Chapter 2 #2
He was supposed to be starting his clinical rotations right now, he’d told her. Dental school was a grind under normal circumstances, but the accident had derailed everything.
The broken wrist and collarbone had forced him to put his education and training on hold until spring, which meant months of waiting and watching his classmates move ahead without him.
For someone who was clearly driven—and he didn’t get into UF dental school without discipline—that kind of forced stillness had to feel like a cage.
He looked right at her, making her shift her gaze to her screen and pray he didn’t think she was staring at him. Because she was definitely not.
“Your dad just took a call,” he said. “Seemed important enough to go to the office and ditch us in the middle of a heated discussion about Florida’s chances of beating Georgia this year.”
She stared at him, processing the words.
“In football,” he added, fluttering the Gator T-shirt he wore. “SEC.”
“He took a call? Just now?” And how the heck did he slip behind her into the office without her noticing? Because she was checking out Connor’s gold-tipped tendrils, that’s how. “Was it Lakeside related?”
“Didn’t say.”
Still, her heart did a small, involuntary thing. It could be Lakeside. Or it could be anything—a vendor, a subcontractor on another project, someone from the Atlanta office with a problem.
Peter came in from the deck next, heading into the kitchen. “Jonah, can I help with anything?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
“Absolutely. You can peel those mangoes.” Jonah slid a cutting board toward him. “And put Meredith out of her misery. Who called my dad?”
Peter gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. He just shot off in a hurry.”
She held up a hand to indicate it was fine, vaguely aware of Connor drifting closer to the table, eyeing her laptop.
“You working on something important?” he asked.
“Always.”
He smiled at that, a half-smile that suggested he found her answer both predictable and amusing. It was an irritatingly nice smile.
She looked over her shoulder at the hallway to the office, waiting for her father to come bounding in with news. If it were a quick vendor call, he’d have handled it out on the deck. The fact that he’d gone to the office meant it was something that required his laptop or his full attention or both.
Lakeside. Please let it be Lakeside.
As though on cue, Dad’s footsteps behind her were swift and certain, making her spin around to stare at him walking from the hall into the main living area.
He held his phone in one hand and his reading glasses in the other, his face maddeningly neutral.
“Everything okay?” Peter asked, pausing mid-mango peel.
Eli looked at Peter. Then at Jonah. Then, slowly, he turned to Meredith.
“Dad.” She closed her laptop, wanting to stand but not trusting her legs. “Who was it?”
“Greg Hollister.”
She gasped at the name of the president of Pippin Lake Development Group.
Meredith’s entire body went still. She didn’t exhale. She didn’t blink. She just waited, because the next sentence was either going to make her year or ruin her afternoon, and she needed to be completely motionless for either outcome.
“Who’s that?” Connor asked.
A slow smile spread over her father’s face. “Our new client.”
For a full second, nothing happened. The words landed in the kitchen like a stone dropped into still water, and then the ripples started, launched by Meredith’s noisy squeal as she shot to her feet.
“Are you kidding?” Her voice sounded strained with hope.
“I am not kidding and I would have come out sooner, but I had to stop and thank God for this blessing.”
Of course he did.
In one second, they all started hooting and cheering so loud even Atlas joined in.
Dad reached for her. “We got it, kiddo,” he exclaimed into a hug.
“They want us. They were overjoyed to get you as the project manager. In fact, Greg said it was your Alastair model that put us over the edge. They think it will be the most popular floor plan, and he loved that coastal farmhouse elevation. He already sold two of them on spec.”
“Oh, my… Really? That’s amazing!” She pulled back, gripping Eli’s arms. “I cannot believe this! It’s huge!”
“I’ll say! Three hundred and twelve residential units, a mixed-use clubhouse, and a neighborhood park.
Acacia is the exclusive architect.” He spoke like he’d memorized every word.
“And my daughter, project manager over the whole thing.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You earned this, Meredith Lawson.”
As they all gathered and cheered the win, Peter grinned and clapped Eli on the back. Jonah tried to calm Atlas while simultaneously high-fiving Meredith from across the kitchen island.
In the wild hugging, even Connor gave her a careful congratulatory embrace, but not so careful that she failed to notice the six-pack he was hiding under his college logo T-shirt.
