Annika took a deep breath and wondered how to phrase what she had to say kindly. There was no way to phrase it kindly. Hudson Craft had put her in this position. Jerk. “I think it goes to a video that Yuri’s recorded for you, telling you more about why he’s breaking up with you.”

Heather laughed. “No way. It’s got to be a joke or a scam, right? I mean, there’s no way Yuri would do something—” She stopped, her eyes far away. “Except he said Yuri didn’t want to do couples counseling. I only brought that up last week, and no one else knew we’d talked about it. And my Hello Kitty pajamas and electric toothbrush.” She laughed again, but this time, it was a hollow, thin sound. “Right. They tell you the details so you know it was really your partner who hired them.” She scanned the QR code with her phone and a video of a thin guy with a scruffy goatee popped up. “Yuri.” The defeat in Heather’s voice made Annika’s heart ache. “It’s really him.”

Seriously. How could Hudson Craft be okay with this? “I’m sorry,” she said again, wishing she could say something else more helpful. “Here.” She thrust her un-drunk latte at Heather. “You need this more than me.”

Heather took the cup. “Thanks.”

“Do you want me to walk with you? I assume you’re going to work?”

Heather looked down at herself, as if she were checking. “Yeah … yeah, I was. But you know what?” She threw her briefcase into the back of her convertible. “I think I’m gonna take a beach day today.”

Annika smiled. “Great idea.”

Heather nodded, got in her car, and with a brief wave at Annika, squealed out of the parking garage.

Annika marched past her office and into Hudson Craft’s, her blood boiling. She wasn’t even sure why exactly she was going to speak to Hudson; it wasn’t like he was going to suddenly change his mind and decide to join a monastery to atone for his evil ways. Maybe it was stupid, but there was a part of her that was having a really hard time believing that the guy she knew in Vegas was okay with what she’d just seen. A part of her felt there had to be a different explanation. She had to see what it was for herself.

Blaire was sitting in a papasan chair texting, dressed in a Break Up T-shirt and shorts, but the moment she saw Annika, she set the phone down and walked over. “Can I help you?” she said, her eyes glinting.

Blaire was the kind of person who seemed to be tethered to social norms—like not tearing out the eyeballs of someone you disliked—by only the most gossamer of threads. Annika took a hasty step back. “Where’s Hudson?”