way he'd just... known what she needed without her having to ask. She'd been leaning on him without realizing. Arthur who she'd barely noticed until suddenly he was the only steady thing in a day that had spun completely out of control.
She needed a mirror. And possibly a minute to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Existential crisis about Arthur Vance could come third.
The bathroom appeared ahead, gold fixtures gleaming through a doorway that promised privacy and silence without an audience.
April pushed through the door and let it swing shut behind her.
The bathroom was absurd. The kind of bathroom that made you question whether wealthy people felt normal emotions, or if they just fainted decoratively onto chaise lounges while someone else handled the crying. Which was why there was a chaise lounge in the bathroom. Velvet. Probably antique.
"Of course there's a chaise," April muttered, heading for the mirror. "Because God forbid someone has an emotional crisis standing up like a peasant."
She braced her hands on the marble counter and stared at her reflection.
Flushed. The necklace was crooked. Her lipstick had migrated to places lipstick had no business being. The emerald silk was still doing its job, but the whole aura screamedI just made extremely poor decisions in a libraryand she had no regrets.
Arthur hadn’t really touched her. She still felt more seen than she had in years.
And Caleb—
No. That was a thought for later.
And maybe, just maybe, her only regret was that it had been brief, and standing, and with one more man when she didn’t even know what was going on with all these men in the first place.
April reached for her clutch, intending to at least fix the lipstick situation—
“You missed a spot.”
She froze.
Then spun around.
Jax was sitting on the chaise lounge. Like he'd been there the whole time, when she absolutely knew the chaise had been empty thirty seconds ago.
“Jax!” April hissed, her voice jumping an octave she didn’t know she had. “This is the ladies’ room!”
He tilted his head, utterly unbothered. “Technically, it’s the luxury powder room with emergency fainting furniture, but sure.” He gestured vaguely at the marble, the orchids, and the faint scent of money. “It’s the rich people loophole. You didn’t think the chaise was for relaxing, did you? A space for private conversations or anything that requires a locked door and a lack of witnesses.” He nodded toward the steamer sitting on the counter. “They think of everything.”
April looked at the long, velvet-covered piece of furniture again. The realization hit her a second later, along with a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the temperature.