“This is amazing,” Peter said. “Eli, congratulations. Both of you. What a coup.”
“It’s enormous.” Dad’s eyes were bright. “And get this—they’re giving us an on-site private office in the sales and design center. Three desks, all access, a conference room, and a lock on the door, exclusively for Acacia. No more work at the kitchen table, Mer. We have a Destin office.”
As it all sank in, she dropped back into the chair at the table to open her laptop, mind whirring.
There was so much to do! Moving into a new office, setting up systems, arranging meetings, not to mention the building stuff—permit applications and zoning discussions and developer check-ins.
Oh, there would be environmental impact reviews, survey schedules.
They were semi-custom homes, so change orders and style templates and—
“Mer.” Jonah was watching her with knowing amusement. “You’re already planning.”
“Of course I’m already planning. Do you have any idea how much coordination a project this size requires?”
Ignoring the chaos, she started typing, her fingers moving fast. Her father’s hand landed on her shoulder.
“Take five minutes to celebrate, honey.”
She started to argue, but laughed, standing up to let him lead her to the group around the kitchen island.
But that didn’t stop her brain. It continued spinning until the celebration died down, Atlas returned to his nap, and the kitchen fell back into a natural rhythm, which all took nearly an hour.
Finally, she leaned into her father, the two of them nursing gin and tonics that Jonah had whipped up and garnished with limes.
“We don’t have staff down here, Dad,” she said, tackling problem number one first. “We need someone to handle the admin while I’m in meetings and site visits.
Could we transfer Roseanne down from Atlanta?
” she asked, referring to one of the amazing assistants at Acacia.
“Even if it’s just until I have time to interview and hire someone? ”
“She’s up to her eyeballs on the St. Germaine project,” he said. “We’ll find someone here.”
“I’ll have to start interviewing, then. I need someone I can trust, someone organized, someone who can handle a fast-moving project without needing to be micromanaged.
” She paused, aware of the irony. Meredith Lawson, who micromanaged everything, looking for someone she wouldn’t need to micromanage.
“And I need them fast. We’re going to hit the ground running. ”
While Jonah and Peter cooked, Connor leaned against the counter, his good arm crossed awkwardly around his injury, watching Meredith with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Meredith looked up. “Do what?”
“The job. Your admin person. Project coordinator, assistant, whatever you want to call it.” He shrugged with his good shoulder, wincing slightly.
“I’m just sitting around being spectacularly useless until spring.
I’ve had enough beach time to last me through next year.
I can’t do clinicals, can’t do rotations, can’t even take my classes because the whole program sequence got blown up. ”
She understood that frustration—respected it, too—but… “You’ll work…for me?” she asked, not hiding the disbelief in her voice.
“I’ll be your secretary,” he said with a grin that told her he knew darn well they were called administrative assistants. “I can file things. Answer phones. Make sure nobody loses a permit application.”
Peter looked up from the cutting board, a flicker of something crossing his face—surprise, maybe, or hope.
Meredith let out a small laugh. “Connor, that’s sweet, but—”
“But what? I’m not qualified to organize emails?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I got into dental school, Meredith. Do you know what the application process for that is like? I arranged my entire life into a system other students paid me to create for them. I invented an algorithm for study schedules.” He grimaced. “Actually, don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Jonah snorted. “Too late. I’m telling everyone. Also, it sounds like you two are a match made in color-coded heaven.”
The words hit her, but she managed not to react.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Eli said, leaning onto the counter with a thoughtful expression.
Wait. Was he seriously thinking she would hire Connor as an assistant? They’d be doomed to failure!
“The decision is yours, Meredith,” her father added. “You’re the project manager—you hire and fire.”
Peter set down the mango and the knife. “For what it’s worth, Meredith, he is going stir-crazy. I’ve watched him reorganize my entire garage twice in the last three weeks with one good arm. Get him out of my hair, please.”
Taking a breath, Meredith shifted her gaze to Connor, who looked right back at her, the tiniest challenge in his eyes.
As if to say, Are you scared of me, Mer?
She met his gaze steadily and noticed—against her will and better judgment—that his eyes had a lot of amber in the late afternoon light coming through the kitchen windows.
