Goodbye, Mr. Regret

Timothy's gaze was dark and unreadable as he stared at her.

A heartbeat later, he grabbed her hand and led her firmly down the hallway.

They rode the elevator in silence, straight to the top floor.

Jessica let herself be pulled along, passive, until they entered the penthouse suite.

Once inside, Timothy pressed her gently down onto the sofa. He crouched in front of her, eyes intense. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

His voice was low and a little rough around the edges.

Jessica looked down at him—a man in a perfectly tailored suit, always so composed and charismatic, effortlessly charming. Once, she'd found that impossible to resist.

Now, she had no desire left to love him.

She raised her hand, voice flat. "Didn't feel like it."

An unmistakable shadow of annoyance flickered in Timothy's dark eyes.

"You never used to act like this."

pale fingers danced dismissively through the air. "Like you

you're really set on this

smooth baritone had a hard edge, almost

not making a scene," she answered quietly, her gaze empty, her

abruptly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He paced the luxurious carpet, then crouched again in front of her. He removed her mask and sunhat, setting

wrong between us," he said, jaw tight. "Seven

out a velvet box, flipped

was delayed. When I finally got your call for help, I—" Timothy stopped. He didn't say that he'd

wife-gracious, considerate. Surely, she wouldn't hold a petty grudge over something

you. That's on me.

voice

gave him a

Today, Sheila wore one; the rest, no doubt, were destined for the

offering Jessica one of those castoffs, hoping to smooth

over.

worth to him? Only what