Monday morning arrived with the weight of consequences. Victoria woke early, her stomach tight with anxiety about navigating her first professional interaction with Kieran after Saturday's intimacy. She'd spent Sunday alternating between euphoria and panic, replaying their conversations, questioning her judgment, and trying to build a mental framework for compartmentalizing their personal and professional relationships.
The framework remained stubbornly theoretical.
The project kickoff meeting was scheduled for ten o'clock with Kieran's full team, Ashford & Co.'s operations staff, and the general contractor. Fifteen people total, all of whom would be watching Victoria's interactions with their new designer for any hint of favoritism or impropriety.
She dressed with extra care, choosing a burgundy suit that projected authority without severity. Hair in its usual chignon. Minimal jewelry. The armor is firmly in place.
Simone appeared at her office at nine thirty with coffee and knowing eyes.
"You slept with him," Simone announced without preamble.
Victoria nearly dropped her cup. "I did not."
"But you spent time with him this weekend. I can tell. You have that look."
"What look?"
"Like you're terrified and exhilarated in equal measure. Like you did something reckless and can't decide if you regret it." Simone settled onto the sofa. "So? How was it?"
"We had lunch. At my house. We talked. That's all."
"You had a man in your house. Voluntarily. For a meal that wasn't catered." Simone pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock. "Who are you and what have you done with Victoria Ashford?"
Despite her nerves, Victoria smiled. "It was nice. Terrifying, but nice. He's easy to talk to. He doesn't let me hide behind corporate speech."
"And?"
"And we're going to see where this goes. Discretely. With clear boundaries about the professional relationship." Victoria paused. "I'm probably making a huge mistake."
"Probably. But at least you're making it with your eyes open." Simone's expression turned serious. "Just be careful, chérie. Not just about the board and Margaret, though they're real concerns. Be careful with your heart. You've kept it locked up for so long, I'm not sure you remember how fragile it actually is."
The warning lingered as Victoria made her way to the large conference room at nine fifty five. The project team was already assembling, Kieran's people clearly identifiable by their youth and casual clothes. Kieran himself stood at the head of the table, reviewing documents with his project manager, a woman in her thirties with purple streaks in her hair and multiple ear piercings.
He looked up when Victoria entered, and for just a moment, his face transformed with a smile that was entirely too intimate for a professional setting. Then he caught himself, the smile becoming more measured, appropriate.
"Ms. Ashford," he said, extending his hand with careful formality. "Thank you for joining us."
"Mr. Hayes." Victoria shook his hand, hyperaware of every eye in the room tracking the interaction. His palm was warm, calloused, achingly familiar after Saturday. She released it quickly. "I'm looking forward to seeing your vision come to life."
The meeting proceeded with the usual chaos of project kickoff meetings. Timelines being established, responsibilities assigned, potential conflicts identified and addressed. Kieran was impressive in his element, commanding the room with quiet confidence, answering technical questions with precision, managing personalities with diplomatic skill.
Victoria forced herself to contribute appropriately without either hovering or appearing disengaged. She caught Robert Chen watching her several times, his expression thoughtfully neutral. Geoffrey Morrison, attending remotely, seemed satisfied with the proceedings. Margaret, mercifully, was absent.
"The critical path items are tile fabrication and structural modifications to support the skylight installation," Kieran explained, pointing to the timeline on screen. "If we can get permits approved by the end of November, we'll stay on schedule for an August opening."
The general contractor, a gruff man named Tom Ricci who'd been building in Newport for forty years, nodded approvingly. "I've worked with your fabricators before. Good people. The skylight is going to be the challenge. That's major structural work on a historic building. The preservation commission will have opinions."
"I've already started preliminary conversations with them," Kieran assured him. "They're surprisingly supportive given that we're honoring the building's character while modernizing functionality."
Victoria listened to Kieran navigate the technical discussions with growing respect. This wasn't the passionate artist from Saturday, waxing poetic about light and beauty. This was a skilled professional who understood building codes and load bearing walls and the political complexities of historic preservation. He contained multitudes, and she was only beginning to discover them.
The meeting adjourned at noon with clear action items and next steps. People filtered out in clusters, discussing lunch options and construction schedules. Victoria lingered, reviewing her notes, waiting until the room emptied.
