by Lia Lee
If he were to ever mean anything to her, anything more than a good time and a generous employer, he would have to understand her family’s importance. But, she mused as her cheeks burned in humiliation, he’d essentially shown her that they would never be more than that. He didn’t even feel that way toward most of his own family. He got along well enough with Hadiya, but their relationship did not seem to be like the one Laine had with her sister. Frankly, during her time there, Hadiya had become more of a sister to Laine than she was to Aziz.
Lost in thought, Laine hurried back to her office. A strong hand caught her wrist and jerked her still forcefully.
“You little American slut!” Amin spat at her.
Laine blinked up at him with a mixture of bewilderment and indignation. “What?”
“I saw you, harlot, through the window! Bending over to Aziz, spreading your filthy legs, and not even married!” Amin was livid, his eyes twitching and his jaw held rigid. “How dare you come into our home and so brazenly spread your sin?”
Laine pulled her hand back, but could not free herself. “Aziz was hardly complaining.”
“You are singlehandedly bankrupting our family of our traditions!”
On an instinctual level, Laine was afraid. Amin was nowhere near the height of his brother, but he was larger than she by a few inches. On a rational level, however, she laughed.
“I’m just one woman. How could I possibly be the grain of sand to destroy this utterly fucked-up machine?”
He smacked her. Hard. She touched her cheek and blinked dizzily.
“You are responsible for your own actions,” she managed, struggling to lift her gaze. “And so is Aziz.” He might come after her again. And this palace was so large that she couldn’t count on Aziz to hear and come to her defense.
“You do not speak back to your betters, woman,” Amin said.
Laine moved to get away from him, and he grabbed her arm again.
But a well-dressed New York woman didn’t get through life without taking a self-defense course or three. Especially not one who has a dad checking up on her every day. In one motion, she turned her arm in his grasp, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back.
“What? What are you doing?!”
“I could break your elbow from this angle. That would be fun explaining to your wife, wouldn’t it?” Laine laughed softly. “Somehow, I have a feeling the women in this family would not be impressed with what you’ve done here, even if they agreed in sentiment with my ‘low’ nature.”
“You should not be—!”
“I will be perfectly honest in saying that I don’t give a fuck what you think I should or should not do.” Laine put more pressure on the joint, getting a bit of pleasure in hearing Amin groan. “Tend your own damn garden, Amin. If you want more responsibility, show Aziz you can take it on. Start your own business. Make your own path. Don’t come into this house stomping around like the world owes you anything! And don’t you dare put your insecurities onto me!”
In a calculated risk, Laine let Amin go and pushed him away from her before she turned and walked swiftly down the hallway. Amin had proven himself a bit of a coward. He’d taken a blow from Aziz with no recourse, and he’d waited until Aziz was out of earshot before confronting her. He didn’t follow her.
Laine retreated to her room and sat on the bed, finally beginning to breathe easily again. She curled her legs underneath her, wondering how all of this had fallen apart so damn fast. Maybe it was inevitable. Any interior decorator knew you needed a solid foundation or structure to build on. How many dreams had she shattered when clients came to her with plans that didn’t match the bones of the house? It was her job to sell them a new dream, to translate their dreams into the possible.
She hadn’t been prepared to be the impractical one.
She slipped out of her clothing and headed for the shower. She had been very aware of the situation she’d been walking into. She had gotten to create gloriously beautiful rooms, like the west wing ballroom and the grand dining room, but she had let Aziz into her heart. She’d known she would, in spite of all the reasons not to. The fact that both of them had nearly died before reaching puberty wasn’t enough to build a relationship on.
Laine washed as she thought it over. She kept thinking as she dressed in fresh clothing, a T-shirt and jeans from home, and as she began to straighten up her room and pack.
By the time she approached Aziz’s office again, she had decided. This time, she didn’t wait. She simply announced herself and told him that her time here was finished.
Aziz rose and strode over to her quickly with alarm in his eyes. “You cannot leave. The job isn’t finished!”
“I never said I’d been here a month. I said I would come to get the feel of the palace, and I have. And I said I would begin the planning while I was here, and I’ve done that, too. There’s no point in my staying here any longer.” Laine lifted her chin. “I have a life back in New York, Aziz.”
Aziz’s brows screwed together as he took in her words. Then, his jaw tensed and he clenched one hand. “It is a sad life, Laine. A life with a job working under a pitiful man!”
“I don’t see the difference anymore,” Laine said coldly.
Aziz opened his mouth to argue, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Finally he managed, his volume increasing with each word: “I have taken you into my home. I have afforded you every luxury. I have given you the opportunity of a lifetime!”
“And I have worked for you and tolerated your indecision, but that is over now.”
“It’s over!” Aziz laughed. “You say that it’s over!”
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning!”
“No you will not!” Aziz shouted.
“Do you plan to keep me here in chains?” Laine demanded. “Do you plan to slap me around like you do your brother?”
“I—” Aziz sputtered. “Of course not! I would never, Laine. I lo— But you mustn’t go. Not yet. I can arrange—”
“This isn’t about making arrangements anymore. It’s about taking risks and making choices.” Laine sighed. “I’ll make sure that your renovations progress at a good pace. I’ll keep this professional, if you promise to do the same.”
