Chapter 1

By the third day of being unemployed, I finally broke down.

Clutching my last box of personal stuff as I left the office, I couldn't stop crying.

After a twenty-minute cab ride, I ended up bawling my eyes out outside the apartment building of my best friend, Sophie Shaw.

I knew the code for the keypad, so I barged right in.

There was a tall figure in the living room, dressed in dark loungewear.

Without thinking, I threw myself into their arms, burying my face in their chest and sobbing my heart out.

"Sophie, I got fired. That bitch stole my project and turned the tables on me." I wailed.

The person in my arms went stiff.

Their chest felt firm, definitely not soft.

There was a fresh pine scent in the air.

Since when did Sophie start using pine-scented perfume?

Sophie's voice came from the hallway. "Uh. Nina, let go first."

I jerked my head up.

The person in my arms had sharp brows, thin lips, and a jawline that could cut glass.

It wasn't Sophie.

"You're hugging my brother, Simon," Sophie said from the hallway, her expression absolutely priceless.

Simon looked down at me, his eyes icy cold, as if he'd stepped out of a freezer.

"Done crying?" Simon said.

I shot back nearly three feet, my back crashing into the coffee table. A glass tumbled to the floor and shattered.

"I-I'm so sorry," I stammered.

Simon grabbed a tissue and wiped off the mess of my tears and snot from his shirt, his face completely expressionless as he tossed it in the trash.

Sophie hurried over and grabbed my arm. "Why didn't you call first? My brother got back today."

"I thought you were the only one home," I mumbled.

Simon shot me a look, then turned and headed upstairs.

He paused at the foot of the stairs. "Next time you want to cry, make sure you're clinging to the right person."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Sophie handed me a tissue. "Forget about him. tell me what happened."

I sniffled and started from the beginning. "I spent three months working on the entire resort project, and it was supposed to be presented to the client next week.

"But Vera copied all the original files from my computer, slapped her name on them, and went straight over my head to the Creative Director."

"The Creative Director didn't know you were the one who did it?" Sophie asked.

"She's dating the Creative Director."

Sophie swore and pressed. "And then?"

"I went to talk to the Creative Director, but Vera flipped it and accused me of stealing her work. The Creative Director fired me right there, didn't mention severance pay," I said.

Sophie slammed her hand on the table, furious. "That's blatant favoritism. Do you have any proof?"

"All my drafts are on the company computer. They wouldn't let me download anything."

"Did you back them up to your own cloud?"

I was stunned for a second.

Oh, right. I always backed up my files to the cloud.

But my brain was so fried that I didn't remember I had that backup.

Sophie squeezed my shoulder. "Relax. Eat something, take a shower, and get some sleep. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

That night, I crashed in Sophie's guest room, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

The room next door was dead silent. I had no idea if that aloof guy was asleep.

When I came downstairs the next morning, Simon was already sitting at the dining table.

He was in a crisp suit and tie, not a hair out of place.

He was a far cry from the guy I'd bawled all over last night.

I pretended nothing had happened and hurried toward the kitchen.

"I'll help Sophie out—" I started.

"She's out," Simon said, flipping a page of his newspaper without looking up. "Breakfast is on the table."

I glanced at the sandwich and coffee on the table.

"Thanks—" I started.

"No need to thank me. Sophie told me to warm it up," Simon said.

Fine.

The awkwardness was so thick that I didn't dare make a sound while eating my sandwich.

Out of nowhere, Simon spoke up, "Nina Lane?"

"Huh?" I blurted out.

"Sophie said you're a designer."

"Yeah, interior design."

"Send me your portfolio."

I nearly choked. "What?"

He finally looked up at me, his gaze cool and unreadable.

"My company is looking for a design lead. If your work is up to par, you can come in for an interview," he said.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Simon was Sophie's brother, the founder of UrbanEdge Studio, the biggest commercial design firm in the city.

I knew all that, but Sophie always kept work and friendship separate. She never got us tangled up professionally.

"Is that okay?" I asked.

He stood up, grabbed his coat, and said, "That depends on your portfolio."

The door clicked shut behind him.

He left a business card on the table.

It read: [UrbanEdge Studio, Simon Shaw, Founder & Design Director.]

On the back, there was a handwritten note: [Send your portfolio to this email by Wednesday.]

It was Monday.

I stared at the business card for three minutes, then pulled up my cloud drive on my phone.

Backups of all my projects were right there, even the one Vera swiped.

I took a deep breath. No, I gripped my phone tighter.

First, I'd send in my portfolio. After that, it was payback time.