Callan didn’t answer her immediately.
The silence stretched between them beneath the storm, filled only by rain striking stone and the distant growl of thunder rolling through the valley below. Alex stood at the railing with cold air curling around her bare arms, suddenly far too aware of the fact that she had said the quiet part aloud.
They were in trouble, and it wasn’t because of the merger or the press. Somewhere between staged photographs and whispered conversations in dark kitchens, neither of them seemed entirely capable of remembering where the performance ended anymore.
Callan’s gaze remained fixed on her for a long moment before he looked back out toward the river. “I think Margaret knew before we did,” he said quietly. The honesty in the answer hit harder than she expected.
