Which immediately sent Sylvie’s mind shooting straight back to Adam’s poor, sad Juliet and Iseult fiasco—and her own behavior in voting for Emma. Whose cake had been ingenious. Had been right up her street. And had been nowhere near the caliber of Libby’s.
She had never let her personal feelings affect her professional behavior before. Dominic was right. She believed to her core that Libby was a cheat, and although she wasn’t quite nasty enough to hope the young woman was chomped by a hippopotamus, fingers crossed for a quick backhand from a baboon.
But she’d undermined her own ethics today in voting as she had.
She’d undermined a lot of things today that she held incredibly dear.
Mabel had looked up without interest, but for once had not immediately returned her attention to her work. She was staring steadily at Sylvie as her busy fingers continued pulling and shaping, drawing out a hooked nose, a clawed hand.
“Is Jay here?” Sylvie was relieved that her voice sounded relatively normal.
Or maybe not.
Mabel’s eyes narrowed.
All she said, however, was “He’s in the office.”
No sarcastic rejoinder. No referring to Jay by any of her many and varied pejoratives.
“Thanks.” Steeling herself once more, Sylvie slipped through the bookcase and walked quickly down the hallway. She could hear Jay’s voice before she reached the office, and when she let herself in, he was on the phone.
He was standing at the window, looking out at their inspiring view of the moldy brick wall opposite, and didn’t turn around. But beneath his crisp suit, his broad shoulders stiffened.
Sylvie stood for long enough that self-consciousness didn’t so much creep in as throw open the door, sashay across the room, and make itself at home on the couch.
Quietly, she went to her desk and set down her bags. She unzipped her work tote and removed a folder, opening it to look down at the sketches she’d made last night, throwing everything she had into the distraction of Rosie and Johnny’s cake.
For the wedding that might or might not still go ahead. With relationships crashing and burning all over the place right now.
Forty-eight hours ago, she’d been making gorgeous love with Dominic on his kitchen table. On the premise that it was a home environment, so not infringing any health and safety regulations. She’d opened her eyes to admire his face as he came, and had instead looked over his shoulder and seen Humphrey on the kitchen counter, viciously shredding teabags into Dom’s lovingly tended sourdough starter. New discovery: when she started giggling on the veriest cusp of an orgasm, it did something fantastic to her pelvic muscles.
She’d suddenly realized then how truly happy she actually was. Happier than she’d been in years. Perhaps ever.
Jay was schmoozing one of their overseas suppliers. He sounded completely normal, joking, laughing, but he still hadn’t turned his head.
She ran her fingers over the sketch, remembering a gut-punchingly beautiful bronze statue in a frosty garden. Wrought by the hands of another woman who’d been desperately in love. Desperately happy.
Blithely unaware of how soon she would lose it all.
As she closed the folder, Jay ended his call and appeared to brace himself.
He turned. Placed the phone carefully on his desk. Finally looked at her. “How was the final?”
So even, so hatefully polite.
“Bit of a disaster, really. Jay—”
“I’ve been looking at the rosters. One of our groups for the Dark Forest tonight canceled; I’ve rescheduled the other. And I’m going to be taking some leave for a few days.”
Her mouth felt dry. “We’re submitting the Albany proposal tomorrow. And then it’s the ball.”
“I’m not going to the ball.” Something flickered in his eyes. “And this proposal has turned into more your thing than mine. Yours and his, ironically, despite the fact he’s meant to be our competition in this situation, not your collaborator.”
At the coldness in his voice, Sylvie internally flinched. She couldn’t refute the accusation. “This proposal is for a contract that will significantly benefit the business. Our business. You have as much investment as I do in this panning out.”
He was playing restlessly with a ballpoint pen on his desk. It slipped out of his fingers, skittering across the wood in a sound that obviously irritated both their exposed nerves. He turned away sharply. “As to that . . .” His jaw worked. “I may need to . . . reassess my position in the business going forward.”
She was honestly incapable of speech for a moment. His eyes dragged to hers.
“What does that mean?” she said at last, tight with disbelief. “You’re pulling out of Sugar Fair?”
One of his shoulders moved in the barest glimmer of a shrug.
It was enough to provoke an unexpected echo of emotion within her. Through her sadness and horror and fear, a small bubble of anger rose.
“This wasn’t just our dream, Jay. This is our livelihood, and the livelihood of every member of our staff. You can’t just throw all that in the bin because . . .” She cut herself off.
“Because I’m in love with you, and you’re infatuated with the emotionless bastard across the street?” Reciprocal temper was threaded through every biting word.
“He’s not emotionless,” she couldn’t help saying very quietly.
And she’d never been infatuated with Dominic. She’d detested him. She loved him. Fleeting infatuations were a silly, fun phase of her life that had now passed. There was nothing transient about her feelings.
Which was exactly why she was so scared.
None of which she said aloud. She was upset, stressed, and honestly, starting to feel a little betrayed in return, but she hoped she wasn’t cruel.
“Jay.” She met his shuttered gaze. “I didn’t mean to undermine the way you’re feeling right now. I would never intentionally do that. But—you’re my best friend.” She saw the look that crossed his face. “Maybe that sounds inadequate to you right now. Maybe to you, that’s nothing.” She swallowed painfully. “It’s not nothing to me. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and you have been for over thirty years. You’re my family. I’ll always love you. I’ll always be here for you. My—” Her voice broke, and she had to pause to steady her breathing and herself. He was watching her intently, the beginnings of a faint sheen in his eyes. “My love isn’t romantic, but it’s deep and true. It’s valid and it’s yours forever, and I can’t let you devalue that, either.”
She gripped the edge of the desk. “I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know what to say.”
Jay looked down. He closed his eyes. “I just— I need some time.”
A repetition of what he’d said before—but the change of tone made them very different words. That visceral sharpness was gone. What was left was torn and almost gentle, and it made her eyes prickle.
That core of ice in her chest started to crack.
Her response was soft and raw. “Okay.”
The door clicked quietly shut behind him.
And she breathed in, and out, and went to where she’d always sought solace these past three years.
Her own field of petunias.