Cassian’s pov

“It was the alcohol. Competitive spite. Nothing more.”

Ashley’s voice hits me the second I walk into the café near the office. She is already seated at the corner table, dark sunglasses hiding what I know are the same bloodshot eyes I saw in the mirror this morning. Her coffee sits untouched. The silk blouse from last night is gone, replaced by a crisp white shirt that still somehow manages to look like a challenge. Six months of hating her and one night of tasting her mouth has left me hard and furious before eight a.m.

I drop into the chair across from her. “Obviously. A mistake. It...