I trailed off, unable to vocalize my explanation. Not because I didn’t know what happened, I did and it had not one thing to do with us being in a viewing room. I couldn’t speak because shame bathed my skin and coated my insides. I was beyond embarrassed. I wasn’t even humiliated—I was deeply horrified.

Asher had made it very, very clear he didn’t want me. Yet I threw myself at him and took advantage of the situation.

Oh. My. God.

“I need to leave,” I murmured.

Asher slowly withdrew his fingers and tugged down my dress. Okay, that was embarrassing.

“Sloane—”

“I’m sorry. So, so, sorry. That was wrong of me. So wrong I don’t know what to say.”

“Sweetness—”

What the fuck did I do?

I lifted my head and yanked myself out of Asher’s hold.

“I don’t feel good,” I announced loudly, hoping there were cameras in the room. I needed this to be believable just in case Lorenzo or Will were watching. “I haven’t eaten today and earlier I was woozy. Now my head is pounding. I feel a migraine coming on.”

Asher’s eyes narrowed knowing damn well I was lying but not able to call me on it or discuss what happened.

“I really need to get home before it hits,” I carried on. “I need to find Mr. Kelly and tell him I’m going home.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“No,” I rushed out. “I mean, there’s no need.”

“Sloane,” he seethed. “I’m walking you to your car. Then I’ll find Mr. Kelly and explain why you’ve left.”

“That’s—”

“End of.” Asher’s tone brokered no room for argument and really I just wanted to leave and never come back.

I’d fucked everything up.

Every. Thing.

Elise would be so disappointed in me.

“Okay,” I gave in ungraciously and straightened my dress. “I need to grab my purse from the staff lounge.”

With a jerk of his clenched jaw, Asher motioned for me to precede him. I had never in my life done a walk of shame so I couldn’t know for sure, however, making my way through the great room of the mansion with Asher on my heels felt worse than any walk out of a man’s house with yesterday’s clothes on. I would swear I felt all eyes on me, burning into me, knowing what I’d done. Knowing I’d taken something from Asher he didn’t want to give.

So much for the club’s golden rule of consent.

“Mr. Newcomb,” Lorenzo called out.

Could I not catch a break?

Could I not just get my purse and run away like a coward? Now I had to face Lorenzo, too. How had I allowed this to become my damn life?

“Sloane’s ill, I’m going to walk her to her car,” Asher returned.

“Sloane?”

Shit.

I wasn’t sure if Lorenzo was requesting that I turn and look at him or if he found it odd that Asher was using my first name.

Boss up, Sloane, and face your executioner.