"I didn't do it on purpose." Honesty was all I had left.
"Ms. Summers," he began, slow and measured, "I've had a few women in difficult circumstances come through this arrangement. You're the only one who dared to pitch me on business value the same day she signed."
I couldn't tell whether Benedict's words were a compliment or a cut.
"But I never expected," he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over me with a trace of scrutiny, "that your image would crumble in a single afternoon."
The words landed like a slap. My face burned.
"So, is this your sob story? I'm in the mood to listen. Go ahead."
I bit down on my lip. How was I supposed to explain?
That my ex-husband was a narcissist, a gold digger who'd leeched off me while pretending otherwise, a serial cheater. That he'd burned through every cent I had, sold my property out from under me, and torpedoed my career.
That I'd come here carrying the keepsake Cindy left me, hoping to ask for his help.
But in the daylight, pride had stopped me.
Was it melodramatic? Absurdly so. Would he believe any of it? Not a chance.
"Can't say it?" He let out a quiet laugh. There was no malice in it, but something else that made me flinch. Pity.