Chapter 3
"He's a client," I said.
"A client? You meet clients at places like that?" Alex snapped.
I frowned. "What do you mean, 'places like that'?"
He stepped in, getting right up close, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "I've heard he's been sniffing around your project lately. Sophie, don't do anything stupid. He's targeting me. Everyone in our circle knows about the beef between us. He's using you to embarrass me."
I didn't say a word.
"Come back to me," he said, grabbing for my shoulder. "Don't let him play you."
I slapped his hand away.
"Sir," I said, "hear me loud and clear. How I deal with Michael is my business. How you deal with your wife is yours. We're done. You don't get to tell me what to do anymore."
He was stunned.
"And," I said, stepping back, "you say he's using me to embarrass you. That's funny, because all this time, the only person embarrassing you has been you."
The stairwell door closed behind me.
I walked out into the hallway, sunlight streaming in. As I headed back toward the reception area, the receptionist peeked over the front desk, curiosity written all over her face.
"Ms. Lane, are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm good," I said. "If he comes by again, just tell him I'm not here."
She nodded.
I reworked the design that afternoon, using Michael's ideas. The flow finally made sense, the view opened up, and the more I looked at it, the more satisfied I felt. I sent it off to the client, and they replied almost instantly, "This is it. Let's go with this version."
I found myself staring at the screen, thinking back to how Michael had just sketched a few lines.
He really did know his stuff, way more than our client.
As soon as the news about the proposal getting approved went out, the client called and made it clear I couldn't miss the celebration dinner that night.
I'm not really a fan of these events, but when the client personally asked, skipping it would've been rude.
By the time I arrived at the hotel that evening, everyone was already gathered in a private dining room.
Most of the client's team was there, along with a few people from our firm. I ended up sitting beside Matthew Collins, the client's project manager. I could barely keep up with everyone raising their glasses when the door suddenly swung open.
Michael walked in.
He was wearing a dark gray suit, way more formal than he'd been that morning. He greeted Matthew, then his gaze swept the room, and lingered on me for a second.
"Ms. Lane, glad to see you here," he said.
I nodded. "Yeah, the proposal got approved."
"Then we should definitely have a drink," he said, taking a seat across from me. Someone poured him a glass, and he raised it in a toast to me. I raised mine too and took a sip.
After a few rounds, Matthew started pulling me into details, pushing drink after drink on me. I was not much of a drinker, and by the third glass, I was already feeling a bit tipsy. Just as I was about to make an excuse to slip away to the restroom, someone took the glass right out of my hand.
"Mr. Collins," Michael said, stepping beside me, "go easy on her. I'll take this one."
Matthew paused and then laughed. "Have I drunk too much, or are you seriously being protective, Michael?"
"She's my client. I've got to take care of her," Michael said, totally at ease.
He said it so smoothly, like it was no big deal, and just knocked back the drink. Matthew didn't push me anymore and turned to hassle someone else instead.
I whispered, "Thanks."
He leaned in a little. "Can you walk?"
"Yeah," I said.
"Let's step outside for some air," he said.
The wind on the terrace was pretty strong, clearing my head a bit. I rested my arms on the railing, watching the cars go by below. He stood next to me, lit a cigarette, but didn't smoke. He just let it hang between his fingers.
"So, did you and Alex really call it quits?" Michael suddenly asked.
I turned to look at him.
"Word's all over the circle," he said. "People are saying all kinds of things. Some say you couldn't deal with his ex, and others say he was never planning to marry you. So, what's the truth?"
I smiled, picked up the cookie I'd grabbed earlier in the private dining room, and took a bite.
"He got married," I said.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
"To someone else," I added. "His ex, actually. She needed surgery, so he married her. Said they'd get divorced once she's better. Told me not to make a big deal of it."
He went silent for a few seconds.
"So you just agreed to that?" he asked.
"What else could I do? Be the third wheel in their marriage?" I shot back.
He let out a real laugh, genuinely amused. His cigarette trembled in his hand, so he stubbed it out.
"Ms. Lane," he said, "you're actually pretty interesting."
"Interesting how?" I asked.
"Most people would make a scene, cry a few times, and vent to their friends for days. But you just turned the page?" he said.
"How long does it take to turn the page?" I asked him. "Is three years enough?"
He didn't answer. He just looked at me. His gaze was different this time, not appraising, just something I couldn't quite put into words. But I didn't mind it.
The traffic below kept flowing, neon lights flickering. I finished the last bite of cake and dusted off my hands.
"Alex," he suddenly said, "is good at business, not so much at judging people. He mistakes glass for diamonds, and diamonds for glass."
He'd said the same thing earlier that morning.
"Didn't you say that this morning?" I said.
"Just making sure you remember," he replied.
I turned to him, about to ask something, when the terrace door suddenly swung open.
A figure rushed out, moving fast, smelling like alcohol.
It was Alex.
He stood in the doorway, his eyes darting from me to Michael, his face dark with anger. His suit was rumpled, his tie askew, and he looked like he'd been drinking all night. His eyes were bloodshot.
"Sophie," he called out.
He said my name, his voice low and strained.
I didn't move.
He came over, reaching for my arm, but Michael sidestepped, positioning himself between us. Alex's hand fell empty, frozen in the air, and then he clenched it into a fist.
"Come with me," Alex said.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Home," he replied.
"Home?" I shot back. "You meant you and Emily's place?"
His expression shifted over and over, and he clenched his teeth. "She's still in the hospital."
"Why are you even here?" I shot back.