Ashley was halfway through a vendor call when her assistant cracked the door. "Mrs. Blackwood? Mrs. Camilla Blackwood is here to see you."
Ashley's pen paused. Of course.
"Send her in," she said, voice even. She ended the call politely, slid the contract aside, and stood.
Camilla entered perfect coat, pearls quiet at her throat, perfume that smelled expensive and distant. She didn't offer a hug. She offered a cool smile.
"Ashley," she said.
"Mrs. Blackwood," Ashley replied. "Please—have a seat."
Camilla took the chair opposite the desk and placed her gloves on the edge as if to claim the real estate. Her gaze moved over the room, flowers in a glass, the framed photo of Brooke and Ashley, a neat stack of proofs, cataloging, judging, measuring.
"I won't keep you long," Camilla said. "I wanted a… private word."
"Go ahead," Ashley said, folding her hands.
Camilla's smile sharpened. "Julian told me you've accepted his proposal."
"I did."
"And you mean to marry him quickly."
