Next morning, I got up before sunrise, feeling like a guilt-ridden teenager after sneaking out.
There was no way Ashton hadn't noticed my entire performance last night, and I was not about to sit across from him at breakfast pretending I was a normal, functional human being.
So yeah, I tried to sneak out.
Tiptoed downstairs, shoes in hand, bag swinging at my side.
But guess what?
He was already there.
Sitting on the sofa like the king of the business world.
Watching the news.
Calm.
Shirt sleeves rolled up like a casual threat.
I nearly threw my handbag at his face.
"You're up early," I accused.
He glanced over, expressionless. "Where are you going this early?"
Busted.
I bit my lip, attempting that fake innocence that only works on men who want to
