Page 2 of Love By Design

“I know my father and I will both hate to see you lose the bid, Mr. Covington,” I said.

He slid his palm against mine, curling his fingers around the underside of my hand. Squeezing hard, I countered backwith as much pressure as I could manage, but his fingers were as muscular as the rest of him, his grip punishing.

“As you say.”

He let go of my hand, threw a disdainful glance down at my father and turned for the door. It was halfway open when he stopped, one foot in the main part of the office, the other nearly there. Marshall turned back to my father, who was still seated at the table, and he frowned.

“You’re going to ruin his career before it even gets started if you don’t listen to him, Stanley.”

That had my father out of his seat, hands flat on the table, entire body angled toward the door. “I don’t need business advice from you.”

I wiped the sweat off my palm and onto the front of my slacks.

“Wasn’t business advice,” he said, throwing one last glance in my direction before letting himself out of the conference room and closing the door behind him with a loud click of the latch.

My knees shook, so I returned to my seat, pushing the chair back at least to stretch my legs out and dry my palms again.

“I told you not to publish that article,” my father said without looking at me.

“I didn’t publish it. I submitted it.”

“You know what I meant.”

I did.

“You’ve had a good run with this, Dad, but it’s literally a new century. Can we at least try some of these ideas?”

“This industry is filled with men like me, Silas. Menmyage. They’ll see things my way, not yours.”

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling until I was properly blinded by the lights that had already betrayed Marshall Covington’s age. “Don’t you think any of them have sons or daughters? Come on, Dad. I’m not the only person out herethinking this way. Buildings are being designed with these very same concepts in other parts of the world?—”

He cut me off, “But not here.”

“Not yet.”

My father shook his head and held up his hand in a signal I knew meant the conversation was over.

“I won’t hear it, Silas.”

“Covington isn’t going to lose this bid,” I warned.

I hadn’t seen his offering, but I knew it would be better than ours. My father had shot down nearly every idea I’d come up with, opting for tradition instead of innovation. It was a wonder we’d made it to the final round, but he was probably right. The decision was most likely being made around a table like ours, with men like him…not men like me.

My father stepped away from the table, wiped his hands together like he was wiping them clean of me.

“If you think you’re so smart, Silas, redraft the proposal.”

Breath caught in my throat. “What?”

“Redraft it the way you think it should be done.”

“And you’ll go with it?” I asked.

“I’ll look at it,” he said.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the notion. “I’m not going to put time and thought into you simply indulging me. I know you don’t take me or my ideas seriously.”

“If I didn’t take you seriously, you wouldn’t work here.”