I don’t know why I even bother attempting to work for the rest of the day. I can’t concentrate on anything except the sex toy that I washed in my small connected private bathroom, wrapped in a paper towel, and shoved in my purse—after I spent nearly an hour removing the henna.

Five o’clock comes and goes, but I don’t leave the office. The longer I stay here, the longer I can put off following another one of his orders.

It’s after seven when someone knocks on my office door. My shoulders tense immediately, and I squeeze the edges of my desk.

It’s not him, I tell myself as I force my body to relax. Mount would never knock.

I call out for whoever it is to enter, and Temperance pokes her head in.

“I thought I saw your light still on. I figured after our victory today, you’d be out celebrating.”

Out celebrating. Something I no longer have the freedom to do . . . or do I?

“You know me, workaholic to the core.”

“That’s the truth. Which is why I brought the celebration to you.” She produces a bottle of champagne from behind her back.

I stare at the bottle in surprise. “I didn’t think you drank. You never try the whiskey.”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and she looks at me with a sheepish expression. “This might get me fired, but . . . I just don’t like whiskey.”

I pretend to cross myself like I’m a priest and she sinned in my presence. “Are you serious?”

She nods and her smile returns. “I’m sure Seven Sinners is the best there is, which is why I can market the hell out of it. But after this one night, freshman year of college, where my brand-new roommate ended up holding the garbage can while I puked from the top bunk in our dorm room, I haven’t been able to touch the stuff again.”

I bring my hands together in a steeple, with my index fingers pressing against the bridge of my nose, and picture it with a laugh. “Fair enough. I have a similar aversion to gin. It tastes way too much like those pine-tree air fresheners when you puke it up. Or, at least, the cheap gin I drank in college did. Now I stick to good whiskey.”

“Only Seven Sinners?”

I shake my head. “No, I make sure to sample as much of the competition as possible. You have to know what your rivals are doing to make sure you’re doing it better.”

She lifts the bottle of champagne in her hand. “So, does that mean no champagne toast to celebrate?”

There’s so much hopefulness in her voice, coupled with the fact that I’m in absolutely no hurry to leave, I can’t help but agree. “I’ve got some glasses we can use. They’re not champagne flutes, but it means we don’t have to go upstairs to track some down.”

Temperance grins. “I’m not fancy. I was willing to settle for the company coffee mugs.” She takes one of the leather club chairs on the opposite side of my desk and holds out the bottle. “Want to do the honors?”

I remember the last time I popped a champagne cork. It was in my townhouse on my wedding night, and Brett couldn’t manage to get it open.

Now I wonder if alcohol was all he had that night. Any good memories I tried to hold on to after his betrayal are now tainted by what Magnolia told me. My husband was a con man and a cokehead, as well as a cheating son of a bitch. I force the knowledge down as I accept the bottle from Temperance.

“Absolutely.” I grab the tumblers from below the liquor shelf behind my desk, used to showcase Seven Sinners whiskeys throughout the years, and set them on the blotter.

I pop the cork without making a mess and fill them almost to the brim.

“Whoa. A little more heavy-handed with your pouring than normal?” Temperance comments.

Instead of responding, I lift my glass, which prompts her to do the same. “Sláinte.”

We clink the crystal together, and I take a healthy swallow. It’s a perfect balance of sweet and dry, and an added bonus—the bubbles go straight to my head as I concentrate on draining the entire thing.

Yes, this is exactly what I needed after this afternoon.

I set my glass down and turn the bottle around to investigate the label more thoroughly. I don’t recognize the name, but that doesn’t mean much. I don’t keep up with the wine business.

“Nice choice,” I say as I refill my glass. When I look up, Temperance’s gaze locks on mine.

“I know the last few months have been rough. If there’s anything I can do, more I can take off your plate, just let me know. I’m here to help.”

She’s sweet, and a hell of an employee, but she has no clue why I would really like to finish this entire bottle myself. Maybe if I’m drunk when I go back to Mount’s . . . As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know it’s the wrong move. I need my wits about me when I face him, and while I can drink whiskey all day and not have an issue, champagne is a completely different story.

