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When I pushed open the door to the private dining room, Ashton was feeding Juliet a bite of cake.

The look he gave me when I walked in was pure displeasure.

I knew the pin and the message had come from her, not him.

I came anyway.

Juliet chirped "Hi, Rowan" in a voice made of sugar, and Ashton's face hardened. "I told you not to come."

"I'm so sorry, Ashton, it's my fault—I was craving chips and I begged her."

She pouted. He ruffled her hair and called her, softly, his greedy little thing.

Reading his mood correctly, I pulled out the resignation form.

"Mr. Sterling. A colleague has a family emergency and needs to leave urgently. Please approve."

Normally HR would process a resignation. But when the VP of HR had seen my name on that form, he'd pushed it right back at me.

The lighting in the room was dim. Ashton, too busy flirting with Juliet, didn't even glance at the name at the top of the page. He signed.

Just as I reached to take the paper back, his hand clamped down on mine.

Thoughtful. Suspicious. "Rowan. You came here for this?"

I nodded. His face darkened.

And then—two seconds later, like I'd shocked him—he let go like he'd been burned.

He must have felt the blisters on my palm. The ones from burning sugar.

Disgust, probably.

At which point Juliet piped up with a revelation.

"Rowan, the bracelet on your wrist looks so familiar. Oh my God, I think it's the same one I saw in my trash can a few days ago. Isn't that wild?"

I pretended not to see Ashton's hand move instinctively to cover his own wrist.

I answered evenly. "It's a very common style. If you like it, you can have mine."

She didn't want it.

On my way out, I found the nearest trash can and dropped the braided red cord—the one I'd worn for seven years—into it.