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.

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

big deal," she replied, hoping her voice sounded casual. Hawthorne

"No-!"

in Gwyneth's chest. If Hawthorne didn't go to France, she'd never find time to

calm smile.

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

gave her a cool glance. "No, I'll be back the next day. I was supposed to stay a few

night. That was enough for what

me?"

pulled her into his arms. Her heart raced as

flight ahead, Hawthorne only made love to her twice that

he left, she was still asleep. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment before slipping out into

the helicopter. He spoke only briefly before hanging up, promising to

was set for the afternoon,

was different from

known,

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