Chapter 9
Devon
2:30 – Prep for Azul Lounge Presentation
3:15 – Slab yard for Peach Ridge
7:00 – Allie’s charity event Azul Lounge Prep
9:00 – Azul Lounge Prep
- From Devon’s schedule, August 15th
Rhett holds me captive with his gray eyes and rugged jaw, and it doesn’t bother me like it should. At all. This is getting out of hand. Taking a step back, I tuck my laptop under one arm and sip my room temperature drink. “Well, this has been completely unnecessary.”
“I disagree.” Rhett smiles, the twist of his lips amidst his chiseled features making him the definition of devilishly handsome. “My days are always better when I get to talk to you.”
What a line.I walk past him without another word.
Bea’s spiced vanilla perfume signals her heartening presence just before she steps into stride with me as I walk back toward Allie’s office to stash my computer. “Hello, angel,” she says. “Feeling ready for Azul in the morning?”
Hiring her earlier this year was the best thing I’ve done for my business and my sanity. Even with the stress of keeping the business afloat, having her on my team has made everything far more enjoyable.
“We’re in good shape.” My response is a half-truth because Rhett’s already gotten me to do the wrong thing once tonight without realizing it. Ignoring him and getting back to work ten minutes ago would have been the right thing to do. Telling him I’d finished my work when I hadn’t and humoring his asinine conversation was the wrong thing to do. He shook my focus, which is unacceptable, and unfortunately not at all unusual when it comes to Rhett McCoy. I’ll have to spend another hour reviewing and perfecting the presentation tonight when I get home so I don’t lose yet another major project to Trina because that’s what would happen if I didn’t finish my work on time.
Bea’s perceptive hazel eyes narrow briefly, before saying, “We’ve been in better shape than you’ll admit for days now. We’ll be golden.”
I sigh.
“Would it kill you to chill out a touch?” she asks, joking with me in a way few people do.
“It might.”
She shakes her head, silent laughter lifting her shoulders. “Alright, boss lady. I’ll meet you early so we can run through it one more time. I have my class tomorrow morning, so I can even bring coffees.”
“You’re a dream,” I say, eating the last of the olives from my martini and abandoning the barely-sipped drink on a side table.
“Aren’t I, just?” She smiles as she opens the door to Allie’s office, revealing my new roommate sitting on Allie’s desk, face red from crying, sipping directly from a bottle of wine. Allie sits next to her, bare feet dangling far above her discarded heels, scratching Sadie’s back and saying, “Fuck him,” in a bright, soothing tone at odds with her harsh declaration.
Sadie’s hair is half up, with the pink-tipped ends curled to perfection. She bought the pale green swing dress earlier this week just for tonight, and I know she spent over an hour on the makeup that’s now running down her face.
She looks up at us and sniffles. “Good. Now it’s like our own mini party, except with more crying and less fun. Got booze though.” She holds out the bottle toward us, which Bea accepts, taking a swig.
At her core, Sadie is a ray of sunshine, but she finally left her horrible boyfriend of nine years and came down from Portland to move in with me. The I’m single and free excitement wore off pretty quickly, and now she’s trudging through the ugly part of moving on.
Dabbing a tissue at her eyes, she explains, “He dropped me from his phone plan. Didn’t even warn me. My phone was just shut off, and now I’ve lost the phone number I’ve had since I was twelve.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “I guess I can get a Palm Springs number now. What’s the area code here?”
“I’m not a violent person, but your ex makes me wish I were,” Allie says, taking a sip from the community bottle of wine. “Also, 7-6-0.”
That pulls a genuine laugh from Sadie who swings her legs back and forth while taking the bottle back and downing another generous swig.
“I can have you added to our family plan in the morning,” I suggest. “How’s that?”
Sadie tilts her head. “Who’s our?”
“Us two,” Allie responds pointing a hand between us. “But we can always add more. Bea, you want in on this?”
“That is so dang sweet,” Bea responds. “But I’m all set.”
“How about it, Sade? Family plan?” Allie asks, pulling her in for a hug.
“That actually sounds really nice,” Sadie sniffles, fresh tears welling in her eyes.
“Perfect, we’ll get it squared away in the morning,” I say. “Now, how about food?”
