Page 86 of Diego

“I’m simply offering an outside assessment.”

“I slept with my client.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“One of the owners of the company.”

“That too.”

“At a property I was showing.”

“We seem to be treading over the same ground.”

“You don't seem to be understanding it, though. We had sex in the seller’s bed.”

“I remember. Very fondly.”

I make an aggravated sound and run my fingers through my hair. “Why does none of this bother you?”

He threads his belt through the buckle, watching me with more seriousness now. “Because two adults wanted each other and made a decision.”

“You make it sound very simple.”

“It was fairly simple.”

“Of course it was. Your job wasn’t on the line yesterday.”

That finally changes his expression.

The amusement does not disappear entirely, because apparently nothing short of a natural disaster could accomplish that, but his attention sharpens.

I continue before he can answer. “Randall told me if I screwed up your showings, I was fired. I spent the entire night before yesterday putting those properties together because I had one chance to prove I could handle a client like you. Then I spent the actual night handling you much more literally than anyone at Meridian intended.”

His lips twitch.

I point my finger at him. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was appreciating the phrasing.”

“This is exactly what I mean.” I drop onto the stool because arguing with him feels beyond my current abilities. “You can laugh because none of this changes anything for you. You get dressed, call someone to change the sheets, buy the penthouse, and step back into your life as if nothing happened. I have to walk into Meridian knowing I slept with one of the people who owns the company.”

“No one there needs to know.”

“I’ll know.”

His head tilts slightly.

“It matters,” I insist, even though he didn't say anything. “Integrity isn’t something I get to keep because nobody caught me. Dignity doesn’t magically survive because Randall never finds out. I still did it.”

“You,” he says, “are taking this entirely too hard. It's not a crime. It's not even against the rules. There's no need to turn yourself in to the authorities for having an outstanding evening.”

A laugh tries to escape me.

I stop it. Barely.