Page 125 of Love By Design

He cut me off by jumping off the table and thrusting a champagne glass into my hand. “It was one hundred percent your thoughts and input that sealed this deal, Silas. If you want to have a lasting career in this industry, especially in this city, you’ve got to stop selling yourself short.”

I thought about annotating my article for Marshall, and then I thought about the way my father had thrown my ideas into the trash.

“Force of habit,” I murmured, clinking the rim of our glasses together and taking a sip. My mouth still tasted like coffee, but the bubbles helped me ease into a more celebratory mood.

My phone vibrated an incoming call in my pocket, and I realized I still had my messenger bag slung over my shoulder.I hadn’t even unpacked for the day before Cory had ambushed me with praise. Cocking a shoulder down, I dropped my bag into a chair and pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“It’s Marshall,” I said, flashing Cory the screen.

“I’m sure he’s calling to congratulate you. I’ll give you some privacy and then we’ll regroup.” Cory raised his glass again, then let himself out of the conference room.

I answered the call and sank down into one of the chairs. I didn’t even feel the bruising on my ass. My entire body was numb from the shock.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Are you at work?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yes. I…Marshall, I…”

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” He sounded so fucking sincere, so proud. “No one deserved this more than you.”

“You did.”

“The email in my inbox says otherwise.”

I let out a long breath. “I haven’t seen the email. I just walked in, and Cory was here with champagne and then you called.”

“Mr. Covington,” he said, clearing his throat. “While your submission on Cahuenga Pass was remarkable in its composition, we regrettably find you outdone by Cory Callahan and Silas Ayres.”

I blinked hard, swiveling the chair around and setting down my champagne flute before I dropped it on the floor.

“It says my name?”

“It says your name. Equal placement.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips against my eyelids until I saw stars. How did the thing I’d wanted for so long—recognition—taste so bitter? It was unfair that Marshall losing the bid was the cost, cruel that my dad…

My dad.

“Do you think they emailed my dad the same thing?” I asked.

“I doubt they called him Mr. Covington, and it would be a stretch to call anything he’s done remarkable, but…”

“Shit.”

As if on cue, my phone buzzed with another incoming call. I didn’t even need to look at my screen to know who it was.

“Is he calling?” Marshall asked.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to answer it, you know,” he said gently. “You can talk to him on your own time and your own terms.”

It was a weird thing, not being beholden to a man who didn’t appreciate me. I stared at my dad’s caller ID on the screen until my lack of movement sent him to voicemail.

“Are you there?” Marshall asked me.

“I’m here.”