CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ford
She stands with one hand on her hip and her lips pursed as she studies the papers laid out on the conference room table in front of us.
Structural prints for the changes we’re making to the interior—combining rooms to make suites on each floor with individual exits and entrances to them for privacy.
Then there are the elevation drawings to show what the new exterior will look like.
Next to those are interior design choices on spec boards—colors, carpets, fabrics, tiles.
Elegance and luxury mixed with comfort and decadence.
It’s been five weeks since we partnered up and signed the papers.
Five weeks of waiting for escrow to close while we prepared for every facet of the remodel.
Our hope is to complete it at lightning speed because time spent is money lost. Five weeks of being surrounded constantly by people helping us plan and plot and everything in between or on Zoom calls scheduling and brainstorming from our individual offices across town as we get ready to move on-site.
Five weeks, and this is the first time we’ve been completely and utterly alone. My staff has gone home. Her assistant has left. It’s just her, me, and the night sky outside of this skyscraper’s windows.
The thoughts running through my head right now shouldn’t be there as I study her while she’s busy contemplating something trivial on the table before her.
I welcome them, though. Oh, how I welcome them. What my fingers would feel like digging into her hips. What her lips would taste like as I delved my tongue between them. What her pussy would feel like as it pulsed around me.
Oh, how I’ve thought about them. About her.
And way too fucking much.
My eyes are bleary from staring at prints and my mind is exhausted, but I can still imagine and want and then tell myself I can’t want. Can’t have.
She’s off limits.
The best way to fuck up a partnership is to fuck your partner.
End of story.
But another look at those pursed lips has my dry spell feeling like a goddamn drought.
The big question though is why is there still a tan line where her engagement ring was? Five weeks is a long time for a tan to fade and yet it’s still there. Still a blaring symbol that she belongs to another.
So is she just not wearing it in my presence? Did it drop down the sink drain? Did she chuck it at her fiancé as she told him she wanted me instead? And if she’s not wearing it because of me . . . what in the hell does that mean?
“What?”
When I snap from my thoughts, I realize that I’ve been staring at Ellery with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask, trying to run that last fantasy of bending her over the conference room table from my head.
Yeah. It’s bad. And no matter how often I tell myself it’s going to be a long, torturous few months living on-site with her if these are my thoughts now, I can’t stop them.
“I asked what that look you’re giving me is for because it’s really intense. Did I miss something?” She glances to the table and then back to me. “If I did, please let me know. The last thing we need is for one of us to not be in sync with each other on everything.”
“And if we’re not, we’ll figure it out,” I say as I move to her side of the table.
“Spoken like a man used to having such huge decisions on his shoulders.” She sighs as if she doesn’t exactly trust herself. She should though. She’s brilliant.
And her brilliance, input, and keen eye for detail has made me wonder why we never contracted with Haywood Redesigns before. Oh, that’s right. Joshua Haywood. Prick extraordinaire.
“I believe you were the one who wanted to step out from beneath your brothers’ shadows and prove that you could handle the types of projects they handle. That being the coffee girl wasn’t enough for you.” I lean my ass on the table and look at her. “Are you chickening out on me, Elle?”
“Of course not. It’s just—”
“It’s just this is a lot of money and a lot of pressure and what the hell happens if it doesn’t work or if you don’t know what you’re doing and, and, and . . . right?”
“It sounds ridiculous. I’m sorry.” She emits a nervous laugh and starts to fidget with her hands. “You must be wondering why the hell you agreed to this. I’m a rookie. You’re an experienced professional. I mean—”
“Stop.” I step forward and close my hands over hers.
The hitch in her breath is audible. So is the visceral reaction my body has from touching her.
For someone so brilliant, she lacks confidence now and again.
Most likely from years of her brothers disregarding her.
Well, not anymore. Not with me. “Quit stressing. In case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m pretty low-key.
If a problem arises, we’ll figure it out.
If we disagree, we’ll . . . I don’t know, we’ll yell at each other and you’ll tell me I’m being an ass and I’ll tell you you’re being stubborn, and then we’ll shake hands or something and move on. ”
“Why is everything so effortless for you?” she asks with disbelief woven into her tone. “Don’t you ever doubt yourself? Don’t you ever question things?”
Her words hit me squarely in the solar plexus. Isn’t that why I took on this project? Because I doubt the man I am? Because I wonder if I’m more to everyone than the man who sits between his notable brothers? Because I want to know the eyes through which my father saw me?
“All the time,” I murmur without giving more of an explanation. Doesn’t she remember the bar that night? The turmoil I was in? I offer a smile. “This project. Our partnership. We’ll figure it out.”
She inhales a shaky breath and gives a definitive nod as she takes a step away and breaks our connection. After a moment, she turns back around with a more fortified smile. “Okay. I apologize again. I’m normally not one who needs a pep talk, so forgive me for sounding so . . . weak.”
“Not weak. More like strong. Determined. Admirable.” I shrug as she emits a nervous chuckle. “Taking chances is a hard thing to do. I promise it’ll all work out.”
