Chapter 6
Lila
My heart pounded as I stumbled out of Gideon’s condo, my vision blurring with tears. I jabbed the elevator button frantically, needing to escape before I lost it.
Deep breaths, Lila. Smile through the pain, just like in the pageants. I plastered on a dazzling grin as the elevator doors opened, even though there was no one around to fool.
As I reached my car, a choked sob escaped my throat. I collapsed into the driver’s seat, resting my forehead on the steering wheel.
What the hell had just happened up there?
Gideon Pierce was a different beast in person. On the phone, he’d been a whirlwind of words and fabulous ideas, but in real life he had all the warmth of a Siberian winter. Gruff, aloof, no-nonsense.
He’d hated everything I’d done.
This was supposed to be my big break, my first solo interior design project. I’d blown it, spectacularly. I’d poured my heart and soul into that condo and pushed myself way outside my comfort zone. And failed.
Gideon’s face flashed in my mind. His dark, tousled hair fell in rugged waves that framed the sharp line of his jaw.
The rough stubble on his chin added a hint of danger, emphasizing the raw magnetism he exuded.
As he surveyed my design work with that infuriating mix of curiosity and disdain, a sly smirk tugged at his lips.
The charming, witty guy from the phone was gone; in person he radiated an icy detachment that somehow made him even more intimidating.
How had it gone so wrong?
I’d followed every one of his suggestions. The accent pillows, the curtains, even the Mist-a-Dick. Was I the worst designer on Earth?
A strangled groan punched out of me, humiliation blazing through me all over again.
Oh God. The bed incident.
He had caught me writhing on his bed like a cat in heat, my skirt bunched around my hips and my fingers inside my panties. How could I be so unbelievably stupid?
“Why was I rolling on his bed?” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, trying to shake off the memory.
With a trembling hand, I pulled out my phone and called Samantha. She needed to know. Not about the rolling-on-the-bed part, but that Gideon hated my design.
“Lila! How’s it going? Did you finish up Gideon’s condo?”
I bit my lip, tears pricking at my eyes. “Oh, Sam,” I sniffled. “It was a disaster. I was finishing Gideon’s bedroom, arranging the Mist-a-Dick, and he came home early and walked in—”
“Hold on. The what now?” Samantha sounded thoroughly baffled.
“Not important. I’ll tell you later.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Focus. “The point is, Gideon hated everything. All my hard work, all those long hours... he wants to change everything.”
I dissolved into tears again, letting out all the frustration and humiliation of the past hour. Samantha murmured soothingly on the other end of the line.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. But listen, clients always want to tweak things, especially the demanding ones. It’s totally normal! We’ll sit down with Gideon, go over his suggestions, and make it work. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise.”
I wanted to believe her, but the image of Gideon’s disapproving frown was burned into my brain. “But Sam, you should’ve seen his face. He looked at that room like it personally offended him and his entire family tree.”
“Lila,” Samantha said, her mentor voice kicking in, calm and authoritative. “You’re catastrophizing. This is your first solo project—bumps are expected. We’ll work with Gideon, make the changes he wants, and deliver a fabulous end result. Samantha Grace Interiors doesn’t give up that easily.”
I drew in a deep breath, trying to let her words settle the knot in my chest. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I just... I wanted it to be perfect, you know?”
“I know, Lila. You put your heart into every project. That’s what makes you so damn good. This is just a bump in the road. We’ll tackle it together tomorrow, okay?”
“Thanks, Sam.”
I swiveled in my ergonomic chair, tapping manicured nails on the sleek glass desk.
Another satisfied client, another perfectly curated space.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of color swatches and fabric samples as I caught up with clients who’d taken a backseat while I was knee-deep in Gideon’s condo.
I threw myself into the work, desperate to forget the epic disaster that had been his design reveal.
I’d done a good job. Until my phone buzzed and Gideon’s name lit up the screen like a flashing reminder of my failure. My stomach plummeted. Bracing myself, I picked up.
“Gideon! How are you settling into Miami?”
“Lila!” he sang, voice dripping with enthusiasm. “It’s absolutely fabulous here. I’m settling in nicely, but I’ve got one teeny-tiny problem.”
I winced, already anticipating the critique. “Oh?”
“I don’t know a soul in this city! Well, except for you, of course. Which is why I’m calling. How about drinks tonight?”
I blinked. “Drinks? I thought you wanted to discuss the condo…”
“Oh, no shop talk tonight.” He laughed. “I’m looking for a fun night out. You know all the hotspots, right? I need you to find us a place where we can scope out some seriously hot guys.”
