Chapter 7
seven
WILL
I’m trying so hard to concentrate during this presentation, but I can tell Lydia’s texting beneath the table, and she’s got this little smirk on her face that’s making me crazy.
There’s no way she’s not texting about me.
Or—I feel my balls tighten as I sit back down in my chair and give Ethan the floor—maybe she’s texting that guy.
The one who wants to pull her hair while she sucks his cock.
Fuck. Any concentration I had just flew right out the window—because now I’m picturing what Lydia would look like, sliding underneath this table, unzipping my jeans, and drawing my cock into her pink little mouth while the rest of this meeting drones on.
I wonder if she could even get the whole thing in.
I wonder if Ethan would notice, if I could carry on talking about blueprints without my breath getting ragged while Lydia deep-throats me.
Just thinking about it makes my dick twitch.
I saw Lydia eyeing my bulge earlier. She tried to act like she wasn’t, but I’m not an idiot.
Her eyes got all flustered and she blushed like hell—and how on earth I made it through my leg of the presentation without getting a hard-on is a damn miracle.
I barely even remember anything she said after that, about how she spent a lot of time at the library as a kid.
I did hear the bit about the banister, though.
I’d like to see her slide down it now. In those jeans.
God. Focus, Will. You are a professional, for Christ’s sake.
“Well, I think that’ll do for today,” Ethan is saying.
He sits down, clasps his hands in front of him on the table, and looks around the conference room.
“At some point we’ll need to discuss plans for fundraising at the fall festival, but that can wait for the next meeting.
So, regarding today’s agenda, does anyone have any last questions? Concerns?”
My eyes flit to Lydia, even though I’m trying my damnedest not to imagine what her hair would feel like clenched in my fingers. I can see Ethan’s looking at her too, almost like he’s trying to dare her to start her bitching again. She doesn’t take the bait.
Instead, it’s Nancy who speaks. “I’d like to make a suggestion.
Given Lydia’s concerns about the more—uh—modern elements of the design, I thought it might be nice for Lydia to give Will a walkthrough of the building after the meeting.
” She turns to Lydia, pats her arm. “You know, highlight the historicity of the place? Come up with some ideas of how to preserve the historical charm of the structure?”
“With all due respect, Nancy,” Ethan cuts in, “Will’s experience renovating old buildings is fairly extensive. It’s part of the reason we chose him.”
I glance at Ethan, then at Lydia. Our eyes lock for a second before Nancy cuts in again.
“Of course, of course. It’s just that Lydia’s a Hawthorne Bay native with familial connections to the library, and I think her perspective could be valuable in making this place the best it can be.”
Lydia scoffs. “I guess that’s why you so obviously kept me out of the loop then, right?”
Oh, shit. Nancy’s trying to smooth the situation over, but this is going south.
“You know what?” I say, jumping in with a broad smile. “I think that’s a great idea. I can definitely stick around for a few minutes. It’ll give me a chance to talk through some ideas about how to keep the story of the place alive and kicking.”
Lydia stares at me like I just decided to rip my shirt off and go dancing around the room.
It’s clearly not what she expected, and I can tell by the way she narrows her eyes that she’s more than a little suspicious, but I had to say something.
It’s been painful enough watching her get kicked around in this meeting.
No way do I want to see her get herself fired.
“Fine,” Lydia says. She gives me a clipped nod.
Everyone rises, and the board members all start to clear out.
A few of the city council members stop to chat with me for a few minutes, invite me to participate in the booth the library’s manning at the Hawthorne Bay fall festival to stir up interest from wealthy donors, and I play the part as best I can.
I hate small talk, but when I’m the architect on a project and the hottest fucking investor in town is sitting there surveying me like a hawk, there’s no way in hell I’m going to snub these people.
Besides, I’ve got to stick around for this walkthrough or whatever it is.
“You ready?”
I look down to see Lydia standing next to me, examining her nails. She’s got a binder tucked under her arm, and she’s literally tapping her foot. This chick is unreal.
“Sure,” I say. I toss my coffee cup in the trash. I hadn’t thought my interactions with the woman at the coffee shop could get any more awkward, but here we are. “Let’s do it.”
As I follow Lydia out of the office and into the main room, I’m struck by how small she is.
Her hand had been fucking tiny when I shook it, but now that I’m standing next to her when she’s not screaming at me in a coffee shop, I feel like The freaking Hulk.
I’m pretty sure I could pick her up one-handed—
Lydia stops suddenly, and I have to jump backward to keep from colliding with her. She spins around and studies me before striding over to one of the windows looking out on the street.
“Let’s get something out of the way.”
“Okay…?”
“I don’t like you, and I’m not too dumb to see you don’t like me, either.”
“Wow. Shrewd observation skills you’ve got there.”
“And you’re clearly hilarious.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “Anyway, you don’t have to like me. I only ask that you keep an open mind about your plans for the building. That’s what this is about. I know the board approved your designs, but…”
I cock my head at her. Her dark eyes are fixed on me, her expression serious. “Why do you care so much?”
“I told you. This place is a part of my childhood. A part of me, really.”
