Fiona

It is a universal truth that women like to talk their problems out. Unfortunately, all the talk in the world won’t make a problem go away. Mine is waiting for me like a looming black cloud as soon as I get into work and see that Elena has moved to her own office at the end of the hall.

She waves, grinning broadly, as I walk past. I briefly wonder how a finger-wave back would go over but don’t bother. Instead she gets a chin nod as if I’m channeling a bad biker cliché. It feels stupid and ineffectual, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time I get to my desk and find that Felix’s to-do list includes ordering fabrics that I picked out but are now considered Elena’s design contribution.

She comes to my desk just as I’m turning on my computer. “I thought you’d want to hear it from me. Felix just called me into his office this morning. He gave me the associate designer job.” She squeezes my hand. “I hope we can still be friends. I’ve really enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other.”

God, she says it so sincerely. And what can I do? I’m pretty sure punching her in the face won’t help the situation. Though it might feel really fucking good.

I glare down at my hand, my fingers slowly curling into a fist. But for some odd reason, I start to think of Ethan’s hand wrapping around mine, holding me down as he slides into me.

“You feel so good, Cherry.” Brilliant eyes of green-gold and amber look at me with glazed wonder. “Nothing better on Earth than this.”

“Fiona? You okay?”

I suck in a breath and glance up at Elena, who hovers. “Yep. All good.” Not entirely true. But I’m calmer. Able to speak, anyway. “Anything else?”

She frowns a little. “Ah…no.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting some coffee then.”

I leave her standing there. For now I’m calm. But every step I take hammers it in: I hate this. I hate this.

It occurs to me that I have to be a little more proactive. Take the bull by the horns. I am woman, hear me roar and all that.

I wait until the end of the day to make my move. Yes, I’m that brave.

“Felix? You have a moment?” I clutch my clammy hands behind the folds of my skirt.

Felix looks up from his laptop. A tiny white espresso cup sits beside it, which means he’s probably reading up on celebrity gossip. “Sure, sweetie.”

Sweetie? I want to gag. And now that I’ve worked up the nerve to approach him, I actually have to talk. Part of me really wants to laugh. I have absolutely no trouble talking to people. I don’t think I could go a day without saying something to someone, even if it’s just to tell a person they have on cute shoes.

But now a golf-ball-sized lump of panic is lodged in my throat, and it’s all I can do just to get my ass in the chair opposite Felix.

“Want an espresso?” He gives me an overly friendly smile, the one he uses on clients he fears might be difficult. So I know he isn’t exactly unaware of why I’m here.

“No. I’m good.” I focus on his eyes. Always look them in the eye. Reminds you that you're talking to another human. Nothing more. “You…ah…made Elena associate designer?”

Everything inside of me wants to scream, maybe throw Felix’s coffee onto his pristine white leather Corbusier lounge chair.

With an expansive sigh, he sits back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes, I did, hon.”

“I thought you weren’t going to make that decision until next month.”

“Fiona, I understand that you’re disappointed.” His tone is so patronizing, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from twitching. “But you and I both know it was coming to this.” He takes a dainty sip of his macchiato. “I simply sped up the process.”

“Is it…” I suck back a sobbing breath. “Is it because I went on vacation?”

His cup clinks on the glass desktop. “God, no.” He regards me for a moment, his dark eyes almost sad. “Elena simply has an edge that you do not. Namely, contacts.”

This time a sob does escape me, only it sounds kind of a like a laugh. “You promoted her because of her mother?”

“No, because of her mother’s friends. She has lots and lots of friends with lots and lots of cash.” He smiles slyly. “Her designs aren’t bad either. Fresh and lovely without being too daring. Just what the bored, rich Manhattanite wants.”

I swear to God, my entire body wants to dry heave. Somehow I manage not to. “Her designs are—”

“Copies of yours?” he supplies. “Yes, I know.”

I think I gape. I don’t know anymore because I’ve gone numb. “You know?”

Felix shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “You’d have to be blind not to notice, honey. Yours are a bit more risky, however. You push yourself where she plays it safe.”

Okay, now I know I’m gaping. “I can’t believe this. Mine are more daring, and you’re rewarding her?”

“Honey, safe sells more. And you’ve really got to applaud her ingenuity.” He sighs again, resting his elbows on the desk. “First client I scored was done using José, my lover’s, designs. I lost a good lay but gained a business.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s business. Calculated risks, use what you know will work.” He gives me a reproachful look. “You should understand this.”

“Don’t remember taking that course in college,” I snap.

“I’m talking about your dad, sweetie. Sports agents aren’t exactly known for being above board. Frankly, I assumed you’d be more hardened. More cutthroat.”

“My dad,” I grind out, “never stabbed his colleagues in the back.”

Felix gives me a disbelieving look. I ignore it and stand. I want to quit, to tell him he can go fuck himself with one of his precious Ferragamo slippers. I want that so badly I can taste it. But just the mention of my dad has me holding my tongue. He thinks I quit at everything. Flighty Fi, always running at the first sign of trouble.

And maybe Felix will fire me now. But I’m not going to stomp off in a dramatic rage first. Straightening my skirt, I manage to collect my temper.

“I’ll be in late tomorrow. I’m picking up those fabric samples on my way,” I tell him.

“All right.” He turns his attention back to his online gossip mag. “Take your time. Oh, that lovely little sandwich shop is next door to them. See if anyone wants sandwiches. Not me. I’m skipping lunch this week.”

The faint hum of the city seeps in through the windows. Somewhere down the hall, a telephone rings. It’s nothing compared to the ringing in my ears.

Sandwiches? I’m expected to go to Elena and ask if she wants a fucking sandwich for lunch tomorrow?

“Yeah,” I croak. “Sure.”

Except I’m not asking anyone a damn thing. My hands shake by the time I’ve pulled my purse from my desk drawer and grabbed my coat off the hook.

It’s a struggle not to cry. With every step I take, the spike of my heel connects with the raw-wood floorboard and thuds in my heart. My throat is closing, a lump rising.

Get it together, Mackenzie. Deep breaths.

I want to scream so badly my stomach clenches. I swear to all that’s holy, if I see Elena’s fuckity-fuck face I will fucking lose my shit.

Keeping my head down so I don’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone, I move toward the lobby.

The elevator dings before I’m close enough. I lift my head, ready to run for it, because I need out. But my steps stutter to a halt, shock buzzing along my skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Dex stands ten feet away, his big hands stuffed into his jeans’ pockets, his broad shoulders covered by a dark blue Henley. That steady, powerful gaze of his meets mine.

My lip wobbles, emotion pushing up past the lump in my throat. He must see my distress—the smile that’d been blooming drops.

My chest heaves as I struggle to keep my breathing normal. If I can just get to Dex, everything will be okay.

I walk straight to him, not stopping until I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face against his solid chest. The scent of cloves and oranges is stronger now that I haven’t been near him in a while. He’s warm, strong, safe. His arms surround me, hold me secure. I sag into his embrace.