Rise of The Abandoned Husband (Liam Knight) novel Chapter 183

183 An Awkward Retreat and a Professional Advance

183 An Awkward Retreat and a Professional Advance

“These lighting schemes were brilliant,” he said, pointing to photos from our fall collection launch. “The way they highlighted the textural details without washing out the colors.

“Problem?” Quentin asked.

“In that case,” Quentin said, pulling out another portfolio, “I’d love your insight on the spring collection from two years ago. The color palette was extraordinary–those muted pastels somehow looked bold rather than washed out.”

My phone buzzed again in my purse. Sebastian, no doubt, wondering why I hadn’t responded.

Quentin ran a hand through his sandy brown hair. Even disheveled from work, he looked ruggedly handsome in his casual sweater and jeans. I’d hired him for his impressive resume and experience in luxury fashion management, but I couldn’t deny that his looks had made an impression too.

“Like what?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

heels

I paused at the doorway, surprised to find Quentin Young, our recently hired general manager, hunched over a stack of documents. He looked up at the sound of my on the hardwood floor.

“Just trying to get up to speed,” he said. “There’s a lot to learn about Evening Gala’s history.”

“Actually, Quentin said, gathering some folders, “I was hoping to review some of the past fashion show materials with someone from the creative team. Since you’re here…”

Quentin smiled, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. “I’ll be on guard.”

I touched the spot reflexively and winced. “Just a minor accident. Nothing serious.”

As Quentin reached for his phone to place the order, I caught myself studying his profile. He was attractive in a completely different way from Sebastian’s polished elegance or Alistair’s golden–boy charm. There was something reassuringly straightforward about him.

183 An Awkward Retreat and a Professional Advanco

## Hazel’s POV

Quentin raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? It’s the weekend.”

“There’s an ice pack in the break room freezer,” he offered. “I used it last week after I banged my knee on that deceptively sharp corner of the conference table”

“Ms. Shaw?” he asked, catching me staring.

Quentin nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Hazel it is.”

I

The elevator finally reached my floor. I squeezed past the other occupants, mumbling apologies as I escaped into the hallway. The office was quiet on the weekend, but a light shone from the main workspace.

“That was all about juxtaposition,” I explained, grateful for the distraction. “We paired those soft tones with unexpected textures and hard geometric lines.”

“No,” I said, putting the phone away. “Just a… friend checking in.”

The elevator filled quickly with weekend workers, creating a human barrier between me and any chance Sebastian might follow. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Ms. Shaw,” he said, standing quickly. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

I laughed despite myself. “That table has claimed many victims.

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the screen. Part of me wanted to respond, but another part–the part still reeling from his confession–couldn’t formulate a reply that didn’t sound awkward or revealing.

I practically dove into the elevator, pressing myself against the back wall as if I could somehow disappear into it. My forehead throbbed where I’d bumped it on the elevator door in my hasty retreat from Sebastian.

My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out to see Sebastian’s name on the screen.

What just happened? Sebastian Sinclair had confessed that he liked me. And I had responded by running away and smacking my head like some slapstick comedy character.

My phone remained silent in my bag, Sebastian’s message still unanswered. I knew I

183 An Awkward Retreat and a Professional Advanco

would have to address it eventually, but for now, I was content to lose myself in work with a handsome, professional colleague who wasn’t asking anything of me beyond my professional expertise.

Nothing. I told myself firmly. This was work. Professional development. Nothing more.

I glanced at my watch, surprised at how quickly time had passed. “That sounds. perfect.”

“I’m already here,” I shrugged. “And this is much more productive than what I’d be doing at home.”

As we delved deeper into the creative discussions, I felt myself relaxing. This was familiar territory–fashion, design, the concrete elements of my work that made sense to me. Unlike the murky waters of relationships and feelings that I’d been drowning in lately.

I nodded, impressed by his dedication. “Well, that makes two of us working when we should be relaxing”

“That was actually my suggestion, I admitted. “The typical spotlight approach wasn’t working with the metallic threads we’d incorporated.”

But as Quentin returned to the table, his sleeve briefly brushing against mine as he sat down, I wondered if I was just trading one complication for another.

“Should we order in lunch? Quentin suggested after we’d been working for over an hour. “I know a great place that delivers on weekends.”

Like overthinking Sebastian’s confession and my clumsy response.

We settled at the conference table, spreading out portfolios of previous shows. Quentin was thorough and insightful, asking smart questions about our design processes and event coordination.

“Well,” Quentin said, gathering some of the materials, “I don’t want to take up your whole Saturday. I should probably let you go.”

The conversation eased some of the tension from my shoulders. This was exactly what I needed–normal workplace interaction instead of emotionally charged confessions that left me feeling like I was standing on quicksand.

“Likewise,” I replied, setting my bag down. “Working on a weekend?”

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