Chapter 16
Natalie walked into the office with a buoyancy she hadn’t felt in days. A real night’s sleep and a steaming shower had rinsed away the worst of the tension that had been knotted in her shoulders. Her head was clear. Her body no longer hummed with leftover adrenaline.
Today was going to be her day.
No client meetings meant she could lose herself in what she loved most—designing. Her desk was spotless, her coffee was hot, and her notebook was already open to a fresh page. She’d been sketching ideas for a sunroom—bold fabrics, unexpected textures—when her phone buzzed.
The unfamiliar number gave her pause, but she answered anyway. “Hello?”
“I’m hiring you,” a deep, gruff voice announced, uninvited and unmistakable.
Her lips twitched despite herself. She knew that voice. Rylan. Her heart gave an unruly little thump, but the humor quickly tangled with a surge of unwelcome memories—his mouth on hers, his arms locked around her…and the shock of Monica’s smug declaration.
She forced her tone into crisp professionalism. “And a good morning to you too, Your Highness. How may I be of service?”
Perfectly polite. Perfectly distant. She was absolutely not melting at the sound of his voice. She was absolutely not remembering the way it had dropped, low and heated, right before he’d kissed her.
“Good morning,” he replied, and there was a smile in his voice she could practically see. “I’m hiring you.”
“That’s a bold opener,” she said, swiveling her chair to look out the window so he couldn’t hear the grin threatening her lips. “Which rooms are you thinking about?”
“All of them.” The answer was casual, almost bored, as if commissioning an entire home redesign were the most obvious request in the world. “When can you come over to discuss the project?”
Her brows shot up. “Who says I’m accepting you as a client?” she countered, even as her pulse betrayed her by speeding up. “And will Monica be weighing in on these final decisions?”
“Monica and I are not engaged, Natalie,” he said firmly, the teasing gone in an instant. “We weren’t even dating. She decided—without my agreement—that we were going to marry.”
Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup. She wasn’t sure whether to scoff or… believe him. “Why would she come to that conclusion?”
He let out a slow sigh she could practically feel through the phone. She pictured him rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Because I didn’t take another lover after our one night together. She mistook my disinterest for loyalty.”
The words caught her off guard, and before she could stop herself, a laugh escaped. “That’s… a little unhinged.”
“I agree,” he said dryly. “But it’s the truth. I never proposed. Until that morning, she’d never even been inside my house.”
There was something in his voice—steady, direct—that slipped past her defenses. Against her better judgment, she believed him.
“Fine,” she conceded, swiveling her chair back toward her desk. “You weren’t engaged. But what makes you think I’ll take you on as a client?”
“Because you’ve seen my house,” he said without hesitation, “and I know you’ve already redesigned it in your head. You’re dying to fix it.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. Damn him. He wasn’t wrong. She had been mentally tearing apart his cold, minimalist space from the moment she’d walked through it.
She let out a long, reluctant sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good,” he replied, his satisfaction obvious—and annoyingly smug.
She flipped open her calendar. “I have time tomorrow. What time works for you?”
There was a beat of silence, then, with infuriating confidence: “How about right now?”
Natalie pressed her lips into a thin line. Ordinarily, she would drop everything for a new client—clients were precious. But with Rylan, the thought of rearranging her entire day made her hesitate.
“Tomorrow at ten,” she said firmly, in the tone she usually reserved for keeping pushy clients in check.
“How about right now?” he repeated, smooth as silk. “I’ve already spoken with your assistant. She said you didn’t have anything on your schedule today.”
Her jaw dropped. “I don’t have an assistant,” she replied, her voice tight.
He ignored the correction entirely, his tone shifting into businesslike command. “You’ll have to work around the artwork, but I want the rest of the space to feel less… harsh. More inviting.”
Against her will, something in her lit up. “You do?” she asked before she could smother the spark of excitement in her voice.
“Yes,” he said, as if he’d been waiting for her to ask. “All this minimalist crap has to go. The formal dining and living rooms are too uncomfortable to use. I want something that makes me feel at home.”
The pen in her hand began twirling between her fingers, the motion as restless as the ideas tumbling through her mind. “What about the other rooms?” she asked cautiously, though her designer’s brain was already sprinting ahead.
“We’ll discuss the rest when you get here—in thirty minutes.”
And just like that, he hung up.
Natalie stared at her phone, her pulse skipping between irritation at his arrogance and the undeniable thrill of the challenge he’d just tossed her way.
She should call him back. She should insist on keeping tomorrow’s appointment. She should remind him that she set her own schedule, thank you very much.
Instead, she grabbed her tablet and her favorite fabric swatches, her thoughts racing with color palettes and textures that could soften the stark edges of his house.
As she rushed toward her car, she whispered a warning to herself: This is just a job. No kissing. No touching. No distractions.
But even as the words left her lips, she knew the truth—staying professional around Rylan wasn’t going to be a challenge.
It was going to be a war she had no intention of losing… and no guarantee of winning.