“The word’s inadequate. I was the other woman. I didn’t know I was the other woman until he told me he was engaged—a bomb he dropped shortly after we had sex. I thought we were in a relationship, an exclusive relationship, but he was juggling me. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

She had smoky looks, a smoky voice—and when she was seriously pissed, he thought, you caught the fire under the smoke.

“Okay, he’s a slimy bastard and you were stupid. You got smart and kicked him to the curb. Is this glass yours?”

“Yes, and of course I ended it. And I gave my notice. He actually assumed everything would go on the way it was. Me working for his family while he had me on the side.”

“Then he was stupid.”

“You’re damn right!” Fully appreciating the comment, Hope slapped Ryder’s shoulder as she started pacing and circling again. “He got married in May—a lavish event, naturally, at the Wickham with a three-week honeymoon in Europe.”

“Keeping tabs?”

She stopped. Her chin jutted out. “I read the Style section of the Post. And, all right, yes, I wanted to see—it’s human nature. You’d have done the same.”

He considered, then shook his head. “Not so much. When something’s done, it’s done. What was he doing here, because visiting an old friend was bullshit.”

“What was he doing here? I’ll tell you what he was doing here. He said he wanted to tell me he felt partially responsible for my relocation and so on—partially. He said he wanted to see the inn, and take me to lunch. He said I was missed, and his father designated him to make me a generous offer. Generous offer, my ass!”

He’d never seen her seriously worked up, he realized. Irked, annoyed, somewhat pissed, but not full-throttle. It was probably wrong to sit there thinking it looked good on her.

“Trying to poach our innkeeper.” He kept his voice mild in contrast to hers. “Not cool.”

“Oh, that wasn’t all. Oh no, obviously I’m not suited for this job. According to him I can’t be happy and fulfilled unless I’m back in Georgetown, and managing the Wickham—and sleeping with him.”

“Huh. You look happy enough to me. Usually.”

“Oh, but how could I be, here in this little country town, managing this little country inn. And not being at his fucking beck?”

At a loss, Ryder scratched the back of his neck. “Well . . .”