“Very nice,” Dave said. “Listen, Juliet.” Her heart curled in on itself. “We’re a team at DJK, as I’m sure you know.”

“Of course!”

“So this . . . chain of command thing. It’s not necessary, is it?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Arwen mentioned you ‘put her in her place,’” Edward said, using air quotes and looking ridiculous doing it.

Shit. If Edward spoke, it was dire. “I did what, exactly?”

“Said you made it clear you outranked her in front of her . . . partner.”

“Uh . . . no. Her friend asked if I was an architect, and I . . . I just explained that I was both a project manager and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “Titles are so misleading, anyway, don’t you think? We like to color outside the lines at DJK, and we’re a meritocracy. The optics aren’t great if you’re . . . well. You know.”

“No, Dave, I don’t,” she said, starch in her voice. “Arwen does work for me. I have eleven years more experience than she does, and it would be irresponsible for us not to provide her with oversight and mentorship.”

“Still, there’s no need to throw her under the bus,” Dave said.

“How did I—”

Edward interrupted. “The attention she’s brought to the firm is in everyone’s best interest, Juliet. Let’s make sure she stays happy, shall we?”

The prickling panic had started in her feet. “Of course. Understood.”

“Good.”

Juliet glanced over at Arwen, who was pointing out something on the Sound to Cecille. She told on you, Juliet’s brain informed her. You spoke up for yourself, and she tattled, and the bosses are on her side.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to check on something. Please enjoy the party.” She forced her cheek muscles to retract in what might pass for a smile. The panic was in her knees now, and breathing had become a problem.

Down the staircase into the sky room, down the next staircase, hello, hello, are you enjoying yourself, good, wonderful, make sure you try the cream puffs, they’re so delicious, you’re welcome, nice to see you. Down the next staircase, take a left, here come the tears, but it was okay, here was her bedroom, close the door, check to make sure no one was in here, and they better not be, this was her bedroom, into the closet, close the door, safe, safe, safe.

She was crying. Faint, she ordered herself. Faint. Go to the hospital, even, and make everyone feel fucking horrible for taking Arwen’s side. Maybe Juliet had some tragic wasting disease that would excuse her from everything except sitting in the sky room and coloring with Sloane, and Brianna would love her again, and the disease would last until the girls were grown and then she could just slip away, looking at the clouds over the ocean, and wouldn’t that be fan-fucking-tastic.