A brief pause. "Very well. I look forward to our meeting." He hangs up without saying goodbye.
I set my phone down slowly, my mind racing. What is happening? Alexander dumps me with a cold note, then apparently sings my praises to his wealthy friends? It doesn't make sense.
Unless it does. Unless the professional and personal were always completely separate in his mind. I gave him good sex and good designs. He's done with one but still values the other.
The thought should make me angry, but instead I feel a confusing mix of pride and hurt. He thinks I'm talented enough to recommend to his inner circle. But not worth a proper goodbye.
My phone pings with Tristan Vale's assistant's email. The meeting is scheduled for 9 am.
Two major potential clients in one day. The kind of connections that could elevate Evoque Design to a whole newlevel. The kind of work that might finally make my parents see my career as legitimate.
All thanks to Alexander.
I stare at my phone, debating. The professional thing would be to thank him for the referrals. A simple text acknowledging his recommendation and expressing gratitude. Nothing personal. Nothing that reveals how much he hurt me.
I type, delete, type again.
Thank you for recommending me to Tristan Vale and Julian Fairfax. I appreciate it.
Too formal? Too cold? But what else can I say?By the way, thanks for disappearing after taking my virginity?
I hit send before I can overthink it further.
The message shows as delivered. I watch the screen, hoping for those three dots to appear, indicating he's typing a response. Nothing happens.
Of course not. Alexander Kingsley doesn't explain himself to anyone.
I set my phone face down on the coffee table and turn back to my laptop.
I should be ecstatic, carefully planning my presentations.
Instead, I find myself wondering if I'll see Alexander at some point during these projects. If our paths will cross at meetings or events. What I'll say to him if they do.
I force the thoughts away and open a new design document. Julian's community center needs to be warm, inviting, but durable. Tristan's penthouses need to be minimalist yet welcoming. I can do this. This is what I'm good at.
My phone remains silent as the night goes on. No response from Alexander. I didn't really expect one.
But the opportunities he's sent my way? Those are very real. And maybe that's the only language Alexander Kingsleyspeaks fluently – the language of business, of opportunity, of professional respect.
It's not what I wanted from him. But it might be all I get.
Chapter 12
Tristan
Icheck my watch for the third time in five minutes. It’s five minutes after nine. She's late. I hate late. My schedule runs with military precision for a reason—because time is the one resource even I can't buy more of. Her portfolio shows promise, but punctuality speaks volumes about reliability, and right now, Camille Montclair isn't scoring points in that department.
My intercom buzzes. "Mr. Vale?" My assistant's voice carries that particular tone she uses when she's about to deliver news she knows I won't like.
"Yes, Maggie?"
"Miss Montclair is on the line. She says she's running about ten minutes late and extends her sincerest apologies."
I press my fingers to my temple. "Did she offer an explanation?"
"Something about car trouble, sir."
Of course. The most predictable excuse in the book. "Tell her I'll still see her, but my time is limited." I don't try to mask my irritation.