“Wait, what?” I almost dropped the phone. “You want to... scope out hot guys?”
“Exactly! Miami’s famous for its eye candy, right? Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I hesitated. This was unexpected, but not necessarily a bad thing. He sounded upbeat, even friendly. This could be my chance to smooth things over and stay on his good side. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a drink after the week I’d had.
“Alright,” I said, pushing aside the flutter of nerves. Gideon was undeniably attractive, but this was strictly professional. Plus, he was clearly batting for the other team. “I know just the place. I’ll text you the details.”
“Fabulous! See you tonight, gorgeous.”
I stared at my phone, shaking my head. What had I just agreed to?
Later that evening, I rushed home, my brain spinning with wardrobe options. Professional or party girl? Why was I nervous? It was just a casual night out with a client. A ridiculously attractive, flamboyant client who wanted to ogle men.
After way too much debate, I settled on a slinky red dress that hugged every curve. If Gideon was in the mood to go man-hunting, I wasn’t about to show up underdressed.
An hour later, I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror. My blonde hair fell in soft waves, my makeup was flawless, and my legs looked a mile long in my favorite stilettos. I grabbed my clutch, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach as I headed out the door.
It was drinks with a client. The enigmatic, ridiculously hot Gideon Pierce. Nothing more.
Did Gideon have any idea what kind of chaos he was stirring up inside me?
Remember, he’s gay. Totally gay.
I stepped into the downtown bar, a trendy spot with moody lighting, strong drinks, and a crowd that leaned heavily into Miami’s beautiful-people aesthetic.
It was only ten o’clock, basically afternoon by local standards, but way past my usual bedtime.
The place wasn’t packed yet, and it didn’t take long to realize Gideon was nowhere in sight.
Figures. He’d keep a girl waiting.
I ordered a martini and perched on a barstool. Ten minutes and two pickup attempts later, my phone buzzed with a pouty text from Gideon.
Gideon: Hurry up! Sitting alone at bars isn’t my thing. Although the eye candy here is on point.
I rolled my eyes and tapped back a reply:
Me: I’ve been here for 10 minutes already! Sitting at the bar. Are we at the same place? I don’t see you.
His reply came instantly:
Gideon: Really? The only woman I see sitting alone is a blonde in a red dress who puts Marilyn Monroe to shame. A golden-haired temptress with curves that could make a saint sin. That can’t be you... can it?
Flattering. And a little extra. But I’d take it.
I glanced around, slowly realizing I was the only woman sitting solo at the bar.
Me: That goddess is me, indeed. So where the heck are you?
Gideon: Two barstools down to your left.
I whipped my head around, only to find a random guy grinning at me. He was slim and stylish, with perfectly coiffed blond hair, designer glasses, a tailored shirt... Definitely not the guy from the condo.
“Uh, Gideon?”
“Surprise!” he sang, hopping off his stool and sweeping me into a dramatic hug that smelled faintly of expensive cologne. “Lila, darling! You look absolutely stunning.”
I pulled back, blinking with confusion. “But... you’re not... I mean, I thought...”
He planted a hand on his hip, all attitude. “Thought what?”
“Wait...” My brain scrambled. “If you’re Gideon, then who was the guy at the condo?”
His eyes widened. “Hold up. You talked to someone at the condo? And thought it was fabulous moi? When was this?”
“Tuesday. I was there finishing up...” I hesitated, staring hard into my martini as the image of me, splayed out on the bed with my hand in my panties, nearly made me combust. “And some guy showed up. I thought he was you.”
Gideon sank onto his stool, eyes sparkling. “What did he say?”
I was feeling more confused by the second. “Not much. He walked in as if he owned the place. Tall, dark, and broody. Super intense.”
His grin exploded across his face. “Oh my God. Please tell me more. This is too delicious.”
I leveled him with a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much. Who the hell was at your condo?”
He laughed, a full-on cackling laugh. “Oh, honey. I don’t own that condo. You met Mason, my boss. It’s his condo you were decorating.”
“Mason?”
Gideon was practically vibrating. “Tell me everything. I need all the deets! How did he react to the decor?”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion creeping in. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled. Gideon, did your boss actually ask for that over-the-top rustic cabin look? And the... um... special bedroom?”
“Not exactly.” Gideon pressed his fingertips together, eyes gleaming with wicked glee. “God, I wish I could’ve seen his face.”