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Her breath caught in her throat. Imogen and Joe, playing naked footsie … Move on, move on.
‘And this was my pièce de résistance. I managed to source sheets threaded with twenty-two-carat gold for the bedroom.’
Oh, hell. Time to stop talking.
Closing the folder, she moved around the desk, willing her feet not to scurry back to the dratted chair.
‘Anyway, Graham can take you through the rest of the project.’
‘Not possible.’
‘Why not?’ Imogen studied Joe’s bland expression and the penny clanged from on high. ‘Have you sacked Graham?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Graham no longer works for Langley.’
‘But … you can’t do that.’ Outrage smacked her mouth open and self-disgust ran her veins. How could she possibly fantasise over a man who could be so callous?
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I think you’ll find I can.’
‘Graham Forrester is one of the best interior designers in London. He’s Peter’s protégé. Why would you get rid of him?’
‘That is not your concern.’
Her hands clenched into fists of self-annoyance. She’d let herself relax, been pleased that he had approved of her work. Taken her eye off the fact that he had the power to take Langley apart.
‘Graham is my friend and my colleague. I went to his wedding last month. He needs this job. So of course it’s my concern. And it’s not only me who will say that. Everyone will be concerned. We’re like a family here.’
‘And that’s a good thing, is it?’ His tone was dry, yet the words held amusement.
Anger burned behind her ribs. ‘Yes, it is.’ A wave of her hand in the air emphasised her point. ‘We’re the interior design version of The Waltons. And sacking Graham is the equivalent of killing off John-Boy.’
His lips quirked upwards for a second and frustration stoked the flames of her ire. He could at least take her seriously.
‘You have to reconsider.’
The smirk vanished as his lips thinned into a line. ‘Not happening, Imogen.’
‘Then I’ll …’
‘Then you’ll what?’ he asked. ‘I think you may need to consider whether your loyalty lies with Graham Forrester or with Langley.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s friendly advice.’ Rubbing the back of his neck, he surveyed her for a moment. ‘Peter described you as an important part of the company—if you walk out to support Graham, or undermine my position so I’m forced to let you go, the company will lose out.’
Dammit, she couldn’t let Peter and Harry down—however much she wanted to tell him to shove his job up his backside. If she were still here maybe she could do something to prevent further disaster … though Lord knew what. Plus, on a practical note, she couldn’t add unemployment to her list of woes.
‘I’ll stay. But for the record I totally disagree with you letting Graham go.’
‘Your concerns are noted. Now, I need you to reinstate Langley’s presence at the awards ceremony. We’re going.’
‘What?’ Imogen stared at him. ‘You can’t possibly mean to go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it will look odd for Graham not to be there. And you being there is hardly going to send out a good message; it’s advertising that Langley is in trouble.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s acknowledging that Langley is in trouble and showing we’re doing something about it. The head in the sand approach doesn’t work.’
