Carpenter: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 16)

by Flora Ferrari

  “Harder.” My head leans back and her touch feels incredible, but something’s still not right.

  I look back down and she’s staring at it like she’s never seen a man’s dick before, or that she doesn’t now what to do with it.

  My eyes have adjusted to the steamy room and I take an even deeper look at her face. She’s young, but clearly legal. Minors aren’t allowed in here, and I wouldn’t have approached her anyways if there were any doubt she was under age, but had snuck in.

  She doesn’t look like a foreigner on vacation looking for a tale to tell when she gets home. She’s clearly local. I thought most of the girls in this state were getting more and more promiscuous, but apparently not her.

  Something’s clearly off and she jumps up, covering her pussy and amazing tits with her towel and darts for the door.

  What in the fuck just happened?

  I sit back down and take in the steam. As much as my mind wants to forget the events of this entire day, I just can’t get this girl out of my thoughts.

  It was only a few minutes, but I could tell she was different…different than all these other Instagram Barbie’s that are a dime a dozen. I’m not one to dabble in drugs, let alone touch them, but I know plenty of places in and around Laguna Beach and Newport Beach where guys go to pull these girls with offers of pills and coke. Not my thing. Not at all. Woodworking is my drug, and nothing even comes close. Nothing until I realize I may have just found something as rare as a polar bear in the desert…a truly innocent girl. I suddenly feel bad that I interrupted her private time.

  And I feel even worse that I blew my shot with her.

  CHAPTER 4

  Christian

  P ink Palms lot is worse than I expected. They’ve got the foundation laid, and that’s about it. I see a few palm trees and orient myself realizing the sun will set behind them. I guess that’s where they got the Pink Palms name. How original. I can already tell this is going to be a disaster…another exercise in low cost, corner cutting that I’d never stake my name to. I did agreed to the meeting so I step out of my Porsche and walk onto the lot, hoping to be out of here no later than ten minutes after the owner arrives.

  As I walk around I realized that this is almost a dream situation. The property’s here, the location is good, and the canvas is blank. There will be plenty of high-end tourists swarming the place soon.

  The idea of another spa, while overdone in Palm Springs, could work if they tried something different. I get it…it’s business. Just give the paying customers another one of what they already want and collect the cash, but if somebody had the balls to try something else they could really reap tremendous rewards. I’ve seen it time and time again.

  But it’s not my dime, and I don’t have the time.

  A car pulls up and a hipster guy jumps out. He’s way too friendly and his pants are way too tight…and too green. They make pants in green for people who aren’t in the military? I shelf the thought and extend a hand to greet him.

  “You must be Mister Carpenter.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “How cool is that? Your last name is Carpenter and you’re a carpenter.”

  Like I’ve never heard that one before. “Yeah, it works.”

  “I’m Chris, Avery’s assistant.”

  She has an assistant? Two people working on this and all they’ve got to show for it is a foundation? Shit show, not to mention she’s making me wait. What kind of amateur power play is she trying to pull?

  “Miss Anderson will be here in just a moment. She just stopped for coffee on the way.”

  I nod and go back to surveying the land.

  “Do you like it?” Chris asks, obviously not getting the hint.

  “It’s got potential,” I say.

  “We think so too. And the name. I love the Pink Palms name. What do you think?”

  I don’t have time for games, so I feed it to the kid straight. “Cliché, no?”

  I see his confidence deflate. “But it’s fun.”

  “Making money is fun,” I say. “Going out of business as another copycat business…not so much.”

  I hear the gravel moving to the side of me, and turn to see a Toyota Corolla coming to a stop.

  I’m ready deliver my “no thanks” as soon as possible and be on my way…until the door opens. And she steps out.

  “Fuckin’ A,” I say under my breath, but apparently loud enough.

  “Excuse me?” Chris says.

  I ignore him and watch her walk towards me in that white button down top, and sleek black skirt. I hear the crunch of the gravel and look down at her powerful legs coming my way in heels. Heels on gravel? That’s unexpected, almost as much so as the way she’s pretending not to know me after what happened no more than sixteen hours ago.

  “Avery Anderson,” she says, extending the same hand she was stroking my cock with not much more than half a day earlier. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Why in the hell was she at the steam room at my hotel last night?

  “The pleasure is mine,” I say, thinking back to how much more pleasure we could have had last night, and how much more pleased I am now that mystery girl has reappeared.

  I’m looking her dead in the eye, but she’s not flinching. Maybe she’s trying to put last night in the rear view as quickly as possible, just as I was this meeting until she showed up.

