by Sophia Lynn
“Stop,” she whispered.
“Tell me what happened,” Aziz said gently. “I do not mind it, of course. I just wonder.”
Laine looked away.
“How could it hurt to share this secret now?” Aziz kissed over her forehead. “After all we have shared? Is it even a risk, at this point?”
Laine frowned thoughtfully, trying to decide what she should say to him, but then her eyes began to sting. This was still too hard. She should have told him that night in the rose garden or at the tree; it would have come so much more naturally.
“You talk an amazing game, but you know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you take a risk,” Laine teased, twirling her fingers over his chest hair.
“You have to be kidding! You’re the one who plays it safe, cowing to your boss, staying in every night when you could be exploring what they call the City that Never Sleeps.”
“I came across an ocean and two continents to decorate your home! I put my job on the line!” Laine pushed her hair back. “Do you know how many apartments get robbed while people are out of town for a month?”
Aziz shrugged. “Okay. I suppose you can take a risk or two. But I’m the one who got you here.”
“Was it really that much of a risk for you? You’d already met me when you made your offer and done all this research on me and my work.” Laine propped herself up on her elbows. “Really, what did you have to lose? That I might say no, and you’d have to what? Get another decorator? Pay more to get me to come?”
“I suppose…”
“And when I think of it,” she said, “you had a bodyguard at our big fountain moment. You have all of this money and power. I don’t think you could possibly get in real trouble if you tried.”
Aziz grumbled and sat up, resting his forearms on his knees.
“I’m done with people telling me that I’m not living my life right. It’s your turn to take a risk.” Laine smiled.
“My turn? So this is a game? We are playing?”
“I don’t care what it is. Invest in an American manufacturer. Give Amin a pop the next time he mouths off. Date a woman you love for once. Get a cat.”
Aziz side-eyed her, rose, and crossed his arms as he stared at the Tree of Life. Laine looked up at him, admiring the view from her position on the floor, despite their argument. Then he plucked up his clothes and tossed her blouse at her dismissively before heading for the door.
“The room looks good. Keep up the good work.”
Chapter Twelve
Laine felt as though she had been struck. Pulling her clothing back on quickly, she scolded herself for trying to push a playboy like Aziz into taking things other than business seriously. He lived life for the moment, and he had done so for much longer than she’d even known him. Of course a nudge from her would do no good.
The truth was, she was still a little afraid to be truly vulnerable in front of him. Sharing what had happened to her as a girl, telling him about that terrible night that had scarred her forehead and taken her mother from her—it wasn’t such a dramatic story, in itself. No more than his own confession in the rose garden had been, and it had happened a long time ago. She had only been twelve at the time. But both events had shaped her life, as well as the lives of her sister and her father. They’d come together very purposefully around the loss, like trees intertwining as they leaned upon one another. Laine had devoted her life to being the support structure to the remains of her family, and both she and her father had done everything in their power to ensure that little Emma had all she could need or want in love and security.
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.
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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 raised 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.
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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—”
