Ever since Hawthorne bluntly told Yvette to mind her own business, Gwyneth's days at the office had become noticeably easier.

Her relationship with Hawthorne was warming, too—a slow, steady thaw.

"I'm taking you to France tomorrow," he announced one night.

Gwyneth's heart stuttered. She remembered her promise to Connor and, for the first time, felt a pang of guilt.

"I have something tomorrow,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Someone commissioned a painting. I promised I'd finish it for them."

Hawthorne's brows knitted. "A commission? You're taking freelance work besides your concept art here?"

Gwyneth had no choice but to double down. "Yeah, I took it before I joined your company. It's for a client-he lost his wife and wants a portrait to remember her by. It's almost done; the deadline's right around the corner. I don't want to hold

him up."

"I don't remember you mentioning this before," Hawthorne said, skeptical.

done a commission like that, and the deadline was indeed coming up—just not for another

she replied, hoping her voice sounded casual. Hawthorne

"No-!"

France, she'd

and forced a calm smile.

mean you don't have to put off your work for me. Besides, you're not staying

a cool glance. "No, I'll be back the next day. I was supposed to stay a few days, but with the helicopter, it's

That was enough for what

me?"

her into his arms. Her heart raced

her twice that night-but Gwyneth was

to her forehead, lingering for a moment before

helicopter. He spoke only briefly before hanging

was set for the afternoon, perfectly timed to

was different from

known,

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