Elodie turned and met Jarrod's somber gaze. His long fingers were pinching a folded report, and a knot tightened in her chest. Without thinking, she snatched it from his hand.

"You read it?" she demanded.

Jarrod's eyes lingered on her pale face. "Why are you so nervous?"

He explained, calm as ever, "I saw it fall out of your pocket when I walked in. Picked it up, but didn't look at it."

Elodie breathed a shallow sigh of relief, regaining her composure. "You're reading too much into it, Mr. Silverstein."

Jarrod studied her for a moment. "You've been calling me 'Mr. Silverstein' a lot lately, Elodie."

She tucked the report back into her purse. "Was there something you needed?"

She didn't bother explaining; Sylvie had brought this up just the other day, after all. And besides, they were getting divorced-calling him Mr. Silverstein was more appropriate now.

"Are you feeling alright?" Jarrod's cold gaze swept over her, an unusual hint of concern in his voice.

But Elodie knew better. His concern wasn't real. She'd just witnessed how anxious he'd been over Sylvie catching a simple cold. His polite inquiry was just that— politeness, nothing more.

It was Jarrod's way: always courteous, never truly invested. There was a time when she'd been foolish enough to be moved by that façade.

"It's nothing serious. I was just visiting my uncle," she answered coolly, out of courtesy.

sick," Jarrod said

him, waiting for him to

he discussed his mistress with

and she caught a chill." He took

Mr. Silverstein?" Elodie met his

think Sylvie got sick because of something she'd said

curled with faint irony. "Why were you at VistaLink

an explanation—he couldn't care less why

your own little world, Mr. Silverstein. I left The Silverstein Group, so naturally I have to find work elsewhere. I need to

her for

possibly

a small, humorless laugh, the amusement never reaching his

caught the implication instantly. To him, she'd never measure up to Sylvie. Leaving The Silverstein Group was,

fine, Mr. Silverstein. You don't need to worry

strangers. There

more.

He'd clearly recognized her cooking, yet chose to say nothing, silently

didn't

he'd never respected her,

sharp, but the coldness

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