My hand slipped. The mug hit the edge of the counter and shattered on the floor, and the whispering stopped like someone had cut a wire.
I crouched down and gathered the pieces one by one, placing each shard carefully into the trash can without saying a word. Neither woman came around the corner. Neither woman said my name.
I ended up working late. The books for the Mancini transition needed to be clean before I left, and I owed the operation that much, even if I owed Dominic nothing. It was past ten o'clock when I felt a weight settle across my shoulders.
"Olivia." Dominic's voice was low, close to my ear. He draped his coat over me. "Why didn't you respond to my messages?"
I didn't turn around. Instead, I reached for my phone and checked the screen. One message from him: What flavor of milkshake do you usually like?
Three years ago, during the first real heat of summer, I had asked him for a milkshake. Just that. Something cold and sweet on a day that felt endless. He'd looked at me the way he looked at associates who brought him problems instead of solutions. Pure disdain.