Heaven help her, itwas.
He was right. She hadn’t mentioned her relationship with Baroness Oliphant, any more than he’d mentioned his last name. If he was at fault, so was she.
“Ember, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my last name. When you mentioned my boss, I thought you meant Andrew Prince, who hired me back in Wyoming. Last night, I wasn’t quite sure why you thought he’d be interested in making shoes, but then I figured out whoyouwere, and I was distracted by that and forgot to ask.”
“I should have realized who you were,” she said dully.
“And how would you do that?” he scoffed. “You likely assumed I was there last night on business from my boss, who you thought was Mr. DeVille. Right?”
With a sigh, she nodded and finally risked a glance up at him. “Look, Mr. DeVille?—”
“Max,” he corrected firmly. “After what we shared last night, no matter who we are or what jobs we do, I think you can call me Max, don’t you agree?”
Could she?
“Ember,” he prodded, “I’mMax.”
She sighed. Yes, he was Max, wasn’t he? The man she thought she’d been falling in love with. The man who made her happy and had her considering a future with.
The man whose tongue was on your nipple.
Aye, that too.
“Alright, Max,” she said quietly.
She didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling at her concession. But that realization only made the ache in her stomach intensify. She was still angry at him, but now it was tempered with shame, which made her angry at herself.
“I—”
She wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say. All she knew was that she couldn’t stand the embarrassment any longer. Even ifshewas the one who was embarrassing herself.
“Max,” she interrupted, turning her back to him and bracing her palms on either side of the vice. “I think it would be best if you left.”
A pause, then his voice, sounding a bit strangled, asked, “Leave your workshop? Or leave the inn?”
She stared down at the wood between her hands and didn’t answer.
Behind her, he blew out a breath. “Well, alright then. Goodbye, Ember.”
And as his footsteps faded along the corridor, Ember allowed the tears—no longer angry tears, but ashamed ones—fall. She watched them soak into the wood of her father’s workbench and mourned what she’d been stupid enough to throw away.