And under that T-shirt…was absolutely and totally not relevant to anything.
His eyes were not relevant. His chestnut hair—a little long for the corporate world—was not relevant. And his stupid six-pack was so irrelevant that it hurt to even think about.
But she did. And that might be the real problem.
She dug for a better answer than You’re too hot, sorry.
“The work I’d need help with isn’t glamorous,” she finally said, her voice shifting into the tone she used in professional settings—measured, clear, a little bit too intense.
“It’s data entry, filing, scheduling coordination, permit tracking, following up on municipal deadlines, managing correspondence with subcontractors and vendors.
It requires extreme attention to detail and zero tolerance for disorganization and the ability to bow deeply to Pippin Lake Development Group. ”
“I can bow.” Connor leaned forward, one hand across his waist, bowing like a duke being introduced to the king. Laughing, he straightened. “I can also track, file, manage, schedule, follow up, and make a mean cup of coffee. I’m sure you’ll be easy to work for.”
Eli chuckled. Jonah laughed out loud. Even Peter cracked a smile.
Meredith narrowed her eyes, but something tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Okay, fine. I admit, I don’t…watch the clock.”
“What clock?” Connor half-smiled, easy and quick, and it did something to the air in the kitchen that Meredith chose to ignore entirely. “Look, I’m serious. I need something productive to do. You need someone who can keep up with you. I’ll be your girl Friday.”
“My…what?”
Peter snorted. “See? He needs to work. In his spare time, he’s watching black-and-white movies from the forties. Sorry, but I think only Maggie and Jo Ellen know what a ‘girl Friday’ is, Con.”
Meredith looked from one to the other, lost on the Friday stuff.
The practical part of her brain—which was, admittedly, most of her brain—ran the calculation. He met basic qualifications and could start immediately, filling in until she found someone suitable.
The less practical part of her brain noted, unhelpfully, that he had nice hands. Well. Hand. The one that wasn’t in a cast.
Stop it.
“Can you type?” she asked.
Connor held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’m getting surprisingly good at hunt-and-peck with my non-dominant hand. And I’m starting hand therapy this week—which I can do early, before work starts—because if I can’t use both, I don’t have a future.”
There was just enough defeat in his voice that her heart shifted a little. How would she feel if, after all her schooling, she physically couldn’t do the job of an architect? It would hurt. It would make her feel…useless.
He leaned forward slightly, and his expression changed from playful to genuine. “Meredith. I’m not joking. I need to do something or I’ll go crazy.”
Yes. She completely understood that.
Eli caught her eye from across the table and gave her a small, encouraging nod. And honestly, Dad was never wrong.
“Okay,” she said. “Can you help me open up the office on Monday?”
His face broke into a grin. A real one, not the half-smile he’d been deploying, but one that made him look kind and open and…and…
Oh, man. Did he have to be so cute?
Well, she really didn’t have time to interview a string of losers. And Connor was right there in front of her.
“Monday at eight a.m.,” she said. “Not eight-oh-five. Not eight-fifteen. Eight.” She pointed a finger at him. “And if you lose a permit application or misfile a single contract, I’m firing you. Immediately. Without remorse.”
“See?” Jonah joked. “So warm and nurturing.”
“I feel welcome already,” Connor said with a wry smile.
“He’s hired?” Peter said, looking between them with poorly concealed delight. “Really?”
“On a trial basis,” Meredith clarified. “Temporary. Through the initial project setup phase, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“Temporary works,” Connor said. “Temporary is all I have to offer.”
Jonah slid a plate of something across the counter toward Connor—a sample of whatever he’d been sautéing. “Congratulations on your new career in architecture administration. You have no idea what you just signed up for.”
“How bad can it be?”
Jonah just gave him a look that once would have made her stick her tongue out at him.
But she smiled because she had Lakeside. She had an office on site. She had her father beside her and a project that could define the next phase of her career.
And she had, apparently, Connor McCarthy. Standing at the counter with that gold-tipped hair and a broken wrist and an unsettling ability to make her lose her train of thought.
Purely practical, she told herself, stepping away to the comfort and safety of a spreadsheet. This is purely practical.