I look around the room and don’t see her anywhere. I glance down at my watch. Okay. It’s only a little after six, so she’s not really that late yet.

Still, I should have insisted on picking her up. She better not be taking the train.

I make my way around the room, greeting people and smiling politely at a few others who look familiar but whose names I can’t place. I see all the same people at these things every year but for the most I can’t be bothered to remember their names or who they are. I hate these kinds of events. I envy Luke for skipping this one.

The event is being held in an old candy factory that’s been converted into one of those modern open lofts. Every year we try to find an innovative space to hold the launch in and this year the team hit it out of the park.

The only problem is it’s making the collection look like shit.

I already know the buzz isn’t good. Usually I get people coming up to me at these things, fawning all over Luke’s designs and telling me what a genius he is. This time they’re avoiding me like the plague, and every time I look around the room it seems like I see people exchanging whispers. No one looks impressed.

I look at Luke’s pieces critically — in this huge hip space they look cheap and flimsy. I’m not an idiot — I know these aren’t great designs. I know Luke is capable of doing better. Hell, the pieces he showed us that weekend were the kind of knockout things we used to be known for. But I can’t sell those pieces. These I can sell.

I think.

I run a hand lightly over the desk he put together and flinch when I get a splinter. I plaster a smile on my face as someone takes a picture, then turn around so that I can pry the little shard of wood out of my palm. I use the opportunity to also discreetly pop a couple more Tums. This whole thing is making me heartsick. I forced Luke to take the collection in this direction because I wanted to save people’s jobs — but if I can’t sell this line, then what?

I turn back around, another thousand watt smile stiff on my face. I would just have to sell it myself. Make them believe it. I hadn’t gotten this far in the business because I rolled over when things got tough.

I steel myself to face the reporters, and then stop. From across the room, I see her. Hannah. I breathe a sigh of relief and a level of tension drains from my body.

Fuck, she looks beautiful. That gold dress had looked perfect on her in the store, but now that she’s all done up — hair back, dangling gold earrings, bright red lipstick lighting up her face — she looks better than perfect. She looks like an angel.

She’s deep in conversation with a man who has his back to me, but as he turns to point something out to her, I catch a glimpse of his face and realize it’s Kevin Hartley, a reporter with the Post. The same one who seems bent on painting Loft & Barn as a dinosaur, fated for extinction.

I don’t want Hannah to have to talk to any journalists — and especially not this one — and I’m just crossing the room to swoop her away from him when I feel a hand on my arm.

I turn, and the ball of acid that’s been brewing in my stomach finally bubbles over. Fuck.

“What do you want?”

“I came to say congratulations on the new collection.” Lara smiles, her lips stretching out the lines around her mouth.

“Great. Thanks.” I start to walk away but she corners me.

“Interesting direction,” she says, gesturing at the pieces behind us.

I don’t even look at them. I don’t have to. I know they’re shit and I know she knows they’re shit.

“We’re expanding the line,” I tell her. “Making it more accessible and more affordable for the modern consumer.” I’m torn between wanting to convince her about the value of line and needing to cross the room to get Hannah away from that media vulture. My fists are balling at my sides and I shift from foot to foot.

“In other words, you’re going cheap.”

“Say what you want, Lara. In five years, every house in North America is going to have at least one piece of Loft & Barn furniture in it — probably more. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. Hannah is throwing her head back and laughing at something Kevin Hartley just said and it’s making my blood boil.

As soon as I reach her, I wrap my arm around her waist and whisk her away from him, mid-sentence.

“Hi,” she says, a startled expression on her face.

“I’m so fucking glad to see you,” I say. I press my lips against hers in a kiss that is way too intense for this public of a setting. I can’t help it though — I want everyone in this room to know she’s mine.

When I come up for air, she has a stunned expression on her face. She touches her lips lightly and laughs nervously.

“Why were you talking to the editor of the Post?” I demand. “You didn’t say anything about Loft & Barn, did you?”

