Always the Last to Know(81)

“There’s that hostility.” He smiled ruefully.

“It’s disbelief, not hostility.”

“Juliet, you’re very serious.”

“About my work, absolutely. You could say that’s a positive attribute in an architect.”

He put his hands behind his head. “Listen. You’re right. Arwen is new and exciting, and the world seems to love her.”

Time to be dead honest. “But her work isn’t particularly special, and you must know that.”

“Be careful, Juliet. You’re sounding very jealous and competitive.”

Hostile, serious, jealous and competitive. All code for bitch, or worse. If she were a man, it would be fiery, dedicated, strategic and ambitious.

But here she was, in a male-owned, male-run firm. So she lowered her voice to a tone Dave could tolerate. “I’ve always put the firm’s best interests first and foremost, Dave. I’m your senior architect. I’ve never let you down, have I?”

He tilted his head. “Nothing is coming to mind, no.”

“Because it’s never happened.”

“What’s your point, Juliet?” He glanced at his phone.

You could lose me. I might quit. I could sue you for ageism and discrimination.

Except Kathy was older and wasn’t saying boo. And it would be hard to prove discrimination on the basis of gender, given that Arwen was a woman, too. A gay woman, for that matter, something Juliet had only found out a few weeks ago when she and Saanvi had had drinks at the same bar where Arwen had been with a woman, and they’d kissed once or twice. Arwen hadn’t seen Juliet, and Juliet hadn’t gone over, not wanting to intrude.

Now Juliet glanced out the window, then back at her boss. “Just be thoughtful, Dave. A green architect on a high-profile client’s project could be risky.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” he said. “And you know how we like to think outside the box at DJK. Thanks for bringing me your concerns. I think we’ve cleared the air. And I’ll see you at your party this weekend, right?”

Dismissed. “Yes. Thanks for hearing me out.” She left his office, past the silent Laurie, the plans for the senator’s house clenched in her hands.

Today was one of the days she left early and worked from home. She grabbed her stuff, fake smiled at her colleagues and got out of there as soon as possible. In her car, she sat for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, stymied, frustrated and . . . scared.

She could leave the firm and start her own. The thought had crossed her mind from time to time, but DJK had always been the best of both worlds—creativity within an established, respected firm. Starting her own would be twice the workload, and the girls still needed her. She could put out some feelers at other firms, but the truth was, if she left now . . . well. It would look exactly like what it was. She was leaving because another architect was taking over.

Was it possible she had peaked? Were her best days behind her? She was forty-three, and she hadn’t recycled an idea yet. Maybe this was just a normal phase of a career, being established and therefore slightly less exciting.

But the thought of aging out struck a nerve. Arwen was so beautiful . . . That had to be a factor, even if it wasn’t ever going to be acknowledged. Juliet looked in the rearview mirror. She was still attractive. Of course she was! She had decades of youth in front of her! She was in her prime. Look at Meryl Streep! Look at . . . um . . . Sofía Vergara! And JLo! She’d just spent three grand on looking even younger, goddamnit.

She was too serious, was she? She should smile more? How dare her boss imply that she was . . . was stale and boring! She was absolutely not those things. Oliver still adored her. Even if they’d settled into a routine, it was a good routine.

Sort of like Mom and Dad.

Shit.

She flew up 95 to Stoningham. Oliver was working from home today with a slight cold and being an utter infant about it. He was about to have his mind blown. Time to be shiny, spontaneous and bold.

Oliver was in the laundry room, putting sheets in the dryer because Juliet still hadn’t hired a new cleaning lady, goddamnit.

“All right, love?” he said as she came in.

“I want you,” she said.

He side-eyed her. “Darling, I have a man-cold. I’m hovering at the precipice of death.” He coughed to prove it, a meaty, phlegmy sound.

“I don’t care. I’m so . . .” Shit. She should’ve paid more attention to the three pornos she’d seen in her entire lifetime. “I’m so . . . wet.” Ick. It sounded like she’d peed her pants.

“I wouldn’t wish this cold on my worst enemy, my darling girl.”

“I won’t kiss you on the mouth, then.”

She dropped to her knees and started to untie his sweatpants.

“It’s a lovely thought, darling,” Oliver said, putting his hand on her head. His voice was thick with the cold. “Perhaps a rain check.”

“No. I need you now. Here. Like this.”

“Darling. I feel wretched.”

He’d change his mind. She pulled down his pants. “It’s so, um, big.” Gah. It wasn’t, not at the moment. She screwed her eyes shut and gathered her courage.

He stopped her, thank God, and pulled his pants back up. “Juliet, what are you doing?”