Aziz stared at her for a moment, his usually affable expression growing harsher and colder by the second.
“Go then. Go wallow in obscurity. Go back to your lonesome life,” he hissed.
Laine took a breath and leveled her gaze at him. “I’ll get a cat.”
Chapter Thirteen
Though it had never bothered her before, two days back in New York and Laine realized that the city was a cold, small place. The shops were cramped and the doorways low. At five-nine, she felt towering and gawky again, and felt her hair brushing the top of the doorway into her apartment building. Having been so consumed by work, Laine had never considered that part of the reason she didn’t want to go out every weekend was that she didn’t fit very well.
Laine couldn’t regret choosing to come back, though. Although she missed him already, she couldn’t force Aziz to want something more with her, and the leniency that Mr. Brandt had extended to her was stretched to the breaking point. He hadn’t seemed all that pleased when she’d returned to her office, either, even though his portion of Aziz’s account could probably put his degenerate son through college.
But she’d given up on expecting anything that resembled gratitude or loyalty from him. She’d also given up on seeming anything other than coldly professional in the office. The tension was not something she was wild about, but it was inevitable for the moment. Half of her coworkers thought she should’ve been fired, and half seemed to be in awe of the work she’d been doing on the palace—and the money that had come flooding in as a result. Rumors about how she had been luring in clients had been floating around the office like a malignancy; the results of this were also mixed. She’d expected that video of her dancing with Aziz would be nothing but trouble, but apparently it had r
aised some people’s estimation of her.
Her first weekend back, after a long week of fighting to get things done in the office, Laine decided to drive upstate to see her father rather than wither in her apartment, missing the warm sun and Aziz’s warm arms.
“Well, babydoll, you look great!” Greg set a cup of tea in front of his eldest daughter and sat down across the little table from her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya this tan! Emma, maybe, but she sprays that on, right?”
“She does. She wants to protect her skin from aging.” Laine wrapped her fingers around the mug of tea and remembered Hadiya’s delectable coffee. She wondered if the young woman would mind a call from one of her brother’s exes. Hadiya had seemed upset when she’d learned Laine was leaving. “I did wear sunscreen when we were out, but it only helped so much.”
“I’m not criticizing. It looks great.” Greg patted her leg. “But you don’t look too happy to be here.”
“I am, Dad! I missed you! I know, I didn’t get to call you as often when I was in Bahrain—”
“Nah, I don’t mean here with me. You’ve just looked and sounded kinda down since you’ve been back.” He shrugged and sipped his tea. “Must’ve been that buzz you get when you’ve got a really meaty thing to dig your teeth into at work, huh?”
“Meaty thing.” Laine bobbed her head in agreement.
“Well, that job’s not totally finished, is it? You’ll be back to check on the work?”
“I will…if Aziz asks. But I’ll be doing a lot from New York for the time being.” Laine ran the tip of her finger over the lip of the mug. “I will miss it, though.”
“You didn’t burn the place down. You could go back sometime. Even not for work.” He laughed. “Not that it’s your style, or mine, but I hear you can just go out sometimes. Just to enjoy yourself.”
“I can’t help if I’m driven.” Laine tried to relax her shoulders and sit back. “I don’t know. It’s just been different since I’ve been back. Before, I’d jump at any chance Mr. Brandt gave me. I’d take on so many accounts that I could barely breathe. Now, I’m not that motivated to line his pockets. I want something that excites me.”
“Nothing wrong with that. It’s good to be fulfilled by your work. I loved being a teacher. They had to practically take me out of the school building in a wheelbarrow.”
“Fulfilling doesn’t pay the bills.”
Greg waved his hand. “You girls are both so damn self-sufficient. You’ve got two retirement accounts. I trust you’ll figure it out. You’ve juggled everything else. You can juggle a career with being happy.”
Laine thought about that as her dad got up and went into the kitchen to check on the cookies he’d insisted on baking (after exclaiming as he always did that she looked thin, which she never believed). It felt so bizarre. After having tasted something different, her old life now seemed sour to her. Being home with her dad felt right. But nothing else did.
***
The next day, Laine went out to the Museum of Modern Art and took in the general collections, as well as a local exhibition from an ongoing program for New York teenagers interested in art. Before, she’d avoided going out and doing things in the city, simply because of having no one to go with and too much work to do.
After her weekend, Laine came into the office feeling refreshed and inspired. She’d filled her calendar with events in New York, as well as a few day trips to the surrounding area, which she had taken some time to scout out and research online. It was a skill she’d honed for her clients but never used for herself. She needed something to look forward to. She needed a fuller life.
From that point, Laine went easy on the newest temps, kept her replies to Richard and Joel curt—the younger man always looked vaguely like he was about to wet himself when she was around—and did her work to her peak ability. Then she went home and focused on other things.
Mr. Brandt called her into his office two weeks after her return to New York. He raked his eyes over her outfit, a blend of her former office glory with a scarf selected by Hadiya, and gestured for her to take a seat.
