She allowed nothing but business in her voice when she called Max and then Zach Cage, arranging for HFH to contact Lukas Kupfer, explain the situation and send protection. And she held her cool as she set up Tom, Dick and Harry in her new hotel room and changed out of the dress, replacing it with a pair of jeans and a pale pink sweatshirt, which had been Stephen’s idea of Eleanor-goes-casual. But inwardly she was a mess, as the day’s event collapsed onto her in a big, tumultuous blob of unhappiness that included Odin’s flowers, her claustrophobia attack and William’s kiss, and then culminated in the knowledge that he’d been kissing Eleanor. He was attracted to the disguise, not her. Rage swirled inside her, the cumulative fury of a lifetime worth of being second best, of being a workout buddy rather than a woman, a quick fling rather than a heartbreaker. But instead of showing the hurt, she held herself aloof, hiding behind the shell she’d perfected long ago, when they’d buried her brother and she’d stood at the gravesite a half dozen paces from her parents, who hadn’t needed or wanted to include her in their grief.
