Fourteen
FOURTEEN
SOPHIE
W ell, that makes things easier, I guess. Sophie, meet our new interior designer. You’ll be working together on this project. The words from earlier echo in my mind, each syllable a prickling reminder of that man’s audacity. Why hire a new interior designer when I’m already handling the job? Is Liam not happy with my ideas? If that’s the case, why has he been so agreeable about everything?
The thought of working with Jared again is almost unbearable. What started as a brief fling turned into a shallow on-and-off “relationship” that dragged on for nearly three years before finally ending it. We were comfortable with each other, sure—he was nice enough and took care of certain needs—but it never blossomed into love on either side. Our longest stretch together was about eight months, and it ended when he stole a project that was originally mine—a project that could’ve launched my career and put me on the map.
I’m determined not to let that history repeat itself. How is it that my luck is so bad that I now have to work with not just one but two exes?
After the introductions, I excused myself, telling Liam I had a meeting with an artist I was considering for a commission. I didn’t. I ran—again—and took a cab home. The reality of the situation gnaws at me, relentless and mocking, as if the universe has decided to make me the punchline of some cruel joke. How much more of this can I take before I lose it and accidentally stab someone?
“Okay, honey, you don’t have to kill the apples,” Adeline says, placing a calming hand on my forearm to stop my frenzied chopping.
I glance down at the apples, now thoroughly smashed under the force of my frustration. What a mess. I’m making apple pie for tonight—Liam’s favorite. But now that I think of it, maybe I should add some extra salt. It seems fittingly ironic—a little extra salt to match my attitude that will be joining us for dinner.
Adeline steps in, gently prying the salt shaker from my grip. “I know the situation sucks, but how would Liam know about your past with Jared?” she says, her voice soft but firm.
He wouldn’t, but that's neither here nor there. That’s not what hurts. It’s the fact that he hired another designer. The sting isn’t just in the personal history but in the implication that my work might not be enough. Seeing someone else in this role feels like a gut punch, reminding me that despite everything I’ve done, there’s still doubt. I’ll never be enough on my own.
Adeline must notice the turmoil on my face because her eyes soften, and her posture shifts, more relaxed now. “I can see the gears turning in your head,” she says, slipping her hand into mine. “You’re amazing, Sophie. They chose you . You’re the first choice—the head designer. Jared was probably only hired as support. You’re his boss.” Her voice tightens slightly as she adds, “I don’t like that Liam hired him behind your back, but maybe having him here will take some of the pressure off you.”
“I like pressure,” I respond, like an idiot.
“I’ll speak with Liam if you want. He owes you an apology.”
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “Don’t say anything.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to regain composure. “I’ll handle it.”
The doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I glance at the clock—he’s as punctual as ever. “I’ll get it,” I say, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I feel. My steps are brisk as I head to the door, my mind tangled in a mess of frustration and hurt, bracing myself to confront him.
But when I open the door, my breath catches in my throat. It feels as if someone has punched me in the stomach, leaving me temporarily breathless.
Liam stands there, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, holding a bottle of red wine in one hand and a delicate pot of forget-me-nots in the other.
“Two Queens,” I say, placing a pair of twos face down on the card stack. My voice is steady for now, but my poker face is on the brink of cracking if someone so much as breathes wrong.
After Adeline’s delicious lasagna and my apple pie–unsalted and tasty if I say so myself–we started playing cards. This week’s game is Bullshit . One of my favorites. It’s a simple game, but it demands strategy and a solid poker face—or, in this case, a bullshit face, whichever you prefer.
So far, we’ve played three rounds, with Liam winning two and Adeline taking one. His wins don’t sit well with me–not just because I haven’t won yet, but because it feels like he’s cheating. So, I insisted on another round, determined to reclaim some control.
I thought I’d feel calm, collected. But the moment Liam showed up with forget-me-nots, something in me cracked open. I glance over at the kitchen island, where the delicate pot sits like an accusation. My hand drifts instinctively to the spot behind my ear, where my flower tattoo is hidden beneath layers of carefully styled hair.
Why would he do that? After everything—why forget-me-nots? Is he trying to send a message? Is this some kind of secret code meant only for me?
Heat rises to my cheeks as I think it over. No, let’s be realistic. Liam is a man, and men often don’t read the subtleties of emotions as well as they should. He knows I love this flower, so he probably bought them to smooth things out. It’s his way of acknowledging that he’s in the wrong, but it only makes me angrier instead of easing the tension. The gesture feels like a shallow attempt at appeasement, a way to patch things up without addressing the real issue. The thought of Liam’s easy smile as he handed me the pot of flowers and his nonchalant attitude makes my frustration bubble up again.
