Tears burned behind Thorne’s eyes. If he’d had any idea Dash’s feelings went that deep, that he truly… “Dash, I never—”

“Right, that’s why you just offered to keep me here as your trophy.”

“No, that’s not it. I thought if you didn’t need to work for Sheila, then we could have a chance to be togeth—”

“Together? Seriously? What bullshit. If I worked for you, there would be no together, just business.”

“Then what the fuck has been going on for the last few months?”

Dash shook his head. “I thought I’d figured that out, but you just made it very clear that I was wrong.”

Dash walked out then, slamming the door behind him.

Thorne almost chased after him, but what would be the point? Dash hated him. What chance did he have now?

You knew better. You son of a bitch, you knew better. Hiring him? What did you think he’d say?

I should have phrased it differently, made it more clear what I was actually asking him to do.

You didn’t want him enough to do that.

I did. I wanted him more than anything.

Thorne sank onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. Sobs wracked his body until he couldn’t cry anymore. Then he lay down and covered himself with a blanket, hoping he could sleep forever.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thorne heard something outside his door. The doorman hadn’t alerted him that he had a guest. The locking mechanism lit up green, and the knob turned. Dash? Had he come back? He still had Thorne’s key, though he never used it.

Thorne’s sister, Kathryn, opened the door and stepped in, closing it firmly behind her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“You haven’t been answering your phone. Yesterday you left Lauren a cryptic message about being sick, and today you just didn’t show up. She was worried.”

Was it Tuesday already? “I screwed up everything.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Thorne, what are you talking about? Something at work?”

He shook his head. “Not work.”

She frowned. “But work is your everything.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem.”

Kathryn studied him, looking as worried as he’d ever seen her. How bad did he look?

“Jesus, Thorne, what happened to you?”

Pretty damn bad, apparently. He gestured to the half-empty decanter of bourbon on the coffee table. “You might want a drink before I explain. You can refill mine while you’re at it.”

She took the glass he held out. “You do realize it’s ten in the morning, right?”

“I don’t fucking care.”

Probably knowing it was pointless to argue with him in this state, she got herself a glass from the sideboard and poured a heavy measure of bourbon for each of them.