“It’s nothing. Sorry. I’m being stupid,” she backpedaled as she began fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

Looking back at our few interactions, I noted the difference in how she’d been acting today. Her normal never-ending stream of word vomit was there, but behind it, there was an internal struggle going on. The hemline wasn’t the first thing she’d fidgeted with. I’d watched as she pulled at the collar of her shirt, and then, as if she’d realized what she’d done was wrong, she’d quickly laid it flat again.

“Does this have something to do with the way you’re dressed today?”

Pink tinged her cheeks. “You noticed?”

I simply nodded, not trusting myself with words in that moment.

Because I’d more than noticed. It’d been damn hard not to think about anything but.

“A gift from my boyfriend,” she replied. “He said my old clothes didn’t fit in with our new lifestyle. It was a very generous gift,” she added, never forgetting that politeness she’d no doubt been taught since birth.

“But?” I questioned, waiting for her to continue.

“But… I don’t feel like me anymore,” she finally admitted.

“And I’m guessing the night in the club was another gift from him as well?”

It was her turn to nod.

I could see the indecision and worry gnawing at her. Someone like her—sweet, honest and good—was meant for better things than a life with a man who didn’t appreciate her.

Leaning forward, I made sure she saw the sincerity burning in my eyes as I spoke, “That night in the club, I’ll admit, it may have been the dress I saw first.”

She opened her lips to speak, but I held up my hand to stop her, wanting to make my point.

“And, today, when you walked in, I couldn’t help but give a second… or third glance at the way that new skirt hugged your ass.”

Her eyes widened at my blatant honesty.

“So, yes, the way the clothes clung to your body might have caught my attention for a moment or two. But every moment after that? That’s been you, Cara. All you.”

And, just like that, I’d crossed the line.

I’d hit on an employee.

And there was no going back from that.

Chapter Ten

“That’s been you, Cara. All you.”

It’s all me.

It’s all me…

His words had been replaying in my mind for the last five hours. Like one of those annoying microwave trays my mother always made me clean or a ceiling fan—circling around, on repeat until I thought I might go mad from the repetition.