Ava
I made my way back to the Packhouse, my mind still buzzing over my interaction with Leonard. His words kept replaying in my head on a loop—his insistence that Chris harbored deeper feelings for me, despite my protests to the contrary. His observations about the telltale way a man looked at a woman he desired.
He had been right, of course. But I wasn’t ready to admit that; not to myself, and not to anyone.
I shook my head, as if to physically dislodge the thoughts. Mercifully, it seemed the inner hallways of the Packhouse were deserted as I slipped back inside, affording me a moment of solitude to collect myself.
Or so I thought.
As I neared Chris’s office, the low rumble of voices drifted out from the slightly ajar door—Chris’s roguish voice mingling with the higher
