“I bet you are,” I reply dryly. “I thought you’d like to know that Richard James called me.”

“And . . . ?”

“And . . . we’ve been cleared of any and all allegations made in the complaint. The groundbreaking is going ahead next week as planned, and everything is full steam ahead.”

“Oh, thank fuck for that. That was one headache we did not need,” he says, letting out a huge breath down the phone.

“I can’t argue with that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, and Cal?”

“Yes . . . ?” I reply slowly, anticipating an arrogant retort from my best friend. Years of experience have given me the heads up on what is potentially coming my way.

“You seeing the lovely Lucia tonight?”

“Am I still breathing?”

“Indeed. When do you meet the family?” he asks, his voice full of curiosity.

“Next week,” I reply unwittingly. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, waiting for Grant to pounce on my admission.

“Shit, Cal. You’ve had your share of women, but not once have you met the family. This isn’t just a first; this is un-fucking-precedented. I almost wish I was coming along for the ride.”

“If you’re not otherwise engaged with your adult entertainment, you and your arm candy will be joining us at the celebration dinner after the ceremony, after our customary appearance at the official reception, of course.”

“Of course. The mayor will look down on us skipping his prime vote-gathering opportunity with the city’s sacred son.”

“Richardson, quit the bullshit,” I warn half-heartedly.

“But it’s so much fun, Alexander,”

“So other than watching porn, got any plans tonight?” I ask, as I contemplate turning my car around and heading to Grant’s inner-city condo. The perfect divorcé bachelor pad.

“Not right now. My lady friend is turning up in about an hour, and she can entertain me as much as she likes.”

“On that note . . .” I say.

“You love it. Goodbye, Cal. I expect a full report on her many talents tomorrow.”

“What are we, girlfriends now?” I ask him jokingly.

He lets out a loud laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Say hello to the miracle worker for me.”

I can’t help smiling. “Will do. Bye, Richardson.”

“Have a good night, Alexander,” he replies in a singsong voice.

Heading toward my house in the hills, the sanctuary that provides me with calm in a swirling storm, I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, my professional life is looking up again.

Standing alongside Grant and the chairman of the board on the front of the stage, we shake hands with perfect fake smiles plastered on our faces while a swath of camera flashes attempt to blind us. It’s all in the name of getting that perfect shot, the one that will hopefully appear on the cover of the Tribune tomorrow.

The crowd is an eclectic mix of invited professionals and a small scattering of press who clamber over each other, calling out my name as they try a perfect shot. Undoubtedly that would be worth more to them than the perfected poses we’re providing for them instead.

Somehow this time I’m not itching in my skin from the attention. I know the reason why, and she’s sitting to the far right of the front row, in my peripheral vision. We arrived together; we will leave together. One could almost call this our official ‘coming out’ as a couple.

A monogamous couple.

I’m definitely looking forward to showing Lucia off. I’m proud to have her by my side, and I want to be photographed with her. I want Carmen Dallas to be out-scooped for once. But when I scan the crowd, my eyes lock with the woman in question, who then makes a point of looking at Lucia then back at me with a perfectly poised raised brow.

Richard, Grant and I take our seats on the podium, and the press position themselves toward the front of the stage to ask the usual mix of expected and the typically unsurprising questions. A pin-prickling sensation slowly creeps up my spine. There may be a group of us on stage, but despite having Grant sitting proudly alongside me, as the chairman directs the first reporter to ask their question, the bravado I normally feel in these situations slips.

That’s when I see Carmen stand up. “Mr. Alexander . . .”

“I thought we’d be beyond formalities by now, Ms. Dallas, given your thorough reporting of my personal life thus far.” There are a few sniggers in the crowd and the normally dignified reporter looks slightly off kilter for a brief moment before quickly regaining her composure. “Mr. Alexander, can you comment on the recent allegations made in regards to your firm’s design for this building? It’s my understanding that there were suggestions of plagiarism?” And with those two sentences, the wind is quickly and efficiently blown out of my sails.

My mind is incapable of coming up with anything resembling a professional response. Grant leans forward and answers her question. “A good journalist looking for a scoop should also investigate all the facts. If you had done your homework, Ms. Dallas, you’d know that an independent investigation was carried out and Alexander Richardson have been unequivocally cleared of any impropriety.”

My chest tightens and the muscles lining my back tense at the ramifications of not only Carmen’s question, but also what my hesitation in answering her might also say. That alone may have done more damage than if we’d been open and honest from the start about the anonymous complaint against us. I glance over at Lucia. The look of utter distaste and veiled fury she’s struggling to hide astounds me. Staring at the reporter, her jaw is as tight as her fists clench in her lap. She’s angry for me, annoyed for me. She’s feeling everything I would acknowledge physically if I weren’t on display, having knowingly and willingly been rolled out as the main draw card for this event.

“Despite being cleared, don’t you think this brings into question your integrity and your ability to design an important landmark such as this? Perhaps your extracurricular activities have clouded your judgment and left you distracted?” The high inflection of her voice as she hints at my relationship causes my unaffected decorum to snap.

I flip back into business mode, my back going ramrod straight as I prepare for battle. If Ms. Dallas wants to showboat in the public eye, she’s about to get one hell of a performance.

“Ms. Dallas, you may be the press and a media representative, but what that doesn’t do is give you the right to slander my name and that of our company. We have designed many pivotal and original buildings both in this city and around the country, and not once have we sacrificed our integrity or design principles to secure a contract.”

“But—”

“I wasn’t finished, Ms. Dallas. We were awarded this project after a vigorous and extremely stringent tender process, during which the museum board left no stone unturned to ensure that the best design and concept won. We are very proud of the fact that we were selected for this project and we will oversee it until the last nail is hammered and the last tile is put in place. If you wish to talk specifics about the project or about the investigation that resulted from unfounded and anonymous claims made against us, you’re welcome to contact either the board’s press secretary or Alexander Richardson’s assistant to arrange an interview. Now, if there aren’t any further questions, I’m guessing we should start celebrating the groundbreaking and the building of San Francisco’s new waterfront maritime museum.” I end with a smile, my bravado-fuelled mask firmly in its place. I stand up and feel Grant slap my back a few times in support and congratulations.

“Wondered when the cut-throat Callum would show up. I can hold my own, but even I would struggle in a verbal sparring match with that succubus. Fucking glad you came to the party,” he mutters under his breath as we smile for the cameras one more time. Thankfully, the board secretary steps forward and directs the attendees toward the marquee tent set up on site for a reception being hosted by the mayor.