“She is an interior designer, Arthur,” I said, my voice steady. “And she is currently drafting plans to replace my family’s furniture.”

Nathan stepped into the foyer, finally letting go of the doorframe to move toward me.

“Deidre, sweetheart, you need to lie down,” he said, his voice dropping into a soft, patronizing register. “The pregnancy is making you anxious, and the doctor said stress isn’t good for the baby.”

He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped back, out of his reach.

“Do not touch me, Nathan,” I said.

Arthur looked between us, his expression hardening.

“This is highly irregular,” the second board member said, adjusting his glasses as he looked at the drywall dust coating the Persian rug. “The co-op board has strict guidelines regarding structural alterations, West.”

“I am aware,” Nathan said, his professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second. “And we are complying with every single one of them. If you could give us until tomorrow morning, I can have all the permits sent to your office.”

“There will be no permits,” a sharp, clear voice called out from the hallway.