  “Here are some new sketches we have for the sectional,” she says, opening a folder and handing me three pieces of paper with heavier weights and better texture than those found in your standard copier paper.

  Maybe this Pink Palms thing isn’t as cliché as I thought. And my cock, which is as hard as the foundation in front of us, is hoping a second steam room rendezvous isn’t cliché either.

  I thumb through the sketches and realize there’s some potential here. I’m pleasantly surprised. “These ideas are solid,” I say.

  “Avery mocked them up herself,” Chris says. “She has a background in graphic design.”

  Her mouth tightens and I make a note of it. Chris apparently let something slip, and she didn’t like it. She likes to keep her personal life private, as do I.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Rhode Island School of Design grad.”

  The name drop doesn’t go unnoticed on me. It may not sound impressive to most, but to those in the know it’s the top school in the country, beating out the likes of Parsons and MIT. From what I remember, two of the three Airbnb founders also graduated from there. I’m noticing a trend here.

  “The raddest school you’ve never heard of,” I say, remembering their motto.

  Avery’s clinical expression loosens into a smile. “Family Guy, Talking Heads, and Good Will Hunting,” she says, listing off accomplishments from graduates of her alma mater.

  “And don’t forget Pink Palms,” I say.

  A small laugh escapes her, before she returns to her clinical state. “Will you be able to execute these sketches, and if so, can you complete the work within the two week time frame?”

  “I don’t execute. You can provide guidance, but the final product is up to me.”

  “If we hire you, then you’re paid to do a job,” she says.

  I’m watching her lips, imagining how they would look pressed against mine. Better yet, how that red lipstick would look smeared all over my rod while we really got down to business.

  “My job, as you call it, is to implement client suggestions into a unique, original, and eye catching piece that will last for generations.”

  “We don’t need an heirloom, Mr. Carpenter. We just need a sectional.”

  This is the point where I’d normally walk out, but I want this girl. “From the looks of things you need a lot more than that, but then again that’s none of my business.”

  I see her nose flare up as she opens her mouth to speak. I raise my hand, stopping her. It’s make or break time.

  “Miss Anderson, you have done a great job picking out the lot, mark
eting the property, and in your choice to call me. If you wish to work with me you must remember I’m an artist. I’ll deliver in ways you can’t even imagine, but you can’t bridle my passion for craftsmanship. You called me because you wanted the best, and now I’m here. A good sectional, and to be perfectly honest an entire Balinese structure here, would separate you from the cookie cutter competition. In fact, with this structure there would be no competition. Clients would seek you out specifically, as the industry leader and expert, just as you sought me out. And once this spa is up and running you could double down and open more…franchise it if you want. All because you set things up properly from the start. From this moment onward.”

  I take a deep breath in and tilt my head.

  “Avery, you’re creative. I can clearly see that from your mockups, but graphic design and woodworking are two different disciplines. You do what you do best, and I do what I do best. And if you really want to know the truth, it’s a lot more than just woodworking that I can offer you. Is it going to cost a little bit more? Sure, but you’ll recoup it in sales in no time. That’s my offer to you,” I say extending my arms, with the palms of my hands up.

  I drop my chin, but maintain eye contact. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Mister Carpenter, do you know who I am?”

  “Really? You’re going to pull that bullshit line that no-name Hollywood producers use when the doorman rejects them on a Saturday night on the Sunset Strip? And in the middle of the desert no less? Yeah, I know who you are. You’re the trust fund girl who is about to make a huge mistake with daddy’s money.”

  My words hang in the air like the scent of the Santa Ana winds, as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I’m looking her straight in the eye, but damn if my peripheral vision doesn’t get a glimpse of those child bearing hips of hers moving side to side.

  “I’m not sure if you understand who is to profit here, when this venture proves successful.”

  “You call this oversized slab of concrete a venture?”

  “It’s the foundation. The one which you show up to this morning and say is all wrong and provide your unsolicited advice as to what we should do to fix it, in your opinion.”

  “Maybe you should listen.”

  “Maybe I’m not interested in your opinion.”

  I sure as hell know what she was interested in last night in that steam room.

  The thought of walking away is getting stronger, but I can’t. She’s pulling me back. I want to win. I want to help her from the mistake she’s about to make. And most importantly I want her.

  “Wait one second,” I say. I walk to my car and open the trunk. I bring back the manila folder and remove the rubber band keeping the papers in place. It’s time to take control of this situation once and for all.