“Bullshit,” Liam calls, his eyes burning into mine. His gaze is intense, but I force myself to meet it with a defiant stare, refusing to back down.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Are you sticking to bullshit, or are you going to take it back?”
The game feels like a twisted reflection of the current situation I’m in. Liam is completely bullshitting me.
He leans over the table, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’m sticking to bullshit.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say, loud enough for him to hear but too soft to be directed at him. Still, his brow furrows slightly at my comment, but he seems to ignore it as he flips the card, revealing my bluff. “I knew it.”
“Guess I’m not as good a bluffer as you are, ” I mumble, scooping the cards toward me. My words hang in the air, and for a brief moment, there’s something else in Liam’s eyes–regret, maybe, or hurt. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual confidence as he ignores my second petty comment.
Adeline glances between us. “Alright, what’s the next card?” she asks, trying to steer the conversation back to the game.
Liam smirks, his eyes not leaving mine. “Three kings,” he says, placing the cards down with slow, deliberate care, challenging me to call him out.
Well, I can see right through him. This is more than just a playful card game. He’s provoking me. I raise an eyebrow, the accusation slipping out before I can stop it. “Bullshit.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “See for yourself.”
I flip the cards quickly, my heart pounding, ready to call him out.
Three kings.
He wasn’t bluffing.
“Look at that. You do know how to speak the truth.”
He straightens, his dark gaze sharpening. “What do you mean by that? When have I lied to you?” The muscles in his jaw flex, tension rippling beneath his tight-lipped expression, his teeth clenching visibly as if holding back words he’s dying to say.
The room falls silent, the air thick with unspoken words. My whole body feels hot, the heat rising in my cheeks as my heart races.
Liam’s eyes narrow when I don’t answer, a mixture of frustration and something softer swirling in their depths. “If you have something to say, just say it.”
Should I? Should I tell him how his move made me feel—how it left me questioning everything, drowning in this overwhelming sense of failure? The thought is tempting, but I hesitate. No, that would make me seem too vulnerable. Which means… Passive-aggressiveness it is. I’ve worked in corporate environments long enough to know how to play this game.
“I have nothing to say,” I reply curtly.
“Seems like you do,” he counters, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his eyes daring me to continue.
“I don’t.”
We stare at each other in silence. Each inhale and exhale seem to echo in the charged air.
“Okay, how about we stop playing this game of bluff and quit bluffing in real life, too?” Adeline’s voice slices through the tension like a knife. Her tone is firm, an obvious attempt to defuse the brewing storm.
We both turn to look at her, but neither of us speak.
A heavy sigh escapes her, patience clearly wearing thin. “You’re going to let me do everything? Cool.” With a pointed hand toward Liam, she continues, “Liam, Sophie is upset because you hired a new interior designer without mentioning it to her—let alone hiring her ex-boyfriend.”
My head whips toward her, shock flashing across my face. Liam didn’t need to know that.
“He’s not an ex-boyfriend,” I mumble, my voice barely steady. “Just… an ex-fling or something.” The words feel flimsy, a feeble attempt to downplay the mess she just aired.
Adeline throws me a sharp look, and I close my mouth, sneaking a glance at Liam.
His posture stiffens almost imperceptibly at the revelation, and his jaw tightens even further, as if he’s trying to piece together what he just heard, but he doesn’t let it show further.
“Why did you hire Jared?” she asks him.
“For Sophie to have some help,” Liam replies matter-of-factly, though there’s an edge to it now.
My stomach knots at his words. Did it look like I needed help? The implication stings, deepening the ache of my frustration and self-doubt.
He reads the look on my face. “Sophie, it’s a whole-ass hotel. Everybody would need an extra hand.”
The reassurance feels hollow, like a flimsy bandage over a much deeper wound. I’ve handled this whole-ass hotel on my own—meticulously planned every detail—and I’m nearly finished. So, no, not everyone needs an extra hand. But I don’t say that. I rein it in because Liam isn’t my friend; he’s my boss.
And bosses talk. One wrong word, one slip, and the bridges I need to succeed in this industry could go up in flames. I know Liam would never intentionally damage my career—he’s not that kind of person—but the stakes are too high to risk acting out of turn.
So, I swallow the sharp words sitting on the tip of my tongue and settle on something more neutral and professional. “I guess we’ll make it work,” I say, my tone clipped but carefully measured—not outright defiant. The smile I manage feels like a fragile compromise—polite enough to pass but far from genuine.
Liam’s gaze linger momentarily, but he seems to accept my response. The air between us is still thick with unspoken words, but the immediate tension seems to ease just a fraction.
Adeline clears her throat, and her attempt to break the awkward silence is a welcome distraction. “So… Do you guys want to play Monopoly?”