Chapter Three
July 16th, 9:09 a.m.
Paloma pressed a hand to her stomach, staring at the printer. Excitement battled with anxiety, making her regret the small bowl of oatmeal she’d eaten for breakfast. With a final whirl and quiet hiss, the sheet with Max’s contract slid from the printer.
She picked up the warm paper, her fingers tracing over the blank signature line. Who would have thought a failed pickup at The Hill would lead to this? She shook her head, still amazed at how quickly their conversation had shifted from awkward flirtation to professional excitement.
Before they’d met at the Thompsons’ house two days ago, she’d researched his business. It was a small but premier landscape design firm that handled major commercial and residential projects. It was a coup that he was willing to take on this specialized portion of her project even with his packed schedule. Still, her expectations needed to remain low. She’d tried partnerships in the past and they’d failed miserably.
Her phone dinged with an incoming call at the same time her doorbell rang. Her cell was face up on the desk and her dad’s name flashed on the screen. They hadn’t talked in over a month, and it was five in the morning in California.
Her stomach clenched, and she picked up the phone. “Dad? Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I wanted to catch you before my day got started.”
The bell chimed again. She crossed to the door and opened it, the phone pressed to her ear. “Oh, good. I was worried because it’s so early.”
Max stood on her porch in a faded green t-shirt and equally faded jeans. Her breath halted somewhere in her chest. Some women loved men in designer suits. Others got hot for guys with calluses on their hands. Hers was the latter. Even his scuffed brown work boots were sexy. But it didn’t matter. He might soon be her work partner. She waved him in, motioning toward her office.
“Could I call you back? I’m meeting with a potential business partner.” She led Max to her office and handed him the contracts to read.
“Oh?” Her father’s voice carried that familiar note of concern that always made her shoulders tense. “What kind of partnership?”
“A landscape architect. Max London. I’ve been hired by a couple for a full house redesign, including an indoor garden. We’ll be working together to make sure his design matches mine. It’s innovative. He’s got great technical knowledge of environmental systems and plant life, and combined with my understanding of interior spaces, we could create something really special.” The words tumbled out faster than she intended, already defensive. She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from babbling.
“Interesting concept.” Her father paused. “It’s good to see you taking initiative again, especially after . . . well, after Richard.”
The reminder hit like a punch to her confidence. She turned away from Max, who was thankfully still absorbed in reading the paperwork, and left the office. “Dad, that was almost two years ago. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”
“I hope so.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone, and she paced the hallway. “I’m a smart businesswoman, Dad. I’ve done my research.” Sure, she’d proposed the collaboration impulsively, but her gut had been right about him. “Max’s company is successful, his reputation is excellent, and this partnership could be incredibly profitable for both of us.”
“I know you’re smart. I just worry—”
“I have to go, Dad. Max is waiting.” She ended the call before he could respond. Smoothing her silk sleeveless blouse, she squared her shoulders. She was done letting her past dictate her future.
She stepped back into her office, and Max looked up from the contract, concern flickering across his features. “Everything okay?”
The smile she gave him was genuine. Something about his steady presence helped ground her. “Perfect. My dad was just checking in.”
And she’d prove her father wrong. Show him she wasn’t the same naive woman who’d trusted her ex-fiancé with her company’s finances, only to discover he’d been draining her accounts. Never again. This partnership with Max was different. They were temporary, but true business partners, sharing both risks and rewards. And this time she’d done her due diligence and planned to establish clear financial controls, where every damn transaction would go through her hands first.
“So,” she said, tapping the contract. “What do you think?”
“That you’re efficient.” His voice was neutral. That was a good sign.
Coming around the desk, she tapped her mouse, and her computer screen blinked to life. She pulled up the designs they’d talked about while at the Thompsons’ house. “I hope— ”
Max had wandered to her office door and was looking into the main part of her house. “You have a nice place,” he said.