“That guy?” She gestures back at him. “I don’t know who he is, he just cornered me when I came in. He told me how much he liked my dress.”

Right. Sure he did. Kevin Hartley might be a bastard, but he’s not an idiot. I remind myself that Hannah isn’t an idiot either — she wouldn’t have said anything less than glowing about Loft & Barn, even if he’d pressed her.

“Who was that woman you were talking to?” She says it casually, but I can see the way her lips turn down a little.

I sigh. “That was Lara Bennington.”

“Your ex.” It isn’t a question.

“The style editor at Design Times.”

“And your ex.”

“Yes, but I don’t like to dwell on that part.”

“She’s beautiful.” She nibbles at her bottom lip.

“Compared to you, she’s a troll.”

That earns me a small smile. I take a glance around the room and spot the woman from the Errant Design online news site trying to get my attention. Shit.

“I unfortunately have to go talk to someone right now,” I tell Hannah. “Can I get you a drink on my way back? Champagne?”

She glances around and I can tell she doesn’t want me to leave her alone. I lean over and kiss the tip of her nose.

“I’ll only be a moment, I promise.”

I leave her standing there, even though I don’t want to, and go find Lilliana Ivanov. She has a bunch of inane questions about the collection and I try to answer them as politely as I can, even though all I want to do is get back to Hannah.

Eventually I manage to brush her off. I glance around, looking for one of the waiters bustling around with champagne trays. I spot one and make eye contact, signaling for him to come over, but before he arrives I feel a hand on my arm.

“So who’s the little tart in gold?”

Lara again. Christ. This night just keeps getting better.

“None of your business.”

“She’s cute. Young, but cute. Where did you meet her?”

“None of your business,” I repeat.

She laughs. Her laugh is nasally and shrill and I have no idea how I tolerated it for three years.

“That means you don’t want to tell me. Let’s see — I don’t know her from the industry. So I’m going to guess … she works for you?”

I glare at her, my jaw working, and she laughs again.

“I’m right, aren’t I? Oh, Trent. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to shit where you eat?”

God, she’s crass. “It’s not like that,” I say, even though I don’t owe her any kind of explanation.

“Oh, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I can understand why the impressionable young girl would want to sleep with the sexy boss. I suppose she’s a little like me in that regard.”

“She is nothing like you,” I spit out. The thought alone is enough to make me feel sick.

“Really? Then why is she talking to Kevin Hartley? She certainly knows how to charm the right people.”

I look over and find Hannah once again locked deep in conversation with him. What the fuck? This time she seems to be standing even closer to him. I feel as if the room shifts a little under my feet.

Suddenly Lara is running her hand up my arm. I jerk it away and turn to glare at her.

“Why are you wasting time with her? There’s nothing she can do for you, Trent. Not like me.”

“She makes me happy.” My throat feels dry all of a sudden.

“I made you happy once.”

“Yes, and then I found out you were fucking half the city on the side.”

“That’s how this business works, Trent. Don’t be so naive. I helped you, you helped me. We both got what we wanted. I can do the same for you again.”

I want to cut her off but her last words stop me. “What are you talking about?”

“This collection is shit, Trent. I know it and you know it and every damn person in this room knows it. But if you make it worth my while, I can make sure everyone in the country thinks it’s the most revolutionary line since the fucking Eames chairs.”

Her proposal makes me sick. “Sorry, Lara. I’m not interested in —“

She cuts me off by pressing her mouth against mine. Her hard lips feel so familiar … and awful. It’s not even a kiss. It’s like pushing your lips against a dead fish.

I push her off me … but then I see it.

Hannah. Standing just behind Lara. Staring at me with the most stricken expression on her face.

“Hannah…” I push past Lara, desperate to get to her, to take her in my arms and make her realize she didn’t just see what she no doubt thinks she saw.

But I’m not fast enough. She’s already flying out the front door of the warehouse.