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It’s meant tosoundlike a compliment — and I’m sure Hawthorne thinks it is — but I know it’s meant truly as a stab in the gut. I know what she’s trying to tell me.
You’re still learning.
You’re not perfect.
You’re not better than me.
Is this Cynthia’s idea of some kind of twisted punishment for me daring to ask for a promotion? I think so.
“We’ve decided to use this as an opportunity to give Amber a little more project managing experience,” Cynthia tells Hawthorne. “So, I’ve been more hands-off than usual, barring the initial designs. But please feel free to come straight to me if you need any help or have any questions.”
God. She’s making me sound incompetent. Like I can’t do my job properly without her hovering over me. I half expect Hawthorne to wheel out the laundry list of things he’s been bothering me about all week, but he doesn’t.
“I’m sure Amber can handle it,” he says through a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”
Cynthia nods, and I wonder if she can hear the sudden coldness in his tone too. “How are things going,darling?” she asks me. “Still on schedule?”
“Yes,” I say through a forced smile. “All the contractors are booked. They’ll start coming in next week. I’ve ordered all the wallpaper and paint needed, and I’m working on sourcing the furniture and fixtures now. I’ve briefed Simon in the warehouse, and he’s making space to hold everything while we do the messy work on the property.”
“Excellent,” Cynthia says. Am I imagining the disappointment I can hear lacing her tone? “Keep me in the loop.” She turns away from me, already bored, and smiles at Hawthorne. “Ready to order?”
In my periphery, I see Hawthorne’s gaze slide over to me. It hovers there for a beat too long before he turns back to Cynthia and offers her a bright smile. “Let’s go.”
I order a Greek salad and fade into the background as Cynthia dominates the conversation with discussion that’s clearly geared to trying to figure out if Hawthorne has any rich contacts in need of interior design work.
It’s weird, but I can’t get a read on him. He answers her questions politely, laughs at her bad jokes when appropriate, and happily promises to dig out the email addresses of people he thinks Cynthia should be in touch with. But he doesn’tlooklike he’s enjoying their conversation. In fact, he looks a little pissed off.
I’ll be the first one to put my hands up and admit I’m not an expert on all the intricacies of Hawthorne’s facial expressions, but he doesn’t look like he’s having a good time.
That makes two of us.
Although Hawthorne keeps trying to include me in the conversation, Cynthia never lets the focus linger on me for more than a few seconds before she pulls it back to her. At one point I catch his eye and he gives me a sympathetic grimace. It’s refreshing to know that I’m not the only one who can see past Cynthia’s bullshit.
When the bill comes, he immediately snatches it up and pulls out a black credit card.
“Don’t be silly,” Cynthia titters, pretending to reach out for the bill. “This is on us.”
“No, don’t worry,” Hawthorne says firmly. “It’s been my pleasure. And besides, I wouldn’t want to give anyone any reason to call Finn Hawthorne cheap, would I?”
I snort at that and try to turn it into a cough when Cynthia shoots me a puzzled look.
“I’m sure no one would ever callyouthat,” Cynthia says.
Hawthorne smiles, clearly amused. “You’d be surprised.”
Once he’s paid, we file out of the restaurant. There’s a black cab waiting outside for Cynthia.
“Finn, it’s been a delight to finally meet.” She stands up on her tiptoes and stains both his cheeks with bright red lipstick marks. “And you’ll let me know if you have any problems?”
“Will do. Have a safe journey home.”
Aside from a flippant wave as she climbs into the cab, she barely acknowledges me.
We wave her off and the second her car disappears round a corner, Hawthorne exhales a deep breath. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rocks back onto the balls of his feet. “That boss of yours is definitely a character, huh?”
“God,” I say, huffing an equally loud sigh. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I think I do.” He looks over at me, his brows pinching together slightly in the middle. “I’ve known people like Cynthia all my life. People who expect others to do all the hard work while they take all the credit.”
