The dog didn't bother moving from his spot, or bother even moving his head from the top of his paws. He puffed a sigh, and watched Alex with interest in his dark, soulful eyes.
Casey certainly was a woman of contrasts. With her fine clothes and sophistication, he'd never thought she'd prefer Terry Redlin paintings on her walls and a Golden Retriever on her couch. If asked, he would have said Thomas Kinkaid and a snow white Westie were her art and animal of choice.
When it came to understanding women, however, he didn't have the best track record—a trait he'd inherited from his father.
"Are you cold?” a voice asked from above. Alex looked up to see Casey standing at the top of the stairs. He shot to his feet, more to keep his jaw from dropping than out of politeness. Dressed in an oversized chambray shirt with a white tank top beneath, and a pair of faded blue jeans hugging her hips, she looked like a sexy farm girl. Her now dry blond hair fell in soft waves around her face, giving her a sultry look.
Yep. Strictly business. You bet.
"I was,” he said. She moved slowly down the steps, her left hand sliding along the smooth oak rail. “But ... not anymore. The fire helped."
She smiled. Was that a meet me later gaze she just gave him? No, he had to be mistaken. He figured she'd be pissed as hell, not coming on to him.
She stepped off the last stair and walked over to where he stood. Even in the soft light of the room he saw her eyes were a deep, vibrant shade of green—almost shamrock green. How did he miss such a striking feature earlier?
"Fire will do that,” she teased.
"Yeah. Fire will do that.” Alex swallowed hard, knowing the heat encompassing every pore on his body was no longer from the artificial logs behind him. This sudden burst of heat was one-hundred percent Casey induced.
Strictly business. Man, he was in trouble here.
"Speaking of heat,” he said, clearing his throat.
"Yes?"
"I bet our supper is none too warm by now."
"I've got it under control,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. “I put it in the warming drawer before I went up to change. Our supper will be just right."
"A warming drawer. Nice touch."
"It is. It was a must have when I was designing this place.” She handed him the set of wine glasses she'd taken out of the oak cupboards earlier, the bottle of wine and a corkscrew. She grabbed napkins and utensils and headed back to the living room.
"You designed this place?"
"Don't sound so surprised.” Casey said over her shoulder.
"I'm not. Well, okay, I am. A little. I thought you were an accountant."
"That's me,” Casey said as she set up their dinner on the glass-topped coffee table. “Accountant by degree, designer by desire."
"This place is ... incredible. You did well."
"Wow, a compliment from Alex Roy. I feel special.” She winked and Alex found himself laughing at her playful banter.
"I'm serious, Casey. You're good as what you do."
"Thanks.” She smiled. “I can't take all of the credit, though. My business partner, Sydnie, and her family deserve a lot of it. Her dad and brothers also own a construction company. They did the framing and all the interior work well before we started Studs. But to hear such approval from a world famous architect like you means a lot. I'll be sure and pass on the kudos."
Alex chuckled as he set the wine and glasses down on the table. “I wouldn't go that far. One small profile in a magazine is a long way from being world famous."
"Yes, but it was that one article that led to the job with Heather Gridmore. She liked what she saw and insisted you were the man for her."
Alex wanted to ask, in what way, but held his tongue. He might not be the most savvy when it came to what women secretly desired, but he'd been around long enough to know when a woman wanted more from him than blueprints.
"I hope you don't mind sitting on the floor while we eat?” Casey asked. “I thought it'd be kind of cozy on this damp night."
"Not at all. Kind of fitting since we're having Chinese."
"Yeah, I guess it is.” Casey sat, her back against the sofa. Brudy put his head on her shoulder, obviously waiting for a handout. Alex joined Casey on the floor and hoped he didn't make a fool of himself by spilling wine or food all over her oatmeal-colored carpet.
"If it makes you feel more comfortable, you're welcome to take your boots off,” she said. “After running around in killer heels all day, my toes are ready for a respite.” Casey wiggled her stockinged covered toes and smiled.
