Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,45
from the team against the client’s wishes.”
“Then convince them that she’s a nuisance. Get her fired, if you can manage it.”
At that, I did laugh. “You can’t be serious. You want me to ruin the life of a talented woman because you believe her family wronged Evelyn Bower? An event that not only seems solely the responsibility of Evelyn, but one that has nothing to do with us?”
Gears clicking behind her furious eyes, calculating my words. The answer she reached displeased her.
She stood. Lifted her chin, putting her nose substantially higher in the air. But she smiled, her voice somehow both placating and dictatorial. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I have always admired your integrity, my darling—it is one of the noblest markers of your character. You know me well enough to understand my unhappiness. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat, they say. Now if you’ll excuse me …”
My brows flicked together with uncertainty—would she take matters into her own hands?—but I brushed the thought away. She wouldn’t jeopardize our standing. “I can’t imagine you came to see me without purpose.”
Caught, she corrected herself. “I wanted a briefing on this account and your progress, but we’ll do that another time. Let’s have dinner. Bring my sweet Georgiana. Friday, eight o’clock.”
“Of course. I’ll let her know.”
“Please do, and we’ll discuss it all then. Goodbye, dear,” she said with all the warmth of a marble statue.
I watched her go, wondering if this was the last I’d hear of it. And I found myself certain it wouldn’t be.
LANEY
Everything about that was weird, I thought as I walked back to my cubicle.
I’d expected to thank Darcy, endure an awkward exchange, and leave. Instead, I’d maintained a genuine smile, heard Liam Darcy laugh, and then he’d caught me when I stumbled—a gesture I could still feel the hot remnants of. As if his fingertips had marked me.
And as if that wasn’t confusing enough, his aunt had happened.
I liked to think I generally gave a good first impression, but Catherine de Bourgh was very clearly unimpressed by the likes of me. On discovering she knew my mother, I found a little clarity when it came to her disdain, but the vitriol in Catherine’s body language and tone were unmistakable. Granted, I also knew she was impossible to please, and most people were low-key afraid of her, so I told myself not to take it personally.
But when I stepped into my cubicle, I caught sight of her leaving Darcy’s office. She’d already seen me, and with every step, the glowing coals that were her eyes singed and smoked with contempt for me. When she disappeared into the elevator well, the temperature returned to a comfortable range.
I sat, opening my laptop with a frown on my face. Curiosity piqued—what on earth had my mother done to Catherine de Bourgh that had her so twisted? But I squelched the thought. Truth was, I didn’t want to know. In fact, that knowledge might be a liability—at least this way, I had plausible deniability.
Within a few minutes at my computer, I slipped into the stream of creation, going over the designs we were working on for the internal review—a print material spread, signage, ads. But I didn’t get far.
“Hey,” a cheerful voice said from behind me.
I swiveled my chair, finding a smile for Georgie. It was automatic when in the presence of someone so radiant.
“Just wanted to check in,” she continued. “Making progress?”
“We are. Check this out.” I opened up a couple of designs. “We have our taglines, and the write-up is almost finished. We’re just working on mock-ups, but here’s our palette, font hierarchy, and an aesthetic overview.”
“I really like it, Laney.”
“More than Liam’s?”
“Nice try,” she teased. “Did you just meet with him?”
“I did,” I answered with a note of wonder in my voice. “He was surprisingly amiable. Your aunt, however, was not.”
“I don’t think there’s a single person on the planet besides Liam and I who would consider her hospitable, so I wouldn’t take it to heart.”
“She knows my mother, so you might be wrong. I love Mom, but the society women she’s acquainted with don’t usually have a favorable opinion of her.” At Georgie’s confused expression, I added, “It’s a class thing. That, and Mom is notoriously oblivious. Most of the time, she doesn’t even realize they dislike her.”
Her brow furrowed. “Well, I hope it’s not that. But I am glad my brother was on his good behavior. Look at you two, getting along.”