Saturday. The only damn day we had to get everything in order before the move, and Liam was already acting like he owned the place.
Tosha had forwarded me three texts before I even finished my coffee:
“You still work for me. Don’t forget that.”
“Pregnant or not, you’re still on the schedule.”
“GreenLee doesn’t run Velvet Lace. I do.”
I stared at the last one a little longer. Liam had been circling like a vulture ever since Sal gave me the green light to take over operations. He was micromanaging Velvet Lace like it was his personal empire—barking orders, questioning every change I made. But Sal only kept him around because of his mama—old-school loyalty, not business sense. And Liam knew it. That’s why he was trying to dig his claws in before the move.
I walked into the back office.
