Chapter 17
seventeen
. . .
Bridger
“Wh-what?” she asked, her voice shaking the slightest bit.
It was cute as hell.
And I’d never found a woman to be cute as hell, so that was saying a lot.
“I’m kidding, Emilia. At least about you being a filthy girl,” I chuckled. Again.
Chuckling normally annoyed me. The whole idea of it. I’d always found it to be fake, unless it was a sarcastic chuckle.
But here I was, enjoying a little banter with a woman I’d considered the enemy mere weeks ago.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
“Maybe you wanted me to know what you were doing.”
“Bridger,” she said, her voice serious now.
“Yes, Emilia.”
She made a loud, dramatic sigh. “What did you want to speak to me about? And if you tell me that you’re back to thinking I write ‘The Taylor Tea,’ I’m hanging up this phone.”
“If I thought you still wrote ‘The Taylor Tea,’ I wouldn’t have had your car towed from my driveway. It would be somewhere out in the river.”
“How very mature of you,” she said, but I heard the humor in her voice.
“How’s the new business going?”
“Are we making small talk now?” she asked. “Are you really interested in how my interior design business is doing?”
“Would I be asking if I wasn’t?” I said, my tone a bit harsher now.
Small talk didn’t come naturally to me, but for whatever reason, I didn’t mind it when I was speaking to Emilia.
And I liked that she gave me shit.
Most people just cowered to me.
I’d pushed her too far, and now she’d found her voice, and I fucking liked it.
“Okayyyyyy,” she said. “If you must know, business is a bit slow. I have a whopping zero clients, unless you count Josh Black, who is basically offering to hire me to force me to date him.”
My hands fisted at her words. That fucking dude worked my every nerve.
“Don’t take him on as a client—the guy is a complete douchebag. Plus, he has a reputation of not paying for the work people do for him,” I said. “But if he ever owes you money, you just let me know. It would be an honor if you let me collect it for you.”
Laughter came from the other side of the phone, and I dropped down to sit on the couch.
“You’re going to beat up Josh Black for me, huh?”
“I’d take pleasure in it.”
“First the toilet, then the snow tires, and now you’re offering to fight Josh Black. You’re full of surprises,” she said, her voice sounding sleepy now.
Why did I like the sound of sleepy Emilia’s voice so much?
I normally dreaded talking on the phone.
“You shouldn’t have returned that fucking toilet, Emilia. It’s really spectacular.”
“I used the one at Lulu and Rafe’s house. I admit it’s nice. But I wasn’t asking for a gift, I was asking for an apology.”
“And you got it.”
“I did,” she said as a long silence stretched between us.
“All right, well, I wanted to talk to you about your new business.”
“Okay. There’s not much to discuss, unless you’re calling to say my business cards need to be improved,” she said.
“Or that I need to market more, which I can’t do at the moment because I spent a huge chunk of my savings on the first ad I ran in the Rosewood River Review , which amounted to no clients. ” She groaned.
“You paid for the ad in the newspaper that your family owns?”
“Yes, Bridger. The Taylors are all about tough love. So if you’re calling to give me advice on marketing, the well is dry. I don’t have a budget for it. That was probably not a wise way to start a business, but I didn’t expect it to be such a struggle to get clients.”
“You live in a small town, Emilia. You’re not in the city.” I reached for my beer and took a long pull.
“Did you seriously call to tell me what I already know? I’m more than aware that the failure rate is high.
I know I don’t live in the city and that this is going to be a lot of work.
But I have a plan, and I have to trust that.
There are plenty of people that live in Rosewood River who need a designer. They just don’t know it yet.”
“Tell me your plan.” Why the fuck did I care what Emilia Taylor’s business plan was? She was right—the failure rate was much higher than the success rate, especially for someone running another business who had no capital.
“Why?”
“Emilia. I run a very successful business. Let me hear it, and I will give you free advice.”
She chuckled, and it sounded like she’d just taken a sip of something, and then I heard a glass clinking against a surface, so she’d obviously set it back down. “Free advice that I didn’t ask for.”
“All right. Your loss. Good night.”
“Don’t be a baby,” she chuckled. Had anyone ever spoken to me like this? “I was just kidding. I’ll tell you my plan.”
“The clock is ticking.”
She laughed once again, and I finished off my beer and leaned back against the couch.
“My plan is to get my first client, and then advertise the photos all over my website. I’m hoping that local homeowners start updating their homes, and I’ve already met with a few contractors here and given them my business cards.
I’m going to send mailers to out-of-town property owners who are buying up the homes here to rent out, and as a local designer, I can do the work on their properties without them even being here. ”
“That’s not a bad plan. You can target homeowners here as well as the investors using their homes for rentals.”
“Yes. It’ll take time, but I’m willing to put in the work.”
“I see. And what about the flower shop?”
“I have a plan for that, too. I think Beatrice would be open to running it when the time comes, if we paid her well enough. And if my salary was removed, we could increase her pay to make it worth her while.”
