“I do love that fabric,” he says, swiveling his chair back and forth. “And it would work well...” He sits up. “Great work,Elena.”
Across from me, Alice lifts a brow, her gaze hard. Because I’m still sitting here like a boob. Only, what am I supposed tosay? This is real life. Shouting, “You lying hag!” will only result in me looking like a bitter nut.
My back teeth meet as I turn my chair and stare at Elena. She doesn’t flinch and gives me a big smile. Mine grows as well,so hard my cheeks hurt. “You know, it occurs to me that the master is also cerulean blue. Surely Mrs. Peyton will object tothe color in her bedroom too.”
“Chances are,” Felix agrees from the head of the table.
I keep my stare on Little Miss Steal It. “What do you suggest for that, Elena? Or have I forgotten one of the many conversationswe had this morning?”
She flushes. “Well... I... We could...” She nibbles on her bottom lip.
“That’s all right,” Felix says. “I’m sure you can work it out with Fiona. Bring me a color scheme after lunch.” And as ifhe hadn’t just metaphorically punched me in the gut, he stands. “Now I’m going to lie down. Unless the office is on fire,I do not want to be disturbed.”
At my desk, I allow myself a moment to slump over, press my forehead against the cold glass surface. Coming back to work earlywas a bust. But I’ve got time. Or I could just walk out. I picture it, how good it would feel. And then... What? What wouldI do?
Thankfully, my cell ringing distracts me. My voice is muffled when I answer because I don’t pick up my head. “Hello?”
“Fi, darling girl, how are you?”
My mother. Her cultured, crisp English voice is both soothing and annoying.
Soothing because it’s Mom, the woman who held me when I cried, tucked me into bed every night until I was fourteen. Annoyingbecause she is never frazzled. She is perfect. Oh, I know she has her failings, but to me, she’ll always be stunning and cool,not a blond hair ever out of place.
“Hey, Mum. I’m fine.”
“You sound like you’re facedown in bed.”
Close enough. I sit up and smooth my hair back from my face. “Bad connection. I’m at work.”
“Lovely. I’ve been meaning to tell you how proud I am of you for landing that position. I couldn’t be happier, Fiona.”
Right. A ragged breath gets caught in my chest. “Thanks.”
“And you know, if you keep at it, soon you’ll have your own design firm.”
She’s being encouraging. But I know her enough to hear the slightly desperate tone under it all:Please, Fiona, keep at it. Don’t quit this time.
I heard the same tone every time I changed my major. Every time I asked to learn a new instrument or join a dance class. Ican’t even blame her, because I quit all of those classes and camps, usually just a few days into them.
Grimacing, I turn my chair away from the open office space and face the window.
My mom keeps chattering. “And how were Ivy and Gray? And my little poppet?”
“All fine and well. Leo is getting bigger.” And louder.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Mom had been there for the birth and instantly became a doting grand-mum—as she insists on beingcalled. “I tell you, he has my eyes.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Mom, his eyes are blue.” Hers are green like mine.
“Most newborn babies’ eyes are blue. His will turn. And they look like mine.”
Leo isn’t exactly a newborn anymore. And anyone can see that Leo has Gray’s eyes. Down to the exact shade of blue. But I don’targue.
“How’s the business?” I ask instead. My mom owns a chain of bakeries. Ivy was supposed to go into partnership with her butchose to be an agent like our dad instead.
I don’t know who was more shocked by that—Mom, Dad or me. Ivy hated how Dad’s business pulled him away from our family almostas much as I did. Yet, here we are, Ivy as an agent and, hell, me falling for a football player.
As my mom talks about her shops, the image of Dex’s grin—so rare but so gorgeous, framed by his lush, dark beard—pops intomy mind. My palms tingle with the need to run over it, to smooth over the massive swell of his hard, hot chest.
