Page 17 of The Exception

Was it?I tilted my head, and she seemed to understand.

“Your family still respects you and what you do. Mine—” She shook her head and glanced at the ceiling. Then she drank deeply from her glass.

“Yours?”

She set her glass on the table. “It’s not important.”

I leaned forward, my arms resting on my thighs. She huffed, perhaps sensing my unspoken questions. My unwillingness to relent.

“I should get going,” she said. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

She wasn’t wrong, and yet…nothing felt more important than this. “I haven’t seen you in two years. Surely we can take some time to catch up. Tell me what’s been going on with you. What you’re working on.”

She tilted her head. “You really want to know?”

I draped my arm over the back of the sofa. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Well. I’m restoring a French château in the Loire Valley.”

“Sounds like a big project,” I said, as if I hadn’t spent way too much time watching her YouStream channel.

She blew out a breath, but she smiled when she spoke. “Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s as full of character as it is defects.”

She was proud of what she was doing. As she should be. The scope of the project was incredible, especially for one person to manage.

The magnificent Loire Valley château was steeped in history. It had been constructed during the reign of Louis XVI just before the French Revolution, and it had only changed hands twice during the past 250 years. Thanks to a complicated system of inheritance laws, increasingly expensive maintenance, and lack of agreement and interest from the various family branches who had owned it, they’d finally decided to sell for the bargain price of $20,000.

I was almost jealous that I hadn’t discovered the property and snatched it up myself.

“And what do you plan to do with it once you’re finished?”

“IfI finish.” She stared into her glass, her face full of defeat. I’d seen that same expression many times when I’d looked at myself in the mirror.

“You will,” I said. “I have no doubt.” She’d always been persistent.

And perhaps she was more of a risk-taker than I’d given her credit for. I could respect someone who put it all on the line for a project they were passionate about.

She laughed, but it was humorless. “That makes one of us. Lately, I’m not so sure.”

“A project like that takes time and patience.”

“It definitely does.”

We were quiet, sipping our drinks. Finally, she said, “I’m surprised you know about my blog.”

“I make it my business to know what people are saying about my hotels.”

She straightened, lifting her chin. Proud. Beautiful. Like a fucking queen. “Everything I’ve written is something I would’ve—andhavesaid—to your face. While I was your assistant, I made suggestions.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were just too,” she huffed, “stubborn to listen to anyone else’s opinion.”

I gnashed my teeth. “Oh. Right. Because a twenty-seven-year-old assistant knows better than the CEO who’s nearly double her age and has been running the company for over a decade.”

Fuck. This was like my argument with the board all over again. Why did no one see or respect what I’d done for the company? I’d devoted fourteen years to running the empire, and that didn’t account for all the years I’d worked for the brand before that, serving in nearly every role possible.

My grandparents had been firm believers in earning your place. And in addition to instilling a strong work ethic in their grandchildren, they’d wanted us to value and appreciate the role of each and every employee in the company. I wondered what they’d think if they could see me now. I wondered if they—like the board—would be questioning my competence. The idea that I might have somehow disappointed them pained me.

Liliana rolled her eyes. “You’re not nearly double my age. You’re fifteen years older than me.”

“Close enough,” I huffed. Fifteen years might as well be fifty in this case.

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