“Now you’re thinking like a businesswoman.”
“Thank you,” she said. “And if you tell my parents my plan, I will intentionally crash my car into your driveway and hit more than one car next time.”
Interesting that she couldn’t share her plan with the people she was closest to.
“I’m not really the type of guy who gossips. I can barely tolerate basic conversation,” I admitted.
“Yet here you are chatting with me.”
“Here I am chatting with you, Emilia,” I said. “Which brings me to the reason I called.”
“I can’t wait to hear it,” she said with a laugh. “Are you planning new ways to torture me?”
“Possibly,” I said dryly. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m not sleeping with you, if that’s what the snow tires were about.” There was no humor in her voice.
“Well, I hadn’t even considered it, but once again, there you go with the filthy thoughts.” I had considered it. Many fucking times over the last few weeks.
“Damn you, Bridger Chadwick. You sure know how to irritate me,” she said.
“It’s a gift.”
Silence fell between us, and I blew out a breath. “I want to hire you.”
“To do what?”
“Well, you’re an interior designer, are you not?”
“Yes,” she said, and her entire tone changed, like she was sitting forward now and fully listening.
“And I believe you made fun of my home.”
“I said that your home was beautiful. It’s just—icy, like the man living inside,” she said, and I could hear the teasing in her voice.
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“So you want me to design the interior of your McMansion?” she asked, as if she had to say the words aloud to believe them. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Henley and Easton want to throw their wedding here, and my mother thinks the interior needs some work.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said over her laughter.
“Here’s a tip, Emilia. I could potentially be your first client. You shouldn’t insult me before you’ve closed the deal.”
“You called me. It sounds like the deal is already closed, if I agree to it.”
Smart.
She was correct.
I’d reached out. I’d shown my hand.
It was very unlike me.
Time to put her in her place.
“Well, we’ve got to work out the details. I don’t want any ceramic cats or glass flowers. No frilly shit. You can show me what you’ve got, and we’ll see if it’s a fit. I will be interviewing more than one designer for the job.” The lie rolled off my tongue with ease.
“‘No frilly shit’? Very inspiring words,” she said. “We would start by sitting down and coming up with a design plan. I’d show you photos of different aesthetics and figure out your style. And then I’d draw up some options and start showing you different material, and we’d go from there.”
“All right. And if I choose to do this with you, we’ll have some ground rules. First off, it can’t drag on for months on end. I don’t like having people in my home. You’d have to be here when I’m not at home if anyone is going to be working here.”
“I understand. We can work all of that out. I’d have to split my time between your place and the flower shop,” she said.
“But we can get it done quickly. I don’t believe you’ll need much demolition unless our design meeting tells me differently.
Your finishes are brilliant. You just need décor, and a little character.
But how much we need to do will depend on your style after our initial meeting. ”
“Fine. Let’s meet tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Did I stutter? I told you I want it done as quickly as possible. Is this too much for you?” I asked.
She sighed. “It’s definitely not too much for me.”
“Good answer.”
“What time would you like to meet tomorrow? I’ll get some ideas together tonight to bring with me,” she said.
“I’m in the city tomorrow for a few meetings. I’ll be home around five p.m.” I glanced down at my calendar to see a full day of meetings.
“I’ll be there at five p.m.”
“You best be prepared, Emilia, because I’ll have no problem choosing someone else if you aren’t up for the job. Brenner can easily bring in a designer from the city to do the job if you aren’t up for it.”
“You must think I’m up for the job because you called me ,” she said, not making any attempt to hide the snark from her tone.
Atta girl.
“I’ve opened the door for you, Emilia. It’ll be up to you to not have it slammed in your face.”
“Why do I feel like you’d enjoy hiring me and then firing me?”
“Because you’re more than aware that I’ll do it if it’s necessary. Get some sleep—you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
I ended the call before she could respond, and I chuckled at the thought of her being all pissed off about me hanging up so abruptly.
I made my way down the hallway toward my bedroom suite, where I turned on the shower before undressing and stepping under the hot spray of water.
I thought about Emilia Taylor.
Her dark hair and those intoxicating blue eyes.
The way she must have looked soaking in the tub earlier tonight.
The way her perfect tits probably settled just beneath the surface.
I wrapped my hand around my cock and stroked it a few times as I thought about the way her nipples probably hardened when I called her a “filthy girl.”
I thought about the way her lips had parted that night I’d driven her home, just before she got out of the car.
About how soft her skin might feel.
How I’d like to lick every inch of her.
Bury my face between her thighs and taste her.
I stroked faster with thoughts of her going over the edge while I licked her pussy relentlessly.
How sweet she would taste on my lips.
And then I thought about all the ways I’d like to fuck Emilia Taylor.
And there were many ways.
My head fell against the shower wall as every single one of them flooded my mind. And I came harder than I had in a very long time.
Damn. I needed to get this woman out of my head.