“Thank you.” There is a softness to her tone that matches the look in her eyes. Both give me pause. Another more convincing smile as she takes a step back toward the conference room table. “Then it looks like we should be able to hit the ground running.”
“It does.” I turn to look at the plans, and then step up beside her. “You’ll get there tomorrow and do the final walk-through. I’ll be there Wednesday once I’m done with my meetings.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She tries to stifle a yawn but just gives in and lets it happen. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”
“Exciting weeks though,” I murmur as I lean forward and flip a page of the elevation drawings. “With even more exciting ones to come.”
“I know.”
We both move to leave, but as if choreographed, we turn and bump into each other. She wobbles on her heels, and I grab her biceps to steady her.
We’re face-to-face, chest to chest, and I’m reminded of the smell of her hair as she slept on my chest that night. The fullness of her lips as she murmured in her sleep. The warmth of her body against mine.
We both draw in ragged breaths as our eyes meet. We should step away from each other. We should let go.
But seconds pass.
Breaths are inhaled. Exhaled.
Goosebumps break out on her skin beneath my palms.
Every sense of mine is way too damn aware of her. Of everything about her.
My eyes dart down to her lips, to the pulse pounding in her neck, and then back up to her eyes as my body fights against reason. Against desire.
The ring of her cell phone has the two of us jolting apart as if we were doing something wrong.
Or perhaps about to.
I turn my back and pace a few steps from her as I run a hand through my hair and gain some distance.
“Chandler?” Her voice is soft, almost as if she doesn’t want me to hear.
Chandler. The same man who was on the phone the first night we met. Clearly, he’s still in the picture and the reason behind the tan line on her finger.
“I said I’ll be there.” Her sigh is one of frustration. “You know I won’t let you down.” She moves a few steps toward the window and looks out to the night beyond and murmurs something I can’t hear.
I begin to collect the prints and the papers to look like I’m not doing exactly what I am doing, eavesdropping.
“I understand. Yes. I have meetings all day with . . . clients. I’ll have to meet you there.” Her voice is soft, soothing even, and my curiosity is piqued. “Agreed. Okay.”
But no, I love you. No, I’ll see you later.
“Everything okay?” I ask absently as I roll up a set of blueprints and rubber band the roll of paper.
“Yes. Fine.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing.” I chuckle and spare a fleeting glance her way to find disquiet etched in her expression.
“It’s a long story.” She waves a hand my way as if to say it’s irrelevant. “Let me help you with that.”
“No, I’ve got it. Why don’t you take off?”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’ll have Phillip give you a ride home,” I say, mentioning my driver who’s taken her home before.
“I couldn’t impose. I’m sure you need him for—”
“I have an hour or two left here. Please. I insist.”
She gives me a halfhearted smile and nods. “Okay. Thank you.” She lifts her designer tote bag weighed down with her laptop onto her shoulder and looks around to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. Her eyes meet mine one last time. “I appreciate the pep talk, Fordham.”
I watch her walk out the conference room door, her heels clicking on the marble floors. The elevator dings. The door shuts. I take a seat and lean back in my chair, hands behind my head, feet propped up on the table, and exhale a long, low breath.
I know they’re already there.
I know they’ve been waiting for her to leave to make a comment.
“Shouldn’t you both be home with your families?” I crack one eye open and see Callahan standing, shoulder leaning against the doorway.
“Snaggletooth is looking absolutely horrid tonight.” Callahan coughs out a laugh and raises his eyebrows in appreciation.
Ledger whistles. “And you’re going to be living on-site with her for how long?”
I lift my middle finger at my brothers and then go back to closing my eyes and ignoring them.
“Beds everywhere,” Callahan says.
“Long nights alone. Just you. Just her. Just sheets to get tangled up in,” Ledger adds.
“If you looked close enough, she has a ring line on her finger,” I say.
“But no ring on it.” Ledger lifts his eyebrows and glances at Callahan. “So . . . she just broke up? She needs a good rebound screw?”
“Ha. That’s what I thought and look where that landed me,” Callahan teases, but I know he wouldn’t change his life for the world. “Married with kids.”
“Rebounds can be good. Great sex. No want for attachment.”
“Hell, Ledge, I think we should give him the same speech you two gave me when I headed to Ocean’s Edge to work with Sutton,” Callahan says, referring to a conversation we had the week before he left to go to the Virgin Islands with his then consultant—now wife.
“I don’t remember any conversation,” I mutter, full-well knowing what’s coming, and wishing for a beer to at least give me something to do while enduring this harassment.
“Selective amnesia. Convenient.” Ledger snorts.
“Let me refresh your memory. Something like: don’t sleep with her. Be professional. It’s our name on this company too, not just yours.” Callahan flashes a shit-eating grin at me. “Would you like me to keep going?”
“And you followed the rules so well.” I lift my eyebrows and level him with a look.
He shrugs. “Yeah, but breaking rules is expected of me.”
“And what exactly is expected of me?” I ask.
And isn’t that the question of the day?