"Sounds great.” Alex removed his boots and got comfortable. They dove into their meal, making small talk as they ate. The food was good, the wine excellent, and the company divine. He hadn't felt this relaxed since he didn't know when.
Maybe coming to Nebraska hadn't been such a bad idea after all? A change of pace was a good thing now and then, but no matter how good, he couldn't afford to take another step in the wrong direction. Designing a hangout for a bunch of crazed Elvis fans wasn't the move he was searching for to rebuild his tarnished reputation.
Better get on with it.
Alex set down his fork and took a large sip of wine. “Casey,” he said, his reluctance clear even to his own ears. “We need to talk about this Gridmore job."
Chapter Four
Crap. Here it comes, Casey thought silently to herself. Alex was going to turn down the job. Her business instincts were never wrong, and they were stating loud and clear that he wanted no part in Heather's shrine to Elvis.
Casey, however, wasn't going to give up, at least not yet. So far she'd done little to convince him why he should take the job. Time to get with the program and save her tush.
"You're right, Alex. We do need to talk about Heather's house.” Casey refilled their wine glasses, hoping Alex would take a few more sips and let the alcohol relax him enough to take the edge off the attitude he'd been sporting since Heather's. “I know her ideas are kind of ... off the wall—"
"Kind of?” Alex arched a brow. “That's an understatement."
"Okay. So they are really off the wall. But I think if we put our heads together, we can pull this off with taste and style while still giving her what she wants."
"Pretty optimistic, aren't you?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Casey, the woman wants to call her bedroom Burnin’ Love and deck it out in red velvet and gold lamé. How the hell do you propose to do that and keep it ... tasteful?"
"I'm not sure yet. Like I said, I'm sure we can come up with something."
Alex shook his head. “I'm sorry, Casey. You're a ... great gal, and I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."
There it was. No beating around the bush for Alex. Just drop the bomb and be done with it. Yeah. Typical man, all right.
"Alex, give me a chance here,” Casey said, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. Getting down on her knees and begging wasn't exactly what she had in mind. She'd try such a tactic only as a last resort if necessary. She did have some pride. “You can't just walk away."
"Yes, I can."
"You accepted the job already. We had a deal. You can't leave me hanging."
"Look. I regret this isn't going to work, but all I agreed to was to come and give the job due consideration. And since you weren't totally honest with me, I've given it all the consideration I'm going to."
Hmm. The man had a serious stubborn streak.
"Alex—"
"I'm sorry. My mind is made up.” He shook his head. “You know, I should really be pissed at you.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
"Pissed at me? Why?"
"Why? Because, I had no idea what I was walking into here. And that, darlin', was exactly the way you wanted it."
"That's not fair.” Casey's temper flared.
"Isn't it? Tell me. Was it fair of you to lead me out here under false pretenses?"
"I did no such thing. This is a legiti
mate job."
"All right. I'll give you that. It is a legitimate job. But what do you need me for? With your talent...” He raised his hands, indicating the room. “You sure as hell don't need me. You're capable of handling this job on your own."
"I appreciate your vote of confidence,” she said sarcastically. “However, I need you more than you realize.” And in more ways than one, Casey was discovering, but she wouldn't let the physical enter the picture.
"How's that?"
"I'm not an architect. I can't draw up blueprints for the addition."
"There's bound to be a local firm that can handle that end. This is Omaha."
"Yes, but Heather Gridmore wants you. No one else. In her mind, you are the only architect for the job. And when Heather makes up her mind, there's no changing it."
Alex raked his fingers through his hair. “Under normal circumstances I'd be flattered she insisted on me. Heather though, is far from normal. You have to admit her idea of remodeling leaves a lot to be desired. I can't do it."
He grabbed his work boots. Panic and anger hit Casey full throttle as she watched his fingers tie the long brown laces with speed and efficiency. God, obviously he couldn't get out of here fast enough.
"Alex, please.” She reined in her urge to throw something and instead placed a hand on his arm. Maybe her touch would hold some sort of magic powerful enough to keep him from leaving. He stilled, his gaze aimed at her hand. “You can't back out on me. If you don't draw up the blueprints and help oversee this job, she'll cancel on me."
