“No.”
His gaze narrowed.
“You climbed something.”
He stopped cold.
“There is a difference.”
His face tightened.
“I spent fifteen years here.”
“And I respected you for it.”
“Respected?”
“Yes. Past tense.”
He averted his eyes.
For the first time, I noticed fear under his anger.
Not over losing me.
He feared losing his flattering reflection in my eyes.
I’d known him longer than anyone here.
Before custom suits.
Before magazine interviews.
Before chauffeurs and executive offices.
I’d known Camden eating vending-machine crackers during his earliest restructuring.
I’d known the man who worked all night beside me on a community proposal because he believed business should improve communities.
Eventually ambition stopped being his tool.
It began controlling him.
“I was going to tell you about Sloane,” he said.
I nearly laughed.
“When?”
“After the vote.”
Naturally.
Once he had the promotion.
Once he’d fired me.
After securing everything except the wife he promised to love.
