The test was not from Vivienne.
It was from a client of mine, a man named Richard who had commissioned me for a penthouse redesign in the fall. He was in his forties, separated from his wife, and he had made it clear from the second meeting that his interest in the project was not limited to the design.
I had managed it professionally. I had redirected every personal comment back to the work. I had kept Kezia in all meetings. I had not told Marcus because there was nothing to tell; I was handling it.
Then Richard sent an email that was not ambiguous.
I read it at my desk on a Tuesday morning and sat with it for ten minutes. Then I forwarded it to Marcus without comment.
He called within three minutes.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes. I'm not threatened by him. I'm just done with mana