Kieran approached her once they were alone, maintaining careful physical distance.
"I think that went well," he said.
"Very well. You impressed people." Victoria closed her notebook. "Tom Ricci doesn't impress easily. If he's on board, the project has credibility."
"How are you?" The question was quiet, personal, completely inappropriate for their current setting.
"Terrified that I'm going to say or do something that gives us away." Victoria glanced at the glass walls, the possibility of being observed. "This is harder than I anticipated."
"Want to grab lunch? There's a sandwich shop off Thames Street. We could discuss the timeline."
"We just discussed the timeline for two hours."
"Then we'll discuss it again. With better sandwiches." His smile was gentle. "I want to see you, Victoria. Even if it's just for an hour in a public place talking about tile vendors."
Victoria knew she should say no. They'd just established professional boundaries; lunch would blur them immediately. But she found herself nodding.
"The sandwich shop. Thirty minutes. We arrive separately."
The Midtown Oyster Bar was blessedly uncrowded on a Monday afternoon. Victoria arrived first, claiming a back booth where they were unlikely to be noticed. Kieran arrived ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from her with two bottles of sparkling water.
"I ordered for us," Victoria said. "Hope you don't mind."
"I'm a fan of decisive women." He stretched his legs under the table, his knee briefly touching hers before he shifted. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Victoria wanted to reach for his hand but kept hers firmly on the table. "Tell me about your team. The woman with purple hair?"
"That's Sophie Chen, my project manager. Best in the business. Degree from MIT, worked for three major firms before I convinced her to join my tiny operation. She keeps me organized and prevents me from making impulsive decisions."
"Someone should."
"Hey." His mock offense made her smile. "I can be very disciplined when necessary."
Their sandwiches arrived, providing cover for the silence. Victoria picked at her food, too aware of Kieran across from her, the intimacy of sharing a meal in public while pretending to be nothing more than professional colleagues.
"This is strange," she said finally. "Being with you but not being able to act like it."
"We could fix that. Go public. Stop hiding."
"And lose everything in the process. No." Victoria shook her head firmly. "This is the only way it works. Discrete. Separate from our professional lives."
"For how long? We can't maintain separate lives indefinitely."
"I don't know. As long as necessary." She met his eyes. "I need you to understand, Kieran. My career is everything I've built. Everything I've sacrificed for. I can't lose it. Not even for this."
Something flickered across his face, hurt or frustration or resignation. "Understood. Discrete it is."
They finished lunch making careful conversation about the project, tile vendors and permit timelines and safe topics that didn't require vulnerability. But the earlier ease between them had fractured, replaced by careful navigation of what they could and couldn't say.
Back at the office, Victoria buried herself in work, trying not to replay the lunch conversation, trying not to wonder if she'd already damaged something precious by being too cautious.
Her phone buzzed at four o'clock. Kieran: "I'm sorry if I pushed too hard at lunch. Your boundaries are reasonable and I'll respect them. But I need you to know that I'm in this, Victoria. However complicated it is, I'm in."
Victoria stared at the message, her chest tight. She typed and deleted three responses before settling on: "I'm in too. Even though it scares me. Especially because it scares me."
His response was immediate: "Good. Scared means it matters. See you at the site inspection Wednesday?"
"Wednesday. Professional and appropriate."
"Completely professional. I'll barely notice how good you look in hard hats."
Victoria found herself smiling despite the anxiety still churning in her stomach. This was insane. She was forty three years old, texting with her twenty eight year old contractor like a teenager, risking everything she'd built for something that would probably end in disaster.
And yet she couldn't bring herself to stop.
That evening, Victoria had dinner with Geoffrey Morrison, a quarterly ritual they'd maintained since Edmund's death. Geoffrey's wife had died three years ago, and they'd formed an unlikely friendship based on shared grief and mutual respect.
They met at The Clarke Cooke House, a Newport institution where Geoffrey was such a regular that they kept his favorite scotch behind the bar.
"You look different," Geoffrey observed once they'd ordered. "Lighter somehow."
Victoria's heart rate spiked. "Different how?"
