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Something that sounds a lot like a growl comes from Dominic, but I keep my eyes trained on my client, silently pleading with him to walk this back. Even though it isn’t a part of my job, I can find us another contractor because working with this man is not an option.
To my dismay, James nods. “Yes. Nic has a stellar reputation. His company does great work, and he’s promised to personally supervise the team who will be completing the project.”
Oh, great. That means I’ll be seeing him on the regular.
An indelicate sniff of acknowledgment escapes me. It’s all I can muster. James, who’s known me long enough to realize when I’m not happy with one of his decisions, gives me a tight nod and turns back to Dominic to say something. The content of the statement—or question, it could have been a question—is drowned out by the ringing in my ears. Heated blood rushes to all of my extremities, making my vision go blurry with anger.
How the fuck did this happen?
By the time the meeting is over, I’m fuming, and the sound of my heels slapping against the gold-veined marble floor echos through the empty hallway as I march out, leaving James and his new best friend to think of new and exciting ways to ruin my life for the next ten weeks.
Any other time, I would be ecstatic to hear we’ve replaced a contractor so quickly, over the moon to know they can send in a team immediately. I should be sailing out of James’ office feeling nothing but relieved that the opening date for the hotel is safe. Instead, I have a ball of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach that I know won’t leave until this project is done and I can go back to only seeing Dominic at my mother-in-law’s house for Sunday dinner.
Ridiculous, angry tears spill from my eyes as I fling myself into the driver seat of my car and tap out a message to Mallory Kent, my business partner and sister-in-law, to let her know how the meeting went.
Sloane: The meeting is done, and I’m heading home for the day. I can’t take any more bullshit right now.
Mallory: K.
Mallory: What exactly went down? Don’t tell me the new contractor pulled out too?!
Mallory: James needs to get his shit together. He keeps running off contractors and getting pissed with us when the deadlines aren’t met.
Sloane: No. The new contractor is good to go. His team will pick up where Issac’s left off. They’re going to start next week.
Mallory: Okay? So what’s the problem?
I stare at my phone, debating on telling Mal why I’m so upset and ultimately deciding not to because I know she’ll just call me a brat and tell me to get over it. I throw my phone into the passenger seat and reverse out of my parking spot, ignoring the ‘ding’ that tells me I received another message.
Not returning her text is childish, especially since she is going to find out anyway, but her being pulled into the loop eventually doesn’t mean I have to come to grips with reality just yet. I make a left out of the parking lot and head home. The headache I’m sure to be dealing with for the foreseeable future is already pounding behind my eyes. I rub at my temple with one hand.
“I’m going to murder James Robinson”
* * *
I pull into my driveway about twenty minutes later and roll my eyes when I see Mal’s car parked in my usual spot. The girl has no chill whatsoever. I’m not surprised she beat me here. The office for Studio Six, our interior design company, is only about ten minutes away from the suburban neighborhood my two-story Craftsman is nestled in. She probably left work as soon as I stopped answering her messages, intent on getting her answer one way or another.
When I walk through the door, balancing my purse and the bottle of wine I stopped at Whole Foods to pick up, I find Mal stretched across my sectional talking on the phone. Her long, black knotless braids are draped over the arm of the couch like a throw blanket and the sandals she paired with the coral wrap dress she wore to work today are lying haphazardly on the floor.
If it were anyone else, I would be beyond annoyed, but with Mal, this is par for the course. As soon as it became clear me and Eric, her twin brother, were going to be a real thing, Mal started giving me what she called ‘the family treatment.’ She made it sound special, but I quickly realized it just meant she could come over to my house and make herself at home whenever and however she liked.
And even though it’s been four years since Eric died, she still acts the same. I’ll never tell her, but I appreciate getting the family treatment. Since I grew up an only child, Mallory’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
One glance at her pinched features tells me whoever is on the other end of the line is grating on her last nerve. I move past her and into the kitchen, attempting to give her as much privacy as the open concept living area will provide.
“Listen, I’ve got to go.” Mal’s voice is cold, sharp even. She isn’t happy to hear from this person. “Don’t call me again.”
There’s no hiding my shock as I watch her toss her phone on the couch and move into the kitchen to take a seat at the island. I push the glass of wine I poured her across the island and arch a brow. “Who was that and what did they do to you?”
“No one you need to worry about.”
She takes a long sip of her wine and throws me a fake smile. It doesn’t touch her eyes and neither of the dimples in her cheeks pop out of her smooth mahogany skin. Something is clearly wrong, but I decide not to push because I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready to.
I shrug. “Fine. Did you at least order food when you decided to break into my house?”
“It’s not breaking in if you have a key, Sloane.” She rolls her eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “But yes, I got us some sushi, teriyaki chicken, and fried rice from Roku. It should be here soon.”
A moan of appreciation escapes my lips at the mention of my favorite restaurant. “That sounds amazing. It’s about time something good happened to me today.”