  “These are photographs I took in Bali. I took these over the course of the last twenty years. I take multiple visits each and every year. I source wood. I travel the country. And I work with the locals to learn the newest, and oldest, techniques in their ways of craftsmanship.”

  I see her eyebrows raise as she thumbs through the photographs of the Balinese homes, tables, benches and overall way of life and how prominently architecture plays into it.

  “At this point I have no interest in building you a sectional. Frankly, I can’t see how it will fit into your overall plan, if it will fit at all. I’m not interested in your money and I’m not interested in who you are.” Something clicks in my brain telling me that is entirely wrong. All I can think about right now is who this girl is and what’s her story. “What I am interested in is cooperating with you to build the best spa and resort that Palm Springs has ever seen.”

  “Considering your words and your stance, cooperating would be the last word I would associate with the way you choose to go about things.”

  Chris types out something on his phone and places it in front of Avery.

  “Chris, why don’t you explain the true definition of cooperating to Mister Carpenter.”

  “Mister Carpenter, we may not look like much at the moment and although we have big plans for the future, our biggest asset is neither our current aesthetic or our ambitions. It is our relationships. One of the main reasons we chose this location was for the seclusion and privacy it offers. Sure a lot of places in Palm Springs say they offer such VIP levels of rest and relaxation, but how many truly deliver?”

  “So you know people? Everybody in this town knows people, or knows people that know people.”

  “True, but one of the main reasons Miss Anderson brought me on board was because of my previous career as a talent agent in Hollywood. I serviced those clients well during my short stint as an agent. My time in Hollywood may have been brief but it was long enough to win their trust, and they’ve already committed to staying at our spa during the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival. Our guests will truly be the who’s who of the entire event.”

  “No offense, Chris, but this place will be swarming with celebrities at that time. What makes you think your place will be any different?”

  Chris looked at Avery, who shook her head in the affirmative.

  “We have a contract with the festival. We’re hosting all of the headlining acts and the top five actors and actresses in the world who will be attending.”

  “That type of contract doesn’t exist,” I say. “Not even in L.A.”

  “You’re right, there is no contract. There couldn’t be or else it might get leaked somewhere. That’s why it’s simply a cooperation based on years of trust and working together closely.”

  I don’t see the kid as a liar, but I also don’t know if he’s familiar with all the workings of Hollywood. They put multiple people on hold at a time and pick the one they want at the last second, leaving the other high and dry. It’s worth it to try and be the lucky winner. The PR is priceless.

  “Mister Carpenter, we can play point and counterpoint all day, but let’s get real. It’s my spa and resort and I’m the one who’s writing the check.”

  “You may be writing the check, Miss Anderson, but there are still a few people left in Southern California who can’t be bought.”

  “Nor would I try with someone who’s not interested. I know what I have and what I will see this place become in one month’s time. I just needed a deliverable that I thought would take no more than thirty minutes to sort out, and that thirty minutes is rapidly approaching. I need to find someone who’s on board with my vision. I’m moving forward on this in twenty-four hours, so please contact us if and when you’re ready to cooperate.”

  A cherry apple red Lamborghini Diablo slowly pulls over, and slides in behind Avery’s car.

  “That’s my next appointment. I must be going now. You know where we stand. Thanks for your time.”

  She turns toward the new arrival, giving me the perfect view of her from behind. That same behind I had in my hand, but didn’t finish what I started. God, I wanted her so bad right now. I was hard just looking at her, and was even harder at how she just conducted herself. She was young, but she didn’t take anything, and stood her ground firm. Damn, what a turn on. A strong woman with the conviction and backbone to stand up for herself and what she believed in.

  CHAPTER 5

  Christian

  C hiseled?”

  I’ve got my car door open and my mind is already thinking of how I’m going to convince Avery to let me work on her spa, when I hear my name called. No one calls me by that name except the guys I grew up with. My head shoots around, and I see him standing there…eyeing me over the top of his Ray-Bans.

  “Double Down Davidson?”

  “Ha, ha! How you been, buddy?” he asks as he wraps me up in a hug.

  “Good, man. How about you?”

  “No complaints, here.”

  “I thought you were still in New York, running that ad agency.”

  “Those days are long gone, my friend. Traded those harsh winters for the Cali sunshi
ne.”

  “So you’re back on the left coast now?”

  “Right where I belong.”

  “You working?”

  “Double Down Davidson doesn’t need to work annnyyyymore!”

  “You hit the Powerball?”

  “Better. World Series of Poker.”

  “You’re joking me?”

  “You guys didn’t call me Double Down for no reason.”

  “I’ll be.”