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Silence falls, except for their ragged breathing and my internal wailing for mercy.

“That was . . .” Samantha trails off, still catching her breath.

“Aye,” the man agrees eloquently.

Then comes the moment I’ve been dreading. Samantha crouches to scoop up her scattered possessions. I freeze completely, not even daring to blink. The chair may be mostly shielding me, but if I so much as twitch, I’m toast.

Thankfully, she seems distracted, adjusting her skirt as she hurriedly crams spilled items back into her bag. When she reaches for the note, though, her hand hovers over it for a second, like she’s surprised to see it. Then she snatches it up too.

“Bugger, look at the time! I need to run.” She stands, and I hear the soft snap of a mirror opening, then the slick click of a lipstick cap. A faint powdery scent drifts down as she dabs at her face with something, then comes the spritz-spritz of perfume. The blinds are whisked open again, flooding the room with light and spilling across my contorted shape beneath the desk.

Please don’t look down, please don’t look down, please don’t⁠—

Miraculously, neither does. Footsteps retreat towards the door, and with a click, it closes behind them.

I remain utterly still, not moving or breathing or existing at all. It’s like time itself has stopped out of respect for my dignity’s passing.

At last, David stumbles out from his cupboard sanctuary. He pulls back the chair, crouches, then mouths at me, “What. Just. Happened?”

I groan, scrubbing both hands over my face before wriggling out from under the desk. My whisper comes out fierce and ragged: “I thought we were searching for evidence of theft, not playing accidental extras in an office-based porno!”

He grins then quickly sobers when he realises I’m actually shaking.

“I saw a note,” I murmur, frustration knotting my insides. “It fell out of her bag. I saw Ashford’s name on it, and RM.”

“Robbie MacDonald?” David asks.

“My thoughts exactly. It definitely looked dodgy, but she scooped it up before I could grab it.”

“Shit. Actually, do you think she put it back in there?” He points and—small miracle!—what’s sitting on the desk but Samantha’s handbag? She left it behind.

I pounce on it and rifle through it, searching for that crucial note, but . . . it’s not here.

No, it has to be. I search again. For a head of housekeeping who supposedly has a reputation for orderliness, she sure keeps a lot of junk in her handbag, but the note is definitely not among its contents.

“She must have pocketed it,” I say at last, defeated. “It’s probably halfway through a shredder now, or being burned as we speak.” A hot flush of failure prickles up my neck. We were so close! Close enough to smell her perfume and hear every mortifying noise.

“Absolute disaster,” David whispers. “But we need to go. We’ve been here too long.”

He’s right, so we slip out into the corridor and make our escape, my legs still trembling from both the cramped position and the sheer mortification of what I just endured.

I really hope Robbie appreciates what we’ve gone through for him. Because some things, once seen—or heard—can’t be forgotten.

Ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ROBBIE

Cat’s phone sits on the kitchen table, its screen lit up with photos of Samantha’s financial mess. David and Cat are recounting their adventure at the resort while I pace. I can’t seem to shake this jittery energy, like I’ve necked five espressos.

“So, let me get this straight.” I force myself to stop and lean back against the counter. “You actually hid under the desk while Samantha and some bloke . . .” I trail off, unable to keep a smirk from my lips.

Cat groans and buries her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to need therapy.”

“It wasn’t great for me either,” David says. “I had to listen to the whole thing while crammed in a cupboard, being prodded in the ribs by an overly amorous mop.”

I snort and grab one of the cakes I bought while they were risking arrest on my behalf. The sugar rush is probably the last thing I need right now, but fuck it. For the first time since I found that ring in my locker, I feel like I might actually have a shot at clearing my name.