“I was angry,” he said, turning around. “My mother showed me those photos. She said you were selling company secrets to our rivals.”

“And you believed her,” I said. “You didn’t even ask me. You had your security guards throw my things into the street.”

“I was a fool,” he whispered, his eyes dark with regret.

“You were rash,” I corrected him. “You always have been. You act first and think about the damage later.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I would have cared for them,” he said. “I would have been there.”

“You weren’t,” I said. “And they don’t know who you are.”

“Where were you when they were born?” Blake asked suddenly, his voice thick with emotion.

“In a crowded municipal hospital in Cook County,” I said. “With only Clara holding my hand.”

“And I was in Paris,” Blake said, his voice tight with self-loathing.

“You were signing a merger,” I replied. “I saw it on the news.”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cold glass of the window.

The heavy wooden door clicked open, breaking the tension.