And they were goingwithher.
She zipped her bag, grabbed her suitcase, and glanced back at the bed.
They still hadn’t moved.
Unbelievable.
She rolled her eyes and laughed—actually laughed.
Then, she snapped one more photo for the company webpage, focusing on their foreheads.
Turning, she knew she had to get out of here before she did something else even more diabolical. When she opened the door, she let it slam behind her with theatrical flair. If that didn’t wake them up, they were dead.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked toward the elevator. Her emotions finally overwhelmed her.
Revenge was a dish best served cold, and she wasn’t finished ruining their day. Their week. But she also knew she would no longer be working for the company she loved. She’d be fired within a couple of hours.
What she would do, she had no idea. But this part of her life was over.
Moments later, from down the hall, she heard Michael’s scream.
“AISLING!”
She stepped into the elevator, pressed the button, and smiled as the doors closed. Wiping her eyes, she sighed.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she called sweetly. “Make it a great day.”
CHAPTER2
She didn’t go back to her apartment.
There was no point. No time to cry, scream, or crawl under a blanket and question every life decision she’d ever made. Not when Patrick freaking Wright was scheduled to arrive in less than an hour—and the publishing house she’d given her soul to was about to implode.
Instead, Aisling O’Byrne walked into the office like a woman on a mission. Not broken. Not beaten. But burning.
Her heels clicked with authority across the polished marble floor. Heads turned. Whispers swirled. Just how long had this secret affair been going on? She didn’t care.
If she was going out, she was going outlegendary.
First stop: her office.
In twenty-five minutes, she had everything packed into three boxes. Her desk was spotless, save for the copy of the resignation letter she tapped out with ruthless precision and left on Samantha’s desk like a grenade without the pin. She deleted every contact, every note, every last digital footprint of her bookshop network—the lifeblood of their sales team—from her work computer.
Let them beg for the names. Let them try to rebuild what she’d created from scratch with charm, spreadsheets, and red-eye flights. And when her clients learned she’d left, it would be hard on the next rep.
Then came the pièce de résistance.
She opened her phone, scrolled to the photo—thephoto—and attached it to an email. Subject line: “Team Loyalty Update.” Recipients: theentirecompany. From interns to the boardroom.
She hit send.
Boom. You could almost hear the gasps in the office as the email was opened.
Aisling adjusted her blouse in the mirror, swiped her lipstick back into place, and took a steadying breath. Her eyes were glassy, but her spine was steel.
This wasn’t the life she’d planned.
But it was stillhers.