Laine sat and followed him with her eyes as he strolled around his desk, not sitting himself. It was such an obnoxious power move, to have her sit while he stood. She kept her back straight and folded her hands casually in her lap.
“Laine, we need to talk about your recent work,” he said finally.
Laine raised a brow. “Is there a problem? My work hasn’t declined in quality.”
“Of course not,” Mr. Brandt said, a bit unsettled by her confidence.
Laine stroked her index finger over the back of her left hand and tilted her head back, examining him. Mr. Brandt ran his hands over the front of his suit and sat at his desk.
“It’s the quantity, my dear. It’s the diminishing vigor with which you are taking on new accounts, and how many you have not taken on.”
“I have a reasonable workload,” Laine said, keeping her tone even. “I have as many clients right now as Adrien or Joel. More than Joel, actually. He’s gotten fired from two accounts. If I understand correctly, Richards had to take the Madison account from him. We almost lost it.”
Mr. Brandt made a noise in his throat. “You used to take on a lot more. You seem to be slowing down, dear.”
“I believe my clients would say that the work I’m doing for them is both timely and excellent.” Laine squared her shoulders. “I might not be taking as many clients as I did before, but I’ve brought in so many accounts to this firm, and ones with such deep pockets, I think that it’s time for someone else to step up. It isn’t as though you really want my hands on your best accounts anyway.”
“You are taking things very personally,” he said with a shake of his head. “This is business, Laine, pure and simple.”
Laine felt her face growing warm and remembered something Aziz had once told her.
“Everything is personal, Mr. Brandt. Americans love to cut our lives into pieces and pretend that we are impartial and infallible, but it’s just a lie that makes it easier to do want we wanted to do in the first place.” She shrugged. “It’s intensely personal that you don’t give me credit for the work I’ve done, and it is incredibly irrational of you to turn down the amount of money I could bring you if I had proper support.”
Mr. Brandt started to turn red. “Miss McConnell—”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman who graduated at the top of her class at Parsons and was hand-selected by a sheikh of Bahrain to decorate his palatial home.”
“Yes, and I have heard of how you were ‘hand-selected,’” Mr. Brandt said, almost pleased at the turn of phrase.
Laine paused. She pursed her lips, giving him a long stare, and his amusement turned to discomfort.
“You have known me long enough to know that a dance and a few rumors have little to do with how I conduct myself professionally.” Laine clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Even now, I expected better of you than to participate in petty gossip. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded so much that you disregarded me if I hadn’t had so much faith in you as a businessman. I truly expected, for longer than I should have, that working hard here would get me somewhere. It hasn’t. So I have chosen to do good work and to have a life.”
“If you want to continue to do any work here, you can’t expect to shirk your duties!” Mr. Brandt slapped the table angrily.
“You expect me to do ten times the work of everyone else, with none of the credit and half of the pay! And you expect me to do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, or I have somehow failed.” Laine stood and put her hands on her hips. “I once saw working here as a stepping stone, but now I see that you have simply caught my ankle in a trap, and you expect me to be grateful for it!”
“You cannot speak to your boss like that!”
“I’m not. I quit.”
Walking out of his office wasn’t quite as satisfying as nearly breaking Amin’s arm, but it was up there in her top life experience
s. Especially since her coworkers had apparently been listening, and a few of the temps were trying to hold back scandalized laughter.
“Tamara, could you get me a box, please? I need to pack up my office,” Laine asked one of them pleasantly.
Maybe being a free agent was too much of a risk. There was a chance she wouldn’t be able to get enough clients on her own to make it work or that the rumors spreading about her had spread too far already. But Laine decided, as she carefully set her pictures into the box, that this was the only reasonable way to end her time here. She’d paid her dues and then some, and she had simply outgrown this place. She wasn’t going to win back her reputation with the measly support she received here.
On her way out, Mr. Brandt had a security guard follow her. She rolled her eyes so hard that she might have sprained them. The guard helped her by carrying an extra box and left her once she was at her car in the parking garage below the building. She packed her things into the back as she hatched her plans for the next few days.
“Hey, Lainey.”
She looked up to see Adrian Ramos waving a thick, leather-bound contact book in front of her face.
“What is that?” she asked. “And what are you doing with the black sheep of the interior decorating world?”
“If you’re looking for company, it’s a list of potential leads that aren’t signed with Brandt Interiors yet.” Ramos flicked his shoulder-length hair back. “If you’re not, I’m out for a smoke.”
Laine crossed her arms and leaned back against her car as she looked at the contact book.
“How do you have that ready? I didn’t even know I was going to quit until today.”
Ramos shrugged. “I think about quitting every time I’m in the room with that fossil of sexism and idiocy. And I can’t say I wouldn’t jump at the chance to have your creative brain on board when I get my own company rolling.”
Laine reached for the book and flipped through it. Of all the people at Brandt Interiors, she had hated working with Ramos the least. Probably because he was so damn meticulous that he actually liked doing the paperwork, and while he had a lot of ideas himself, he was quite good at collaborating and listening to the ideas of others.