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Dramatic exits have never been my thing. My mother, who’s quite literally the queen of storming off, has told me repeatedly that jumping up to leave a room when things aren’t going your way is the most undignified thing a woman can do.
Temper tantrums aren’t attractive, Sloane Elise.
Unless, of course, she’s the person throwing one, but in that case, it’s always justified since Lauren Carson can do no wrong. Typically, I don’t make a habit of heeding my mother’s advice. In fact, a large part of my life—starting with my first party as a college freshman—has been dedicated to throwing every word she’s ever said to me about how to conduct myself in public out the window. I’ve gotten quite good at overriding her voice in my head, but today….today I suck at it.
And it’s all his fault.
Dominic Alexander.
I turn my head to openly glare at him, not caring for one second that James Robinson, my best client, is sitting across the desk from us looking confused about my clear hostility towards the man he’s trying to introduce me to. Please, Sloane. His eyes plead with me from across the desk. Don’t screw this up for us. He’s saving our asses.
Your ass, James. I narrow my eyes at him. He’s saving your ass.
Because this is all James’ fault. He’s the one who ran off Issac Hayes, the contractor we’d only been working with for two months. Issac was the third guy to sign on to handle the renovation of La Grande Nuit —the boutique luxury hotel in downtown New Haven that James hired me to design — and the third one to quit on us. We’ve been working on this project for over a year, chipping away at the old building, updating the exterior to look more elegant, transforming the interior by mixing in modern elements with the handful of original aspects I pressed James to keep.
All while going through contractors like cheap underwear.
I knew things with this project would be difficult when James insisted on personally overseeing every aspect of it. Having a client involved in all the decision-making always grates on my nerves and rubs the contractors the wrong way. And it doesn’t help when that client is a man like James, who delights in giving outrageous deadlines and is as mercurial as they come. One minute he’s in love with the antique French doors I spent weeks hunting down, and the next he’s shouting about them feeling too old.
It’s a lot to take.
Which is why I wasn’t surprised to get the call from Issac this morning saying he was quitting even though his team was scheduled to start the final phase of the project—the demolition and subsequent renovation of the seventh and eighth floors where all of the high-end suites are— on Monday.
I was, however, surprised to get a follow-up call from James telling me to come by his office after lunch to meet the new contractor he’d already hired to complete the last leg of the project. And that surprise turned into shock when I walked into his office and found him sitting here with Satan himself, laughing and chatting like old friends.
Shock.
That must be why my brain went into autopilot as soon as I saw Dominic. It’s the only thing that can explain why I walked in and sat down in the chair beside him. Why I didn’t say anything about both of his long legs being spread out wide and making it impossible for my knees not to brush against his hard thighs as I settled in my seat and skimmed over every one of his infuriating features. The dark eyes and neatly trimmed beard. The square jaw and full lips. The deep bronze skin that’s sometimes clearer than mine.
Annoying. Annoying. ANNOYING.
“Sloane, this is Nic Alexander. Nic, this is….”
“I know who she is.”
The bastard doesn’t even try to hide the boredom in his tone as he waves one of his big hands in my direction, a dismissive gesture if I’ve ever seen one, and throws James a friendly smile. But he makes no move to explain how we know each other, leaving me with the awkward task of explaining our…connection.
“Dominic was Eric’s best friend and business partner,” I explain to James, shifting in my seat to try and find a position that keeps my knees from coming into contact with his muscular legs again. The jolt of electricity that zipped down my spine when I touched him the first time unnerved me, and I need all of my faculties to fully understand what’s happening here. Especially if it means talking, no matter how briefly, about my late husband.
A muscle in Dominic’s jaw ticks. A tell-tale sign of his annoyance that’s always overly active when I’m around, especially when I call him by his full name. James’ inquisitive eyes bounce between us. No doubt wondering about the animosity bristling between the two of us. I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to parse out the issue between a dead man’s wife and his best friend.
Good luck working that one out. I think to myself. Your guess is just as good as mine.
I smile brightly at James and hope it doesn’t look as brittle as it feels. “What’s Dominic doing here? Did he help you find the new contractor?” The urge to cringe at my ridiculous question is strong, but I fight it back. I’m being deliberately obtuse, and as much as I hate it, nothing in me is going to accept the reality of working with Asshole Alexander before it’s necessary. Dominic turns to me, a hard look of incredulity heating the side of my face.
“You could say that.”
James squints at me, confused by the question. “Nic is the new contractor. We’ve just taken care of the paperwork, and he says he can start next week.”
“My team will be picking up right where your contractor left off.”
The words are silky and dark, so smooth I almost miss the note of accusation. The one that suggests Issac pulling out of the project at the last minute is somehow on me. Our gazes collide as I turn to face him. My outrage at his statement is apparent in the frustrated huff of air that passes through my lips before I can clamp them shut. I can’t decide what’s worse: him taking such a cheap shot at me or the fact he’s doing it in front of a client.
He holds my stare, waiting patiently for my response. His dark eyes glitter with amusement and some other emotion I can never name even though it’s present whenever we argue, which is every time we’re in a room together. I square my shoulders, ignoring the triumphant curve of his lips that tells me how much he’s enjoying getting a rise out of me.
“You’ve been misinformed, Dominic.” I bite out. “Issac is an independent contractor. He has no affiliation with Studio Six outside of the work we’ve done on La Grande Nuit. Any of his failings in terms of his contract are his and his alone.” I smooth my skirt and turn back to James who is watching our exchange with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure this is the direction you want to go in?”