“Yes, you should eat,” Allie gives her a final squeeze before hopping down off the desk and bracing herself on the arm I supply as she steps back into her heels. “I’ll bring you a plate.”
Bea stays behind with Sadie as Allie and I walk back into the charity event together.
“Fuck that guy, for real,” Allie says, not waiting until we’re out of earshot.
“I loathe him,” I agree.
We pass by the silent auction tables where Rhett is inspecting one of the entries with his lean, muscular back toward us. His sun-streaked hair hits just above the collar of his shirt, the tan skin of his neck peeking through between the strands. In one slick motion, he flicks the pen he’s holding around his fingers before bringing it down on the paper to write a bid.
“What were you two talking about?” Allie asks at a volume no one could miss, nodding toward Rhett as he drops an unmarked envelope into an acrylic box with a slitted top.
“Work,” I reply with a distilled version of the truth.
“That’s it?” she asks, poking me playfully with her elbow.
“He likes to pester me.”
Allie turns to face me as we approach the elaborate display of hors d’oeuvres set out on the custom tables crafted by Rhett at a level no one else in town could have pulled off. “Does it count as pestering if you love it?”
“I don’t love it.” My voice comes out unconvincing.
“Sure, you don’t,” Allie laughs, pulling a compostable bamboo plate from a tidy stack. “I meant what I said before, by the way; I think you’re working too hard.”
“Sometimes that’s the only option.” Between her, Bea, and even Sadie, I’m getting the message loud and clear. They don’t understand that focusing on work allows me freedom. My life is changing around me, Allie starting a new business and moving in with Luke, Sadie moving in with me. No matter how happy I am about the changes, change in general makes me uneasy. Friday West, the quality of my work—those are things I can control. I’m most comfortable when I’m buried deep in work.
“Remember last year when you made me take a few days off?” Allie asks, stacking her plate high with carb-filled appetizers.
At the time, getting Allie to commit to seventy-two hours off work didn’t feel like enough. She was about to snap. Now, the idea that I might take that same amount of time off is unfathomable. “It was a fun weekend,” I answer.
“I might have to force you to take a break soon, too, Dev. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Your birthday present came in today.” I change the subject to something I know she can’t resist. Her birthday was last week, and the custom charm necklace I ordered was delayed in shipping.
Allie narrows her eyes, her round cheeks filling out her face in an almost comical version of a glare. “I see what you’re trying to do. This isn’t the last of this conversation.”
“You aren’t curious about your present?” I ask.
“Fine, but we’re coming back to this.” She shakes her head. “You do always get me the best things,” she says, reaching across the table for soft pretzel bites to add to Sadie’s plate. “And I know you helped Luke.” She looks to me for confirmation, but I keep my face blank. “He got me way too many things, and I can believe he found most of them on his own, but there’s no way he’d know where to find me a dress I liked that much.”
“You deserve to be spoiled,” I say, filling a large cup of water from a curved glass dispenser.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Allie’s boyfriend says, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her forehead. “I need to borrow you, sweetheart.” He tilts his bearded jaw toward the auction tables. “It’s time to close the auction.”
Allie pulls my wrist up to check my watch, making me smile. She’s never worn her own. “Oh, shit! I’m late.” When I move to help, Allie scolds me, “Nope! You need to enjoy yourself.”
I take the alcohol-soaking snacks from Allie. “I’ll see if I can retrieve Sadie and Bea.”
“Okay! We’ll be doing the announcements in five minutes,” Allie says. Luke holds up two flat hands behind her, mouthing, ten Allie’s been my best friend since we were kids. I know when she says five, she means ten or fifteen. It’s endearing, if not slightly irritating, to see him figuring out her patterns too. I give him a short nod of acknowledgment and walk back to find Sadie and Bea.
Thankfully, Sadie’s quick to finish the glass of water I brought her and starts on the snacks with enthusiasm. I’m happy to hold her hair back when she needs me, but with the Azul Lounge meeting in the morning, I’d rather not spend my evening that way. After a final pep talk and some help with touch-ups, Bea convinces her to leave the office with the temptation of meeting all the dogs next door.
“If you were going to take one home, which would it be?” Sadie asks, staring longingly through the windowed wall.
“That’s a dangerous game, Sade.” I shake my head.
Sadie points a cake pop accusingly toward my nose, “You’re no fun.” She swivels to her other side where Bea stands. “How about you? Hypothetically, which dog would you take home?”
They look through the glass wall, discussing the perceived personalities and particularly adorable eyes, ears, and paws of each prospective adoptee.
Bea points through the window to a fluffy white dog, wagging its tail and pouncing on a rubber toy. “That magnificent little dandelion of energy. That’s the one I’d want.”
Sadie leans into Bea. “You could name it Dandelion. Or Dandy.”
Bea’s eyes widen at the suggestion. “That would be precious.”
That is precisely why I didn’t play this game.
“Let’s go meet Dandy,” Sadie says, looping her arm through Bea’s and looking up at me expectantly.
“Allie’s about to announce the auction winners.”
“Let us know if we miss anything good!” Sadie calls as they walk away. In no time, Bea’s sitting on the ground playing with the dog she’s definitely taking home. I take a few pictures through the glass wall to send to her later.
“Looks like you finally finished that martini,” Rhett’s smooth southern voice says from behind me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. This is a problem.
“Looks like,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
He steps into my eyeline. “Let me get you another?”
“Want me drunk, McCoy?”
“Sure, mama.” He smirks, knowing every time he calls me that, I’m reminded of his promise that I’d be calling him daddy. “If that’s what it takes for you to drop that ‘don’t fuck with me’ face.”
Sure, ‘don’t fuck with me’ is one way to put it. Most often, people tell me I have resting bitch face. Works for me. I’m not trying to look pleasant. I’m trying to exist, unbothered. The face serves that purpose. Usually.
When I don’t respond, he continues, “You could let me buy you dinner sometime.”
“You know I don’t date contractors.” I haven’t spoken to him about marring my planner with that same suggestion, but again, his words draw up the exact memory he’s trying to elicit. “We won’t be having dinner together.”
His chest moves with a silent laugh, “I know you don’t hear this often, but you’re wrong.”
I look up at him. “There is a reason I don’t hear it often, McCoy.”
“Oh, Dev,” he smiles, pleased with himself, “you’re making this way too fun for me.”
“Hello, beautiful dog lovers!” Allie’s voice calls out, interrupting his ego. She’s standing on a stool behind the bar that puts her a head above everyone else in the room. Her ear-to-ear smile doesn’t falter as she thanks everyone who made the event happen-donors, attendees, her boyfriend, even the dogs for using their puppy dog eyes to entice more donations.
She moves through the announcements of each item’s winner with admirable speed. Evidently, Rhett donated some time for a carpentry project, which is decent of him. Free coffee for a month goes to Bea. A golf package goes to Hector and Brian. I win the bid for services to the hair salon I frequent.
“Big, big thank you to my bombshell of a best friend for this next item,” Allie’s voice calls. I almost forgot about that. It’s been at least a month since we talked about it. “Two full weeks of quality face time with the incomparably beautiful and highly skilled Devon Blake, principal designer and owner of Friday West Interiors—” Almost sounds like she’s auctioning off more than design time, although any reasonable person will understand. “—goes to our friend, Rhett McCoy.”
His lips curve into a devious smile, and for once the butterflies stay away.
“What do you even have for me to design?” I arch a brow at him. “Don’t you live on Bradley’s sofa?” I point toward his friend, who’s behind the bar mixing drinks.
Rhett laughs. “I stay in his guest room occasionally if I’m there late, but I’ve got a place that needs a lot of design help.”
“What kind of place is it?” I don’t have enough time to squeeze in five extra hours of work, let alone eighty, but maybe it won’t take that long. Either way, I made a commitment to Allie, so I’ll make the time. Even if it has to be spent working for Rhett McCoy.
He shrugs his sculpted shoulders. “I’d like to surprise you.”
“Not interested.”
“Not up to you.” He’s enjoying this more than he should be.
My patience with this situation is quickly evaporating. “You have to tell me what I’m working on if you want anything done.”
“I get your time for two full weeks, face-to-face. You’ll find out when you get there.”
“It’s not two full—” I can’t decide which part of that statement is the most offensive. “Get where?”
“To my place,” he leans forward, tilting his head like he’s explaining something painfully obvious, “where you’ll stay with me for two weeks.”
Patience is officially gone.“It’s eighty hours of design time, you odious child.”
He clicks his tongue. “That’s not what I bid on. Not what the description said.”
“You know what it meant.” Any reasonable person.
“I trust the description for an auction item to mean what it says.” He pauses, gray eyes sparking with mischief. “Especially one that the Queen of Precision herself wrote.”
Not wanting to admit that I didn’t write the description myself, I ask, “What precisely is it that you think you just won?”
“Two full weeks with the incomparably beautiful and highly skilled Devon Blake,” he quotes Allie word for word, making no effort to hide his mirth. “So, I get you all to myself for a couple weeks.” He holds out a folded piece of paper pulled from his back pocket.
It starts with a photo of me. Okay. My name, my title, my time, and some unrelated compliments. That’s it. It practically reads as salaciously as the look on Rhett’s face.
“It’s clearly for design time. With a modicum of logic, you could have figured that out on your own.” I pat his shoulder with a mocking consolation. “But since you couldn’t, I’ll find Allie and tell her this needs to go to the next bidder.”
“I never said I was giving it up.” He sips casually on his beer. “I won that time with you.”
“I’m not staying anywhere with you. I’ll do two weeks’ worth of design work, eighty hours, for whatever place you have, but I’ll be sleeping in my own bed.” I’ve entertained this conversation for far too long. I scan the place for Sadie, ready to head home and get back to work.
“Well, I have to say I’m proud of you.” Rhett’s words stop me from walking away. “You’re doing the wrong thing already. Didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.”
He cannot be serious.“What wrong thing is it that you believe I’ve done?”
“You’re not honoring this contract.” He taps the paper I didn’t realize I was still holding.
I pass it back to him. “A silent auction description is hardly a contract.”
“I placed my bid on the good faith that I’d get the advertised item. You’re refusing to follow through on your word.” He folds the paper back up, returning it to his back pocket. “Allie’s word, too, since she’s putting on the event. I really am proud of you.” The last sentence is said with enough genuine pride that my jaw clenches in offense.
“Rhett.” His name is a scold and a curse on my lips.
“I love it when you say my name.” He moves closer, crowding me until I’m forced to tilt my chin to maintain eye contact. I hate it.
“You’re willfully misunderstanding the words.” I keep my voice low, steady, schooling my breathing so my frustration doesn’t show.
“Doesn’t matter. I win both ways. Either you go back on your word—doing the wrong thing for once—or I get you for two weeks.” He pauses, holding his ground against my glare. “Of course, the right thing for me to do would be to let you off the hook. But that isn’t really my style,” he finishes with a self-satisfied grin.
“You know what it is that I do, right? What an interior designer is? Or have you been too busy checking out my ass every time we’re on jobsites together to comprehend it?”
His laugh is low and sensual. “I’m capable of both.” He hasn’t flinched. He’s positive he’s winning this encounter.
“I’m not doing eighty hours of manual labor or cleaning your guest bedroom at Bradley’s in a maid’s costume,” I clarify.
“I wouldn’t dream of that.” He tilts his head, looking off in the distance. “Well, I wasn’t before. Now I might,” he chuckles quietly to himself. When he looks me in the eyes again, I let him see how unamused I am. His bravado drops into sincerity in an instant. “Truly, nothing like that. You have my word. I just want your time.”
I take a steadying breath. Later on, when I’m alone, I’ll replay this conversation and determine how he managed to talk me into this, but at the moment I’m out of objections. If I don’t have my word, I don’t have anything. “Fine, I’ll spend two weeks with you. But you’ll have to wait until there is time in my schedule.”
He nods, some of his sandy hair falling across his forehead as his mouth curves into a wide smile. “I’m happy to wait for you.”
A design project with Rhett McCoy as my client. This could not have turned out worse. I steady my breathing, not allowing my frustration to show.
Rhett squeezes my wrist. “Come on, mama. We’ll have fun together.”
“Stop calling me that.” In reality, I don’t hate the endearment. Which is a big problem.