She shook her head, turning back to her desk. “Lauren, you know I love you. But you can be so stubborn. So blind to the consequences of your actions.”
For the first time maybe ever, it felt as if she was disappointed in me. And that was worse than any threat Victoria Ashworth could make.
The rest of the day only went downhill from there. So, when Luther King’s name flashed across my phone a few hours later, I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I was more surprised I hadn’t heard from him sooner.
I pressed the button to connect the call. I’d already been called a cock-sucking slut and a bitch. What more could he do?
“Luther.” My tone was silky, yet detached. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sarcasm rang through my voice.
“The design board has received some complaints about your behavior.”
I scoffed. Was he serious? “Like they actually give a shit.”
He sniffed. “The board takes complaints seriously. We want to uphold the reputation of the industry.”
“Reputation.” I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
“I’d be happy to give you a few pointers.” The sound of his voice grated on my nerves.
Always so smug. One day, it would bite him in the ass.
“If you’re having difficulty keeping your clients,” he continued, oblivious to my disgust. “Maybe you should take a hard look at your designs.”
I stood, pacing the floor of my office. “You and I both know my designs are not the problem.”
“Could it be your customer service, then?” he asked, and I could imagine him leaning back in his chair, scuffing his nails on the jacket of his designer suit.
“Customer service?” I scoffed. “I bend over backward to make my clients happy.”
“Well—” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps that’s the problem, then. You’re bending over a little too often.”
My jaw dropped, shocked that he had the audacity to say it aloud. But he wasn’t done. “You know how gossip spreads. Victoria Ashworth already called me, and I’m sure she’s been spewing her fury at the country club. She wasn’t pleased that you slept with her husband.”
“They were separated,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
Jesus.
Clearly my judgment was flawed when it came to men.
Noah hadn’t cheated on his wife—estranged wife—but I still regretted it. And I’d learned my lesson. Sleeping with a client was too messy, was too great a risk to the reputation—the business—I’d worked so hard to build.
“Were they?” he asked. “I was under the impression they were still together. At least that’s what most of the club thinks.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. It didn’t matter. None of it did. And I certainly couldn’t do anything about it now. I wasn’t a member of their club, and I didn’t want to be.
“You know what? I think you should spend less time worrying about me and my clients and more focusing on your own.”
“Hey,” he said, and I could just imagine him lifting his hands as if in surrender. “I’m just the messenger. And I’m only trying to help.”
“What do you want, Luther?” I puffed out a breath, knowing better than to think this call was just about “board politics.”
“You know what I want.” His voice was gravelly, rough with need.
He’d been intent on sleeping with me since the first time we’d met at a design conference. Now, nearly two years on, it was getting a little old.
“Thatis never going to happen,” I ground out. “God,” I huffed. “What will it take for you to leave me alone?”
It was meant as a rhetorical question, but he answered all the same. “How about a little wager?”
