Across the table, Damien caught it—the flicker in Ashcroft’s eyes, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the faint, involuntary clench of his fists against his knees. He knew him too well to miss it; beneath that cool exterior, Ashcroft was seething.
Damien cleared his throat lightly, slicing through the charged silence.
“Why are you so worked up, Nick?” he asked, his tone smooth but laced with quiet amusement. “I thought you wanted to avoid her as much as possible. Shouldn’t you be thrilled she’ll be gone for a week?”
He paused, watching the faint twitch in Ashcroft’s jaw before adding, almost lazily,
“Maybe even longer?”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips,
“No one to butt heads with, right?”
The jab caught Ashcroft off guard. For a split second, something flickered across his face—guilt, u
