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“Consider this my notice. I’ll finish out the day and gather my stuff.”
“Don’t do this. You’re in the middle of designing for Bacchus, and we’ve got props in bay that need your direction. What about the meetings you have this week? What about our customers?”
Tess shook her head. “Dave will see the designs through, and you now have Graham to figure out the rest.”
Like a soldier, his daughter squared her shoulders and marched to the door.
“Tess, don’t do this. Everything will be the same as yesterday. I promise. Graham is a good man.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob. “You’re wrong, Dad. It’ll never be the same again because you don’t trust me. Good luck with Graham. In my experience he’s not so much a man of his word.”
She gave him a sad, sad smile. And then she walked out.
TESSSTALKEDOUTof her father’s office feeling like she’d entered a boxing ring with a world champion. One punch and she was out. Her mind couldn’t wrap around what had happened moments ago.
How had her Tuesday gone so wrong?
It had started well with new bodywash in her shower, a good coffee from Cuppa Joe’s and the sun on her shoulders as she biked through the awakening French Quarter. Fog had burned off the river by the time she’d reached the warehouse, and every line on her sketches that morning had been true. It had been a banner morning that had turned to hell in the blink of an eye.
Graham Naquin.
Bastard. Usurper.
The irony of the man she’d thought her forever guy being the person taking the helm of Ullo was like someone shoving a spoonful of crap into her mouth and expecting her to say “mmm.” But this was one spoonful she wasn’t going to swallow.
How dare her old man hire him? Him. The very person who had almost broken her heart. Okay. Had broken her heart. Which sounded strange since she’d known him for such a brief time, yet for a while it had felt every bit as real as what her parents had.
She’d eaten a lot of ice cream trying to get over the false start with Graham. In fact, she’d wolfed down a half gallon in twenty-four hours. That’s how much cream and sugar she’d needed to soothe the hurt of rejection.
And now this. She would have to run to California to work off what was likely about to be spooned down in mourning of the thing she loved most about each day—her job.
Dear God, she was no longer employed at Ullo.
As Tess pushed through the metal door into the stairwell, her knees gave way. Sinking against the cold cement steps, she struggled for a breath.
This wasn’t happening.
No way.
She was an Ullo. She’d grown up skipping through the phantom floats hulking like huge freighters bobbing at a wharf. Tess had worked summers perfecting sculpting foam, schlepping papier-mâché onto props, and wiring fiber optics. She’d taken extensive art lessons, chosen a major in industrial art and ignored the tryouts for the Junior U.S. Soccer team… all so she could work for her family’s business. All because she wanted to be the one child who pleased their father by caring more for Frank Ullo Float Builders than for herself. She’d sacrificed so she could do what was right, what would be best for their family business.
And it had been for nothing.
Unshed tears gathered in her throat. She wanted to cry, wanted to lie down right in the dusty stairwell and sob until she ran dry. But she wouldn’t give the world the satisfaction of knowing her disappointment. Of the betrayal.
Her father didn’t think she was good enough.
“Damn it,” she whispered into the air around her.
“Tess.” The door opened with a whoosh, nearly nailing her in the shoulder. Billie’s head popped into the stairwell.
“Hey,” Tess managed to say, hoping like hell the tears in her eyes weren’t noticeable.
“What in the name of Sam Hill is going on?” Billie asked, darting a look at the inner recess of her office. “Your father said you quit.”
“I did.”
“Why?” Billie looked like someone had run over her cat.