“Or if you ever want to talk about what happened—”

I raise my glass to my lips again, and when I set it down, I drop my hands into my lap. “You’ve already taken on plenty. Hell, you deserve a raise, and as soon as we get the check from the Voodoo Kings, you’ll get one.”

Her expression changes into one of excitement. “Really? That would be amazing. The last time I was offered a raise, there was no way I was agreeing to the terms.” As soon as the words are out, she looks like she wants to snatch them back.

“What are you talking about? Here?”

Guilt floods her features as she shakes her head vigorously. “No. Uh, another job. Somewhere else.”

I study her closer. “You’re a terrible liar.”

This time it’s Temperance lifting her champagne to gulp it down.

“Tell me.” I already have a sick feeling twisting in my stomach. Intuition. It’s about time I developed some.

“I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

I lean both elbows on my desk, my glass hanging between my thumbs and forefingers. “Just freaking tell me. Whatever you say stays between us and will have zero impact on your job. I promise.” What I tell her is the absolute truth, because there’s no way I can afford to lose her.

She refills her glass and takes another sip. “Let’s just say that if it hadn’t been for you being kind of my idol in the business world, and the shitty state of the job market around here, I would’ve quit as soon as Brett came on board.”

“What did he say to you?”

The color drains from her face and her gaze darts around the room, eager to land anywhere but on me. “I submitted a request for a raise, but I didn’t realize you’d already left for a meeting. Brett reviewed it and called me into his office to discuss.” She pours another measure of champagne down her throat, as if needing the liquid courage.

I, on the other hand, need it to numb the rage boiling through me. “And?”

“He said that if I wanted a raise, I’d have to earn it the old-fashioned way. I thought he meant working harder.” She pauses, her lips pressed together as if not wanting to voice the rest of the horrible truth. I nod, prompting her to continue. “He unzipped his pants and told me I better get to sucking.” She chokes on the last part, just like I would choke the life out of Brett if he were still alive.

I reach for the bottle of champagne and refill both our glasses. “I am so fucking sorry. I can’t apologize enough. You should’ve quit. Hell, you should’ve filed a sexual harassment suit. I would’ve if I were you.”

A moment of silence passes as we both drink.

“I looked for other jobs. I’m not going to lie about that. But there wasn’t anything even close to comparable. I stayed for selfish reasons mostly, and because I told Brett if he ever said anything like that to me again, I’d tell my brother and he’d cut Brett’s dick off with a bowie knife before he filleted him like a fish.”

That knocks me back in my seat. “Would your brother really have . . .”

“If you had a brother, wouldn’t he?” she replies.

“Did you tell your brother?” I ask, a thought dawning.

Her eyes widen. “No. Oh my God. No. He had nothing to do with Brett’s death. I swear on my grandmother’s grave.”

“I didn’t mean it to be accusatory. I just—”

Temperance shakes her head. “No, I’d be asking the same question if I were you. Besides, if I’d told my brother, Brett would’ve been dead a whole lot sooner. Not that that’s any comfort. Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry. I’m such a bitch.” She rises halfway out of the chair, as if preparing to flee my office.

“Stop. Sit. It’s fine.” I can barely process the conversation we’re having, but I decide to tell her something very few people know. “I was already in the process of leaving Brett when it happened. I mean, it still hurt like hell to lose him because of what I thought we had in the beginning. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you that he was cheating on me.”

Temperance returns to her seat, sympathy creasing her features. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. For men being dicks. For the fact that you had to deal with everything that happened.”

“It’s not your fault.”

She lifts her glass. “Not yours either. To the good men out there who still exist, even if they’re not perfect and sometimes a little downright bad.”

I raise my glass and we touch the rims together again, but her toast sends my brain into a tailspin. I assume she’s talking about her brother, but the downright bad piece applies thoroughly to Mount.

I drain the glass, knowing it will be my last. Any more and I’ll contemplate running again so I don’t have to face him, and that’s not an option.

