Page 108 of The Devil of Downtown

She lifts a brow without looking up. “I live here,” she says, no trace of humor in her tone. “I thought you did too, but seeingas you’ve been MIA all weekend, I was starting to think you’d moved out.”

Oof. Direct hit.

“Yeah, well... about that.” My heart kicks into an obnoxious gallop, way too energetic for six in the morning. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

I draw a deep breath, bracing myself. I can usually read Sloane before she opens her mouth. This time, I’ve got nothing.

Sloane tilts her head, studying me. Her fingers tap an absent rhythm against the mug, her version of a tell. Her expression softens by a millimeter when she registers how jittery I am. She likes to pretend she’s steel, but underneath she’s basically a roasted marshmallow: warm, gooey, and entirely unable to watch someone she loves panic.

“Well?” she prompts.

I sink into the chair opposite her, my knee immediately bobbing in betrayal. “It’s... about Dane.”

Her eyes snap up. “What, as in Dane, my boss?”

I wince. Hard. Why does everyone keep reminding me he’s her boss?

“Yes,” I say, my throat suddenly desert dry. “That Dane.”

Sloane lets out a long, dramatic sigh and leans back, crossing her legs with the flair of someone preparing for a revelation. “I know, Ivy.”

I blink. “Excuse me? What?”

“I called Jennie when I was worried about you,” she says, lifting her mug again. She watches me over the rim—eyes narrowed, curious, not quite angry. “She said you weren’t at Brody’s, but she wasn’t sure she could tell me where. So I told her if she didn’t spill, I was going to file a missing person’s report.”

My jaw drops. “You did not.”

“I did,” she says breezily. “I wouldn’t have. But she didn’t know that.”

A strangled sound escapes me. “So... what did she tell you?” I hold my breath, praying Jennie didn’t invent some tequila-fueled fantasy involving a yacht or a secret Vegas marriage.

Sloane sets her mug down with a quiet clink. “That Dane came to find you in the club...” She pauses, her gaze locking onto mine, searching for confirmation. “And...”

“Go on,” I whisper, giving a tiny nod.

“She said something is going on between you and Dane, and that it’s been going on since London.” Sloane shakes her head slowly, like she’s trying to rearrange the pieces into a picture that makes sense. “And that you’ve been too scared to tell me.”

My stomach drops straight through the floor. “Are you mad?” I ask, worrying at my nail with my teeth.

“No, Ivy,” she says, her tone firm. “Not about Dane.” She leans forward, brows knitting. “But Iammad that you didn’t tell me. Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”

I open my mouth, then close it again, because I have no good excuse.

“At first, I thought it was just a stupid mistake,” I admit. “And I know how much you love your job...”

“But I love you more,” she cuts in, unflinching.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I was going to tell you, I swear. And then you said he was away at that conference, and... I just kept putting it off. And I thought it was done after London.”

Sloane groans and presses the heel of her palm to her forehead. “So all this time, he knew we deceived him?”

“Only since we got back from London.”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “I should’ve known he’d put the pieces together. But I never expected him to ask you to go to London. That was a curveball I didn’t see coming.”

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug, feeling the weight of it all settle in my chest. “If it had just been that one day in the New York office, we would’ve gotten away with it.”

“I thought you hated Dane,” she says, but the giant smirk tugging at her lips totally betrays her.