“I’d hope so since I’m an interior designer.” She bit her lower lip, secretly pleased. Moving beside him, she took in her favorite part of her home: the large glass doors that made up the far wall, the patio stretching the length, and beyond, the lake. “Although I think the beauty comes from the view more than my talent at interior design.”
“It’s a combination. Your furniture and decorations accentuate instead of competing with the view. I love doing the same with landscape designs. Focus on the client’s personality and favorite features of their home and subtly highlight both.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I’m babbling.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s so nice to talk to someone who loves design. Most of my friends’ eyes glaze over.” She sucked in a happy breath and her body hummed.
They were close enough that his scent teased her on the heavy inhale. The man smelled good, like outdoors in summer. She switched to breathing through her mouth. It didn’t help. She swore she could taste him. And he was delicious.
Forcing herself to focus on business, she gestured back toward her desk. “But we should go over those designs we talked about at the Thompsons’.”
He nodded and returned to the desk. Taking his time to look through the photos, he asked intelligent questions. Straightening, he picked up the contract and leaned against the nearest wall, crossing his feet at the ankles. His large hands turned the pages of the contract, the same hands that had sketched out brilliant design concepts at the Thompsons’ house. They were steady and confident, suggesting he knew his craft.
Her gaze dropped to his belt, practical brown leather worn down from job sites. Unlike her ex’s polished designer accessories, everything about Max radiated an earthy magnetism that made her breath catch. What would those calloused hands would feel like against her skin?
Shit. What was wrong with her? Her father’s warning about Richard still stung, yet here she was imagining Max’s strong fingers tracing patterns on her body instead of focusing on the contract that could revitalize her bruised business reputation. She’d promised herself that work would come before men and lust, but she hadn’t counted on his quiet intensity being quite so . . . distracting.
“I’m good with presenting the job as one entity,” he said. “This’ll be different from my usual corporate indoor gardens. More intimate spaces, working with your residential design vision . . .” His shoulders relaxed as he leaned forward, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that made her stomach flip. “I like that we’ll be creating something completely new here.”
“Me too.” She couldn’t keep the enthusiasm from her voice, didn’t even try. Her mind raced with the way his gardens could transform her design concepts, elevate them into something unique in the industry.
“Who’ll do all the paperwork?” he asked. “The billing, contacting the clients for payment? That stuff?”
His question popped her excitement. “I’d like to handle it.” Her chin lifted slightly as she met his eyes, her heart picking up speed while she waited for him to push back.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
A heaviness filled her body, her shoulders sagging. “I’m perfectly capable of handling admin work.”
“I meant, I’ll take the job.”
She shuffled back a step. “That’s it. Just like that? You haven’t even met the clients. They could be difficult.”
And mysterious. Elodie Thompson had spent twenty minutes describing her vision for “intimate spaces for entertaining,” her eyes sparkling with excitement while her husband kept adding specific requests about sight lines and “private gathering areas.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a story here?”
“Let’s just say they have—” She searched for a diplomatic way to describe their enthusiastic but cryptic consultation. “—very particular ideas about entertainment spaces. And they’re passionate about weekend gatherings.”
His mouth twitched. “Sounds intriguing. But I don’t need to meet them. The project is interesting. And my office manager will be happy to not have to balance another project.” He grinned. “And while I love designing and creating, I hate the back and forth with clients. I do my damnedest to pass that part off to my lead designer, Grace.”
“I’m tempted to make you sign the contract right now. In blood,” Paloma joked. “Partnering with you on this project will be fantastic for my business, and honestly, I like running the part you despise. Although, you have to at least meet with the clients. They want to make sure you understand their vision.”
“You promised I didn’t have to deal with them,” he play-whined before giving her one of those gorgeous, heart-stopping grins.
She forced herself to focus on the practical details. “The timeline’s tight. We’re looking at three to four months from start to finish. Think you can handle working that closely with me for that long?”
The words were out before she could stop them. Too flirtatious, especially after she promised herself to keep things professional. But Max only nodded, still wearing that smile that was definitely going to be a problem.