Naomi’s POV
I spent half the afternoon hovering by my email, the GWEF invitation taunting me from its pinned spot. Every time I opened it, my finger hovered over RSVP—then pulled back.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go to Barcelona, I really do. I wanted the world to see Sanborn’s success and the work Raymond’s initiative was accomplishing. I wanted to stand beside him in that keynote arena. But the thought twisted my chest.
But why did he no mention it to me, not even once.
After lunch, I drifted into his study—my excuse was to return a folder, but really I was searching for a clue.
He wasn’t there, The afternoon sunlight painted his desk in gold. His laptop lay closed. His notebook—thick with sketches and outlines—was barely cracked open.
On the desktop, though, was a sticky note:
