Chapter Nine
August 19th, 9:45 a.m.
P aloma clutched her leather portfolio and settled into a corner table at the Coffee Bean with her latte. She and Max worked on their Sterling house proposal for nearly two weeks, and the meeting with them had finally arrived. She spread out her work, adjusting the order of her sketches while watching the parking lot through the storefront windows for his truck.
Her phone buzzed. Mom again. Her thumb hovered over the red voicemail button, but needing a distraction, she answered, saying, “Sorry, I didn’t make it to family dinner yesterday. I’m meeting with an important client today and had to finish the proposal.”
A heavy sigh carried over the phone. “Honey, your dad was home this weekend. Emmeline made the drive with my adorable grandson from Ann Arbor. And Felix came all the way from Traverse City. I miss seeing everyone together. ”
Maybe spiraling worry and self-doubt was preferable. “So glad you called to serve up a heaping side of guilt to go with my morning coffee?” Paloma half-joked.
Her mothe r’s laugh was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “That’s not my intent. Well, okay, maybe a smidge. You’re practically next door, and yet . . .” She sighed again. “Is it really too much to ask for a family dinner once a month?”
“You’re right.” She shifted in her seat, the phone pressed tightly to her ear. Reaching for her coffee, she paused midair, retreating to fidget with a sugar packet. “I’ll be there next time.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Spotting Max exiting his truck, she said, “Mom, I have to go. Max is here.”
“Who’s Max? A new man you’re seeing?” Her voice carried too much hope. She was that mom who wanted twenty grandkids.
“Sorry to disappoint again. He’s a business partner. Love you, and we’ll talk later.”
Max crossed the parking lot in the busy shopping center, his long strides eating up the distance. He paused to help an elderly woman with her bags, his broad shoulders flexing beneath his crisp blue shirt as he unloaded her cart. The genuine warmth in his smile as he chatted with the woman made him irresistible. No. Focus. This meeting was business, not pleasure.
He entered the café, and after getting a coffee, he sat across from Paloma and asked, “Ready to wow our future clients?”
Their gazes met over the papers, and for a moment, the café’s bustle dissolved into a distant hum. She willed herself to stay professional. “Absolutely. My interior designs for the kitchen leading to your conservatory garden will complement each other perfectly.”
“They also want a small living wall,” Max said.
“Like our pineapple couple?” Paloma asked.
He laughed, the sound deep and rich, like a sensual caress. “We should stop calling them that so we don’t slip and say it in front of them. But, y eah, kind of, but different. The Sterlings want wall art, circular pieces in different sizes and mosses. The swingers want shelves mixed of plants, herbs, and fruits.”
She grinned. “I bet one is a pineapple.”
He chuckled. “Funny you should say that. They did request pineapples, but those are shrubs and too big for the wall. Instead, they’ll be in pots throughout the house. I need to give you the measurements so you can pick containers that match your design dimensions.”
She leaned forward. “We could swing by after this meeting. You could show me where they want them.”
“Sounds good. And I’m sure whatever you pick will knock their socks off.” He waggled his brows. “Just be sure to only knock off their socks.”
“Forget our collaboration of interior and exterior design. We can hone in on a niche. Our business name will be Fruit Forward Designs. We will cater to all your tropical . . . needs.” She sipped her latte, the creamy bitterness a pleasant contrast to the spiciness of their banter.
His bark of laughter caught the attention of a nearby table of women. Their appreciative glances went unnoticed by Max. Paloma moved to his side of the table—to talk business and not to stake a claim she didn’t have on him. At least, that’s the story she told herself.
“As much as I’d love to continue planning our risqué fruit-themed empire,” she said, glancing at her watch, “we should probably get ready for the Sterlings. They’ll be here any minute.”
Max nodded. “And I wanted to run a change by you before they arrive.”
She listened to his idea but was distracted by the deep timbre of his voice and how he rolled the sleeve of his shirt, showcasing his lovely forearms. His movements exuded confidence, something she was lacking at the moment and, therefore, all the more captivating.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Um . . .” Shit. She was too busy looking at him to hear him. This was why they couldn’t have business and pleasure.
He quirked an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Daydreaming about me again?”
“Only in your dreams," she shot back, taking a quick sip from her mug, hoping he thought her heating cheeks were from the coffee and not from being caught out. “Actually, I was thinking about ordering a muffin.”
“Want me to grab us some?”
“Maybe after. I'm nervous, and my stomach's in knots,” she admitted. “Please explain. I promise I’m listening this time.”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and re-explained his change. She leaned into her chair, impressed. His idea was good—great, actually.
“Wow, Max. I love it.”
The door to the coffee shop dinged, opening. In strolled an older couple she recognized: the Sterlings. She and Max stood. He moved around the table to stand next to her.
“We apologize for being late,” Linda Sterling said, sinking into the plush chair across from them. “You wouldn’t believe the traffic!”
“Could I see the designs for the second level before the conservatory?” Roy Sterling asked though it sounded more like a demand.
Paloma nodded, keeping her professional smile in place. Not that it mattered since Roy was looking at Max. It seemed Roy was the kind of guy who assumed the man was always in charge.
Max shifted slightly toward Paloma. “You’ll have to talk to Ms. Wagner.”
Roy’s brow furrowed, creating deep lines that spoke of years of skepticism. “She doesn’t work for you?”
“We have separate companies,” Max explained. “But with these joint projects, like yours, she’s the lead, not me. I work for her.”
A flutter rippled through Paloma’s stomach. Damn, why did he have to say it like that? So confident, so unapologetic. She forced her gaze back to the Sterlings, needing to focus on the clients and business, not the inexplicably sexy way her partner made himself her subordinate.
Roy waved a hand like he was swatting away a fly. “I’m listening.”
Paloma took the lead, confident they’d win over Roy. She presented her vision for the interior spaces, giving them the minimalist beach-vibe, they requested. Then, with a graceful segue, she handed the floor to Max.
His eyes lit up as he gestured toward the blueprints spread across the table. “See how the conservatory flows flawlessly to Ms. Wagner’s design for the rest of the main floor?” He traced a finger along the lines. “It’s not just about aesthetics—it’s about functionality.”
“And here,” he pointed at the deck overlooking Grand Traverse Bay, “we’ll incorporate native plants to support local pollinators.”
“We’ll deliver a home that honors both the natural landscape and your vision,” she said, gathering the blueprints with practiced care and meeting Roy’s gaze. “The real gem won’t be only the house—it’ll be how it transforms your everyday living.”
Max nodded, adding, “Each element, from Ms. Wagner’s interior flow to my sustainable conservatory design, works in harmony. Like the bay sculpting the shore, your home will feel like nature herself designed it.”
Linda Sterling straightened in her chair, her earlier fatigue forgotten. “Roy,” she touched her husband’s arm, “did you see how they incorporated all your gardening spaces without sacrificing the water views?”
“I noticed,” he said, his skepticism finally giving way to something that looked remarkably like approval. “Send over the contracts first thing tomorrow.”
Her expre ssion was coolly professional, but inside, she was doing cartwheels—they’d landed the biggest project of her career. The fact that Max had backed her play so perfectly only added to the victory’s sweetness.
“We will,” they replied at the same time.
Linda beamed at them. “You two are such a cute couple.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh, we’re business partners and friends.”
Linda looked between them. “Maybe you should be more.”
Roy harrumphed, standing. “Wait until our house is finished. I don’t want romance drama messing up my place.”
“Our place,” his wife corrected.
“You don’t have to worry. We’re professionals,” Max said.
After the Sterlings left, she turned to Max and asked, “So, tell me, are we too professional to delay their project? Or too professional to mess around with each other while working on their house?”
He stepped closer. Her breath caught as his fingers grazed her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. “You tell me.”