BECCA WALKED DOWN the stairs, knowing she was grinning like an idiot and totally unable to stop.
Unfortunately, the sight in the kitchen had her skittering to a halt, the smile fading.
Clarice stood in front of the sink, arms crossed, prim suit in proper form, deadly stilettos on foot. She was thin and beautiful and perfect, the kind of woman who made other women insecure, especially since she’d just had a freaking baby three months before.
But she’d always been a friend and sweet, a kind look in her hazel eyes.
That definitely was absent today.
“H-hi,” Becca said, cursing the way her voice shook. She set her shoulders and indicated Clarice’s outfit. “You look amazing. How’s the baby?”
“Fine.” Her foot tapped angrily, and Becca sucked in a steadying breath, knowing that the fury in Clarice’s eyes was seconds away from being unleashed.
Why hadn’t she gotten dressed?
And to make matters worse, she couldn’t stop the idiotic words from slipping out. “We’re moving back into the office on Monday. All the files are up-to-date. Client meetings booked. Contracts signed and mailed out. We’ll be good to go for your return in a week.”
“I thought better of you.”
The icy words slid down her spine, but, dang it, the situation with Devon wasn’t like that. What they had was different.
Except… was it?
She was there, easily available, and she’d seen plenty of news stories of Devon’s conquests. What made her any different? He certainly hadn’t said anything.
No. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t a predator; he’d tried to resist her. This was on her. Her fault. Her—
“I took the liberty of preparing your final check.” Clarice set an envelope on the counter. “We won’t need you back on Monday.”
The statement was a punch to the gut. “But I—”
“Okay, what’s for dinner—” Devon’s voice came around the corner before he did, fully dressed, of course. “Clarice!” He swept right past Becca and pulled the other woman in for a hug. “I’ve missed you. How’s the baby?”
Clarice softened in Devon’s arms. You could see her actually melt against him, and when they stepped back, her expression was loving. “He’s the best baby. Sleeping and—” She pulled out her phone. “—look! He’s getting ready to roll over.”
Devon watched the video dutifully then looked up at Clarice with genuine happiness. “Yeah, he is. What a champ. Good job.” He bumped her shoulder, laughed when she bumped his in return.
“I’m coming to back to the office on Monday.”
“Awesome.” His eyes didn’t stray from Clarice, not even for a second. “The crew has missed you.”
Devon’s words were worse than a punch to the gut. He’d just taken a knife to her heart.
And all the while, Becca stood on the outside. In a freaking robe.
“About the Carlson contract…” Devon began, and they were off.
Becca stood there for a minute, waiting for them to include her in the conversation. When they didn’t, she swallowed hard, turned away, and left the check, left the kitchen, left her shattered heart right there on the travertine floor.
She’d been an idiot, an idiot to rival all idiots. Devon was—
He laughed at something Clarice said, and she felt her eyes well.
No. Not here. Not yet.
She stumbled into the study and snatched up her clothes. Numb fingers buttoned cotton; shaking hands pulled on slacks and pumps.
Pascal was at the curb when she walked out of the house, and she’d never been more thankful to see him.
“Can you take me home?” she asked, opening the car door and sliding inside. Her hair was a mess, her clothes rumpled.
His eyes swept down then up before flashing back behind her shoulder.
She knew what he was seeing. Clarice drove a bright blue SUV. It was quite distinctive, and everyone in the office knew it by sight.
That same SUV was parked smack dab in the center of Devon’s driveway, as overtly as Clarice had situated herself in Devon’s kitchen.
Pascal was quiet for a beat then nodded, put the car in gear, and drove away.
About halfway through the drive home, he turned on the radio.
Becca didn’t mind.
She was just thankful he didn’t mention the tears streaming down her cheeks.