No, tonight we need to hammer out the terms of this bargain since he walked out on me last time.

I lower my empty glass to the desk and meet Temperance’s gaze. “Thank you for being honest with me, although I wish you’d told me as soon as it happened. I totally get why you didn’t. Thank you for sticking it out when you shouldn’t have, because I couldn’t have made it through these last few months without you. You’re definitely going to get that raise.”

Temperance’s smile is warm and genuine, just like she is. “I love this job. I love this company, and I’m proud to work here.” She rises from the chair again. “Just so you know, you’re an incredible boss.”

Her words fill me with pride, but on the flip side, I think about how easily she could have had a totally different boss today. One who was brutal. One she wouldn’t be proud to work for. Actually, Mount probably would have chained the doors shut with no warning, and all my employees would be looking for new jobs.

This is why I agreed, I tell myself.

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” I hope she knows how sincere my words are.

“I better head back to my office to work for another hour before I drive home. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Smart girl.”

“I try. See you tomorrow, boss.” Temperance heads for the door, leaving the remainder of the champagne behind.

It’s beyond tempting. How easy would it be for me to get drunk enough that I wouldn’t remember anything that happens tonight? But I’m not going to do it. I already have a buzz, and that’s enough of a disadvantage as far as I’m concerned.

I push up from my chair and take the bottle into the bathroom, dumping its contents down the drain before my better judgment slips away. I leave the empty bottle on the counter. I’ll worry about recycling it tomorrow with the rest of the restaurant’s glass. Tonight, I have a lot bigger things to worry about.

I gather my things and slip my purse over my shoulder before heading toward the door, already gathering the courage I need to face Mount after the scene this afternoon.

As I reach the threshold, a vibration zips through my bag and I freeze.

The toy.

Shit.

I spin around, leaning my shoulders against the door.

“Is that a warning because you know I haven’t put it back in yet, or are you trying to get me pissed off before I’m ‘delivered’ to you again?” I ask the question to the empty room that I’m not so certain is empty anymore. I know he’s not here, but I can’t help but wonder.

“Are you watching me right now, you controlling son of a bitch? Where are the cameras?” I turn around, the champagne and fuck-me heels making me unsteady as I search the office I thought I knew inside and out. “Where are they?” I say it just loud enough not to draw attention from Temperance in her office down the hall.

I step toward the door again, and the vibrator buzzes in my purse before I can touch the handle. I step away from the closed door and walk to the center of the room, my steps steady and measured this time. I put my middle fingers in the air and turn in a slow circle.

“Let me know if you can see that, Mount.”

The device in my purse is still, but something tells me he’s watching me.

I stalk to the bathroom, slam the door, and throw my purse on the counter. It smacks into the champagne bottle, sending it rolling off the edge.

“Shit!”

The mouth of the bottle lands at an angle on the floor, breaking into two pieces at the neck.

That could have been way worse, I tell myself as I reach down to grab the broken pieces of glass.

With my slight buzz from the champagne, I misjudge and the jagged edge of half the bottle slashes diagonally across my left palm.

“Fuck!”

Blood drips from my skin, and it stings like a son of a bitch. I grab a paper towel from the dispenser and squeeze my hand shut around it to staunch the bleeding as I crouch down to root around under the sink for the first aid kit. I know there’s one in here somewhere. My father’s motto is Always be prepared, which makes sense because he was an Eagle Scout. Another tradition he wanted to pass along to a son he was never blessed with.

I find the first aid kit and grab a roll of gauze and some tape. Apparently always being prepared doesn’t include palm-sized bandages in the kit. I lift the paper towel off the slice and wince, although it’s not as bad as it first seemed. It definitely hurts, but it doesn’t look like it’s deep enough to need stitches.

Thank the Lord, because the feel of sutures tugging at my skin while a doctor sews me up, even if I’m numb, creeps me the hell out.

I wrap the roll of gauze around my hand and cover it with tape to hold it in place. The broken bottle I’ll deal with tomorrow when I’m totally sober. I grab my purse and stalk out of my office, ready to be collected.