After a while, the knocking stopped. Through the wood, I could hear the low murmur of his voice, then Odette answering softly from the other room. Eventually, even that faded.
The house had two bedrooms on that floor.
I took the master suite.
Odette stayed in the guest room.
And Cassian Ashbourne, caught between the two women he had made enemies of each other, spent the night on the sofa.
The next morning, Cassian was already awake.
Or maybe he had never slept at all.
He was sitting on the sofa in yesterday’s shirt and slacks, looking like a man who had spent the night simmering instead of resting. His hair was slightly messed, there were dark circles under his eyes, and the tight line of his jaw made it clear he was still annoyed.
The moment he saw me step out of my room, he straightened.
“You’re up,” he said. “I had the jet prepared for Blightmoor. You said before that you wanted to go there, didn’t you? I’ll take you myself. Call the office and clear your schedule.”
He said it so casually, as if nothing had happened the night before. As if bringing Odette into our house, arguing with me in the hallway, and leaving me to lock myself in my room had all been too small to matter.