Reagan very carefully ran her tongue over her teeth, drew an even breath and forced her body to respond. She could turn and walk out with whatever dignity she had left, nevermind the bedmate's gloating smile and deliberate parting words. She opened her mouth to say something along the lines of "Don't bother," but knew she wouldn't have been able to manage without sounding petty and wounded. And though she had never necessarily had qualms with Ciara Byrne before now, she had the distinct impression that doing so would give her no small amount of satisfaction now.
The reasons implied in Ciara's words and attire likely had something to do with that, she figured bitterly.
She didn't stay to watch the younger woman's retreat up the stairs. Instead, she forced her head into a small, cursory bow, replied with a curt, "Not at all, Miss Byrne," and pivoted her body to exit the establishment, feeling more a fool than she had in years. Her assistant was in for a terrible surprise when she returned earlier than expected, and in so foul a temperament. There would be no escaping her wrath today.