“Huh.” It’s not a very concrete answer, but something tells me I’ve already seen too much of her personal life today to keep digging without pissing her off further.
“So, if you could just put your opinion of me aside for the next ten minutes and listen to what I have to say, that’d be great.”
I shrug. I’m not going to change a design that Ethan Fucking Wilde has already approved for a woman I met an hour ago, but for her sake, I’ll play along. “You got it.”
“Good.” She nods, then gestures to the row of windows in front of her. “These need to stay.”
“Mm,” I say, strolling lazily over to stand next to her and survey the windows that stretch across the wall. I point to the top row. “Eight-over-twelve sash windows. They do give it a New England feel.”
“And the bay windows.”
“I like those too,” I say. “They let in a lot of light. But they’re not historically accurate.”
Lydia’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Exactly what I said. If you’re trying to preserve the colonial features of the building, the bay windows aren’t going to help. Judging by that multi-pane glazing, I’d say they were installed sometime in the mid-twentieth century.”
I can tell I just knocked the wind out of Lydia, and honestly, it’s pretty hard to hide the smirk I feel coming on.
Leaning against the wall, I cross my legs and look up, gesturing toward the ceiling.
“That dormer, though?” I whistle. “That’s original.
See how it’s got those segmental, arched panes?
That’s representative of when the place was built, and I worked it into the designs. What else you got?”
“Okay, smart ass,” Lydia snaps. She stalks to the other side of the room, and I follow her into the foyer, trying not to laugh.
She’s so small, but she’s mad—and she’s absolutely dripping venom.
Her eyes land on the banister that spans from the main level down the half flight of stairs to the main entrance.
“If you get rid of this banister, you’re getting rid of a piece of history.
I happen to know for a fact that this has been here since the building was constructed in—”
“1779,” I finish. I wince, though, as I follow her gaze to the banister. “Unfortunately, if you’d paid attention to the presentation instead of texting under the table, you’d already know that it’s being taken out.”
Lydia’s cheeks go pink. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m very much not kidding, no. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t fit the aesthetic we’re going for. Would it help, though, if I told you I’m keeping the transom above the main entrance?”
Lydia stalks toward me. Her gaze is still hard, but the little wisps of hair that have fallen down to frame her face look so delicate, so soft.
I actually feel a little bad for popping holes in all her hopes like this, especially after that story she shared about the banister.
And with how close she’s standing to me now, I find my mind straying back to that text. Goddammit.
“You’re a real dick, you know that?”
“I’ve been told that before.”
I need to get a handle on myself. I can feel my dick starting to harden again, and I think frantically of kittens.
Of vomit. Of kittens vomiting. Anything to keep me from thinking about her, and the way she’s got her dark eyes fixed on me.
I can already tell she’s going to be a thorn in my side until this project’s done—for more reasons than one.
Lydia scoffs. “I guess someone told you you were funny, too.”
“Never.”
“Well, we’re done here.”
“Fantastic.”
At this point, all I want is to get out of here.
I’ve tried to be nice to Lydia, to go along with her weird obsession with this building and quell some of her fears, but it’s not working.
The only thing this walkthrough has succeeded in doing is making Lydia hate me more, which, alarmingly, I’m finding pretty attractive.
I fumble for the zipper on my jacket, tug it upwards.
The next thing I know, Lydia’s shrieking in my ear, and Nancy’s thundering into the foyer to see what the hell’s going on. It takes me a minute to realize what Lydia’s howling about, and when I do, I panic.
That long, silky hair of hers? That I’ve been walking around here fantasizing about? That that other guy wants to pull?
Yeah, it’s caught in my zipper. And Lydia’s face is right near my chest, and she’s pissed.
“Holy shit,” I stammer. “How did that even happen? Why was your hair even near my zipper?”
I have no clue what to do. Unzip? Or will that make it worse? Lydia’s hair smells like vanilla and it’s really fucking distracting, so I pull back slightly to get away from its heavenly softness.
“Stop moving!” Lydia demands. “Every time you move, it pulls!”
I can see that Nancy, although flustered by the awkwardness of it all, is trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. She leaves the room once more and comes back with a pair of scissors. She gives them a little snip in the air, which sends Lydia back to howling.
“Sorry, honey,” Nancy says, her voice apologetic although she’s stifling a smile. “Hold still.”
She snips, setting us free, and pats Lydia on the back. She chuckles. “I guess you just didn’t want Will to leave.”
Lydia shoots her a death glare, and Nancy leaves the foyer, scissors in hand, shoulders shaking as she enters the office.
I zip my jacket for real this time. Lydia’s blushing furiously, and I’m still fighting my hard-on.
Beautiful as she is, she’s coming across as childish.
I’ve had one too many weird encounters with this woman for a single morning, and I’m out.
“Listen,” I say to her as she examines the ends of her hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… all our other issues aside, you need to move on. Let the past go. It’s not a good look for you.”
And with that, I walk out, leaving her standing in the foyer, fuming.
It’s only when I get to my truck and unzip my jacket again that the snipped ends of Lydia’s hair fall from the teeth of the zipper and into my lap.
I slide them into my jacket pocket—I can’t help it, they smell so fucking good—and drive.