Page 38 of The Devil of Downtown

I risk another glance—and holy shit, those eyes. Burning green, furious, like some kind of beautiful, toxic fire.

He rakes a hand through his rain-soaked hair, droplets flicking off his wrist and sliding down the curve of his throat.

“Jesus, Sloane,” he mutters, shaking his head, “ever thought about letting a man down gently?”

And because I’ve apparently decided to self-destruct, I toss in, “You’re not really my type.”

He just studies me like I’ve lost my damn mind.

“That’s not what it seemed like just now,” he grits out. “Or when you stayed in my hotel room to enjoy the free show.”

To be honest, I should shut up, I really should, but my mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo.

“Isabel was very taken with you. Someone like her would be perfect for you.”

“Goddammit, Sloane, will you stop already. My ego is pretty foolproof, but you’re testing the limits.”

As if even the night itself has had enough of me, the rain starts pelting down harder, soaking us both. I just stand there, heart collapsing in on itself, tongue burning with the truth—that everysecond of him, his mouth, his hands, his goddamn control, was everything and more.

Then Sloane’s face flashes in my mind, the way she talks about loving this job. Depending on it.

I seal the casket shut myself.

“Let’s pretend this never happened,” I murmur. “Please.”

His jaw flexes, a harsh breath leaving him. “Message received loud and clear.”

He turns toward the house, shoulders already locked back into place, the warmth gone so completely it’s like it never existed. “We need to leave,” he adds, voice all business now. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”

Silence settles heavy as I follow, forcing myself to shut down, to lock everything away.

I stare at the rain-spattered window for the entire drive back, watching the quiet stretch of countryside slowly give way to the edges of the city. Open fields dissolve into rows of houses, hedgerows replaced by streetlights, the sky bruised and heavy as London creeps closer mile by mile. Beside me, Maria chatters happily to Dane, thrilled to have his undivided attention. He gives it to her easily, like nothing ever happened.

I let their voices fade into the background. I don’t look at them. I can’t trust what might show on my face if I do.

Because now I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Sloane I’ve screwed everything up.

My stomach twists with guilt and longing as I tell myself the same lie over and over—

that I can forget him.

That Iwill.

Chapter ten

Ivy

“Damn it,” Sloane says, coffee flask in one hand, her precious color-coded folders in the other. “Why does her sneaker always disappear at 7:00 a.m. on a Monday morning?”

I drop to the floor, sticking my head under Elsie’s bed. “Got it!” I call out, stretching my arm and fishing it out. I take it through to the kitchen and crouch down at Elsie’s feet. She wriggles her toes, giggling, as I slide it on while she finishes up her juice box.

Sloane is dressed for battle today in her tailored navy Theory suit she scored off Depop for half price, low heels, and her signature crimson lipstick. It’s her first day back in the office, which means I haven’t slept all night. After an excruciatingly tense flight home on Friday night, where Dane’s communication with me reverted to monosyllabic grunts, I still haven’t told Sloane the truth.

It’s now or never.

“I need to speak to you about work, Sloane.”

“Jesus, Ivy, can’t it wait? You’ve had all weekend to talk to me. If you leave any later, Elsie will miss the school bus.”