"Happier. Less burdened. It's good to see." He sipped his drink thoughtfully. "Is the new project going well?"
"Very well. Kieran Hayes is exceeding expectations already."
"He impressed me during the presentation. Talented young man. Passionate about his work." Geoffrey's eyes were sharp despite his casual tone. "Margaret hates him, of course. She called me Friday to discuss her concerns about your judgment."
Victoria set down her wine glass carefully. "What kind of concerns?"
"The usual. You're too emotionally invested in the project. You're showing favoritism to an inexperienced designer. You're allowing personal feelings to cloud professional judgment." Geoffrey paused. "She also implied that you might be personally involved with him."
Victoria's blood ran cold. "That's absurd."
"Is it?"
The question hung between them. Geoffrey knew her too well, having watched her navigate widowhood and corporate politics for four years. He would see through her lies.
"Victoria," he said gently, "I'm not Margaret. I'm not interested in destroying you. But I am concerned about you. If something is happening between you and Hayes, you need to be very careful. The optics alone could be devastating."
"Nothing is happening." The lie tasted bitter.
"Then why do you look terrified right now?" Geoffrey leaned forward. "I've known you for twenty years. I watched you build this company from near bankruptcy into something extraordinary. And I've watched you slowly disappear into the role, until there was nothing left of the person you used to be. If Kieran Hayes makes you remember that person exists, I'm not going to judge you. But I am going to tell you to be smart about it."
Victoria felt tears threaten and blinked them back furiously. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"Join the club. None of us do." Geoffrey's smile was kind. "But whatever you decide, make sure you're choosing it for yourself, not because you're afraid of what other people think. You've spent too long living for everyone else's expectations."
After dinner, Victoria drove home along Ocean Drive, Geoffrey's words echoing in her mind. Was she choosing this relationship for herself, or was she choosing it as rebellion against all the years of dutiful compliance? Did it matter?
At home, she found herself in her office again, sketching the studio space she'd designed Sunday night. Adding details, refining proportions, letting herself imagine what it would feel like to have a space dedicated entirely to her own creative work.
Her phone buzzed. Kieran: "Random question: what's your favorite time of day?"
Victoria smiled. "Early morning. Before the world wakes up and makes demands. You?"
"Late night. When the creative people come alive and the practical people are asleep. We're opposite in the most predictable way."
"Is that a problem?"
"Notunless you think it is. I like that we're different. You ground me. I think maybe I unground you."
Victoria laughed softly. "Unground isn't a word."
"It should be. What are you doing right now?"
She looked at her sketches, at the studio taking shape on paper. "Designing something impractical. You?"
"Working on material specifications that are probably too expensive. We're both terrible at being reasonable."
"I've been reasonable for twenty years. It's exhausting."
"Then stop. Be unreasonable with me."
Victoria set down her pencil and picked up her phone properly. "What does that look like?"
"Come to the site tomorrow night. After hours. I want to show you something."
"That's not maintaining professional boundaries."
"I know. Come anyway."
Victoria knew she should say no. Should maintain the careful distance they'd established, should protect herself and her career and everything she'd spent decades building. But the sketches in front of her, the studio she was designing for herself, the first truly selfish thing she'd allowed herself to want in years, all of it pointed toward the same truth.
She was tired of being reasonable. Tired of safety. Tired of protecting herself from living.
"What time?" she typed.
"Eight. Bring wine if you want. We'll call it a design consultation."
"That's a terrible cover story."
"You have a better one?"
Victoria didn't. "I'll be there at eight."
She put down her phone and looked at her sketches again. A studio. A space for creation and joy and the full complexity of being human. Kieran had asked her what she'd design if she could design anything, and she'd said a library. But maybe she needed to start smaller. Maybe she needed to design a space for herself first, before she could design spaces for other people.
Maybe that's what all of this was. Kieran, the relationship, the risk. Maybe it was about designing a life that actually fit her instead of trying to fit herself into a life someone else had built.
The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Victoria spent the rest of the evening refining her studio design, losing herself in the work the way she used to in college, when creating something beautiful felt like the most important thing in the world. She didn't think about the board or Margaret or the professional risks. She just designed.
And for the first time in years, she felt like herself