Tommy stood by the gate door, laptop bag hanging off his shoulder like a dead weight, eyes wide with the kind of betrayal only best friends can inflict—personal, brutal, like being stabbed with a shard of your own childhood.
Charlotte paced near the window, Louboutins clicking against hardwood like a goddamn executioner's countdown. They'd both been counting on me—Tommy for emotional hand-holding at his life-changing crucible, Charlotte for the united front she needed to polish Quantum Tech's shattered reputation.
And here I was, pulling on my jacket, about to bail on both of them.
"What do you mean you're not coming to the auction!" Tommy's voice cracked open like cheap plastic—raw, bleeding shock. "Peter, I've been counting on you! You're my best friend! My brother! My—"
