A spark of contrition flashes across her face before it’s doused by temper. “Richard isn’t sniffing around. He’s with his mother, for God’s sake. And isn’t that why I’m here? You hired me, so don’t get all high and mighty because I’m doing my job.”
My job.
I manage to hold back a wince. That’s exactly how I’d felt with Missy. Like I was a job. A duty carried out in exchange for payment—bragging rights, gifts, an unlimited credit card.
Vivienne and I are more than that. So much more.
She immediately reaches out for my arm. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
“But you did mean it.”
She takes a breath, her eyes scanning the shore. “Didn’t you? Isn’t that exactly what you meant when you hired me?”
My mouth goes dry, a silent howl growing inside my chest. I was wrong.
But I don’t say the words.
Because right now, I wonder if I was wrong about something altogether different.
Could I be wrong about Vivienne herself?
What the fuck do I know about love? About commitment?
Absolutely nothing.
All of our time together, all of our talks around the dinner table and the fire pit and in bed, what if none of it matters?
“Yeah.” I say. “That’s what I meant.”
Chapter 46
Vivienne
“How are you, Vivienne?”
Anne’s eyes are kind when they find me half an hour later, tucked into a quiet corner of the spacious interior cabin, sipping a Long Island Iced Tea. I ordered it in a fit of pique, after walking away from Lance. But I don’t really want to drown my sorrows in a noxious blend of alcohol. I want to run back up there and throw myself into his arms, kiss him until everything makes sense again. I want to go back to the carnival. Back to Lance’s house. Back to his bed.
I force a fake smile onto my face and look brightly at my former boss. “I’m great, Anne. How are you?”
“Honestly,” she crosses her legs and shifts toward me on the settee, “I’m still trying to play catch up. You left so suddenly . . .”
My confrontation with Richard about the email he sent to Anne (and, unwittingly, to the entire company), left me so emotional that I quit without giving the standard two-week notice, without even giving a reason.
But that’s no excuse for my unprofessional behavior, and it shames me now. I duck my head. “I’m sorry for that. I should have handled things differently.”
“I understand.”
No, you don’t. Our eyes hold for a long moment, and I almost tell Anne the truth about why I left. I learned so much working at Abbott Interiors, and she treated me like a daughter. Her son is a jerk, but she isn’t.
I look away first, but she reaches for my hand. “Jolie mentioned your suggestion to use her upcoming collection as inspiration.”
Damn it. I knew it was a mistake. The last thing any designer wants to hear is opinions that don’t belong to her client. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere.”
Anne is more gracious than I deserve. “Nonsense. I wish I’d thought of it myself. And I wish I admitted that I knew you and Richard were seeing each other.”
Surprise floods my veins. “You did?”
“Oh, Vivienne. I might be thirty years older than you—but the benefit of those years is wisdom. I knew about your relationship from the very beginning.” She sighs. “I had hoped he would come to his senses and get serious with you.”
She squeezes my hand. “Richard couldn’t see what was right in front of him and that’s a loss he’ll have to live with. But it’s not a loss I should have to live with or the clients of Abbott Interiors. Would you consider coming back to work for us?”
I feel like one of the fish swimming in the waters below us, opening and closing my mouth several times before managing to pull myself together. “Anne, I don’t know what to say. I’m just not sure—”
She interrupts me. “I don’t expect you to return to the office. But I’ve had several other inquiries this summer that I’ve had to turn down, simply because I don’t have the time. If Jolie and her husband agree, what would you think about taking over the designs for their home? I’d oversee the project, of course. But we both know you’re ready to start working directly with clients.”
It sounds almost too good to be true.
“I’ve actually been thinking about working under my own name. Establishing my own firm.”
“That’s a big step,” she says slowly. “Setting up accounts with vendors, leasing a storage facility, establishing relationships with social media influencers as well as brick and mortar showrooms.”
“It’s a lot to take on, I know.”
She pauses. “If it’s what you want, I have no doubt you will be successful. But what if we could work out an arrangement that suits both our needs?”
I clear my throat and look down at my lap. “Can I—Can I get back to you?”
Anne’s lips curve into a smile. “Absolutely.” She stands to go and with a final, “Soon, I hope,” Anne accepts a caviar toast point from a passing server and walks out onto the main deck.
For a while, I remain in that quiet alcove. Absorbing what just happened. Not merely that Anne knew about Richard and me, but that she has no hard feelings about how I left. And that maybe there’s a way to achieve my goal of working for myself, gradually, with less risk.
Could this be the perfect solution?
Without thinking, I gulp at my drink. The alcohol sears a path down my throat, and I hurry to set it down on the table in front of me, spilling some on my dress.
“Damn it.” I find a bathroom to dab water on the stain before it can set. I’m scrubbing at it when there’s a knock on the door. “Be right out.”
Feeling rushed, I give it a last swipe with a towel and rinse my hands in the sink. Another knock. Jeez. There has to be more than one bathroom on a ship this big. “Coming,” I grit as cheerily as I can manage, drying my hands and yanking at the door.
Richard barrels his way inside, shutting the door behind him and caging me against the sink. “Richard, what the hell—”
“Me?” His breath is a humid gust along my jaw. “What are you doing, Vivienne?”
I push against his chest. “I’m leaving.”
My push only gets me a couple of inches, and Richard still blocks the only exit. “We were fucking a couple of months ago and now you’re living with Lance Welles? Is this some kind of joke? Or are you that desperate, you’re whoring yourself out to anyone with—”
I lift my hand up to slap him, but he catches my wrist before I make contact.
Pushing his face just inches from mine, he finishes his sentence. “Anyone with a dollar to their name.”
“Let me go.” I make the demand through through clenched teeth.
Suddenly, Richard’s expression changes, becoming sly and calculating. “Or maybe,” his hand slides down my dress, “maybe you planned this. You knew I’d be here, you wanted to make me jealous.”
I didn’t, though I probably should have. Tripp and Jolie were as involved with the guest list as Lance. Of course, Jolie would invite Anne and Erik Abbott to their party. Sometimes they attend social events together. But Erik has always been more comfortable with his blueprints than with people. More often than not, Anne takes Richard as her plus one.