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By the time our meal is over, I want her more than I did just this morning. She was supposed to be a one-night stand, a booty call as she described it. What the hell have I allowed to happen?

Chapter 7

Working with Jordan has become challenging and incredibly arousing. He has no problem telling me if he disagrees with one of my decisions, but his feedback is genuine. He doesn’t disagree just to disagree, like the good Vera seems intent on doing; rather, he gives me honest opinions and justifies them. If I make a decision he agrees with, he’s quick to let me know, and I’ve decided he’s shortchanged himself and every intern that has passed through Foster’s by refusing to work with them.

After our time at the warehouse, drafting and plotting the spaces I would be working on, we moved on to the samples room. The next week was spent together, building the palette and color scheme and creating the boards to present to Mark. The furniture will be largely custom or vintage and has required a number of trips to local antique stores and an upholsterer as well, and each time we leave the building to some new destination, my body courses with excitement for our time alone. I crave it and look forward to it with constant want.

Jordan has told me I’ll be the one pitching the scheme boards to Mark, and I’m terrified. Not only will it be my first pitch like this but I’ve also been given one more reason to worry about the meeting. On our last trip to the construction site, Mark cornered me when Jordan was away and asked me to dinner. I turned him down quickly, and while Mark kept his composure, his demeanor suggested resentment for the remainder of our time at the site. I was happy to be away from him when Jordan finally returned and we left for the day, and now on the night before I’m to pitch my concept for the model condo, I’m all nerves. Mark makes me nervous, and having been forced to reject his advances isn’t helping things.

***

She looks terrified. Hell, I’m terrified for her. She worked hard on the designs, and as much as I want to do this pitch and save her the terror she so obviously feels, I want this for her. She deserves the credit. Her taste is impeccable. Most designers, especially those straight out of school, tend to go über contemporary. Bringing an intern into restoration is a great way to introduce them into the historical art of design, and while it’s my fault this avenue hasn’t been opened for our past interns, I also have to concede it has its importance. How many times has a newer designer been assigned to one of my projects just so I could replace her for a more seasoned designer because she lacked the ability to visualize the style of the period? And yet I’m the one who closed that door to every up-and-comer entering our building.

Watching Adeline now though is just painful. She is practically jittering next to me in the passenger seat, and as I touch her hand she jumps, before looking at me with warmth and appreciation in her eyes. I take my hand away quickly, wanting to hold the touch, but not wanting to overstep this line.

As Mark ushers us into their conference room, we are met by three other men who have joined him. I take my seat at the table and introduce Adeline to them. I’ve worked with all four of these men for years, and for the most part we’ve had an amenable working relationship. Adeline takes her place at the head of the table, and in a voice just a bit too quiet for the room, she speaks. She stumbles over her words on more than one occasion and trips on the leg of the easel her boards are propped on, and more than once I catch her gulping air while we discuss some random architectural detail that doesn’t concern her. Every sign of her nervousness hurts in my chest and leaves my conscious begging to rescue her. But the worst comes when her presentation is over, and it leaves me ferociously defending her.

When Mark starts questioning her cabinetry choice, which she’s chosen perfectly and with my full support, I don’t think much of it. Opinions differ in this field, and it certainly isn’t the first time Mark and I have disagreed, but it doesn’t stop my guts from clenching and my hands from fisting in response to Adeline’s worried expression. I step in quickly and pacify the situation. One change is nothing, and certainly not worth Adeline’s concern. But when Mark continues to punch one hole after another in her presentation, often interrupting her response just to hurl another ridiculous insult at her work, my fury builds.

Adeline is still at the head of the table, doing her best to defend her design while being open to change, but Mark is being an asshole, and every time I step in to take the heat off her, he ignores me completely and attacks her once again. Within moments, I’ve taken my place beside her at the head of the table. Mark’s eyes are on her, and I’m confused, furious, and ready to beat him to a bloody pulp. The other men in the room are witnessing the exchange with confusion as well, and as things get more heated they step in to calm Mark. He’s not only attacking Adeline’s design but also my choice to bring an intern onto their project, and when the conversation has gotten heated to the point of Mark muttering “bitch” under his breath, that’s when I turn to the three other men who are watching Mark with gaping mouths.

I growl at them between gritted teeth in fury. “I suggest you get him the fuck away from her, now.”

When they pull their collective eyes from the spectacle that is Mark, they take in my deadly expression and waste no time ushering Mark out the door. Turning to Adeline, I take in her expression. She’s holding it together, but tears are threatening to spill over, and in a shaky voice laced with desperation, she begs, “Please get me out of here.”

My hand moves to her elbow as I gather her boards in my hands, and I lead her to the nearby elevator. When the CEO catches up to us and stops the elevator door from closing, I stop him as well. “We’re done here. Call Foster if you have any questions.”

He stands back from the elevator and allows the doors to close. I have no idea what to say to Adeline. Quite frankly, I have no idea what has just happened, and I’m still stunned into silence. I want to touch her, I want to hold her, but she’s staring at the floor, and the regular sniffle of her nose and the finger that dashes away the occasional tear tell me everything I need to know about how she’s feeling.

She’s silent on the way back to Foster’s, as am I, and when we finally arrive I drop her off at the door. She says nothing to me as she climbs from the car, and as much as I want to check on her once I’m parked and inside, I want to see Foster far more. I was the one who put her in this position, and had I known she’d come under such heavy fire, I’d have never put her up there.

I vent for the better part of an hour, yelling a good portion of the time, but it’s unnecessary. Foster is as pissed as I am our intern was subjected to this type of treatment. He’s decent and kind, and Adeline is beyond lucky to be in this place in that regard. There are plenty of firms that would make assumptions about the quality of her work based on nothing more than her inexperience, but not Foster. He can see the boards as clearly as I’ve laid them out on his desk. They’re impressive for any designer, least of all a student. She didn’t deserve this, and I don’t understand how this happened. A week ago, the man couldn’t take his eyes off her, and in the space of mere days he’d decided to torture her and destroy her in front of me.

When I finally make my way to Adeline’s desk, she’s gone for the day. When Vera catches me at Adeline’s cubicle, she stops. Vera does nothing but flirt with me when we’re alone, and even the meeting last week wasn’t enough to dampen her attempts. I can’t stand Vera and have paid her no attention for the three years she’s been at Foster’s, but she just doesn’t get the hint. When she asks if I’ll be coming to the Q1 dinner that night, I have to thank her for the reminder. I hate these damn dinners we have at the close of every quarter to celebrate just how profitable and super awesome we are, but a sudden and swift relief passes over me at her question, and I ask one of my own.