Without looking at her, he got to his feet, picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen.
"Didn't you hear what I said?” she asked, rushing after him. “If you aren't in on this job, I'm not either.” Panic dumped on top of her frustration. Dammit. Apparently as far as he was concerned, there was no more discussing the issue. Boy, was he going to find out she didn't give up easily.
Casey stood in the door and leaned against the jamb. She studied his broad back as he placed his dishes in the sink and tried to think of something prophetic to say. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut as he set about turning on the faucet and was way too distracting for her to focus on anything but hard, lean muscles.
Dishes clattered against the sink as he put them into the sudsy water.
"Alex,” she said, coming to her senses. “You walk out on this job, we both lose. Big time."
His shoulders slumped. He let his head fall forward and Casey worried if she'd pressed too hard. She pushed away from the door and walked over to him. With the lightest touch she placed a hand on his arm. His body stiffened.
"Look, I admit I didn't tell you about Heather's Elvis fetish. I'm sorry,” she said softly. “But I knew if I did, you wouldn't take the job seriously. Regardless of what you think, this is a serious job. I didn't mislead you. I didn't make any false promises. And I didn't make this job out to be something it isn't."
His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the edge of the sink. “True, you didn't. You didn't exactly shoot straight with me though, either. It's not a major trip from Denver to Omaha, but this has been a total waste of my time. Time I can't afford to lose."
Casey winced. His accusation stung deep. Granted, they were still practically strangers, but it was nice to think that the hours they'd spent together meant at least a little something. That their paths had crossed for some profound reason, no matter how small.
Apparently not.
Alex grabbed a towel, dried his hands and hurried back out to the living room without so much as a glance in her direction. He picked up the remaining dishes.
"What are you doing?” she asked.
"Cleaning up. It's the least I can do for letting you down."
"I appreciate the thought. The dishes can wait, though. We need to settle this."
"Casey, as far as I'm concerned it is settled. First thing tomorrow I'm heading back to Denver. There's nothing more to discuss."
Casey stood, her mouth agape. Frustration vibrated through every follicle on her head, and she struggled to suppress a scream. After the day she'd had, she deserved a good scream.
Why did he have to be so stubborn and bullheaded?
And why did he have to look so sexy standing there with his sleeves rolled up and his hands full of dishes? If it wasn't for the fact he was making her life difficult at the moment, she'd be thinking he was the most perfect man in the world.
"Alex?” she sighed, ready to give it one more try. “Do you realize how big a paying job this is? Heather is extremely wealthy. Money is immaterial to her. What she wants, she gets, regardless of the cost. I know. I used to write plenty of checks to cover her habits and whims."
"You worked for Heather?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.
"No and Yes. First, I worked for her husband. As you know, Hector was the founder and CEO of Gangsters’ Pizza. I was his accountant for a few years, both on a business and personal level."
"And when he died? Did you quit?"
"No. I stayed and worked for Heather only long enough to help close the sale on the company after Hector's death. By then we'd started Studs for Hire, anyway."
"So that's why Heather hired you for this job. She knew she could trust you."
"That's ... part of the reason, yes."
"And what's the other part?"
"You might say I had a knack for getting exactly what Heather wanted. I took care of arranging everything for her, from an L.A. based masseuse to fly out here once a month, to a New York fashion designer to create each season's fashions."
He let out a low whistle. “You weren't kidding when you said she had money."
"Money is one thing I never kid about,” she said dryly. “And when Heather offered Studs the job, her only requirement was that I secure you for the project. She knew I could get you. And I did. The problem now, I see, is keeping you."
"Look, Casey.” He shook his head. “I admit the money is tempting, but it's not the only issue here. I'm working to establish my reputation in the timber home field. What Heather wants doesn't exactly fall into that category."
"So, expand your horizons. Be more versatile."
"It's not that simple.” Alex headed back to the kitchen and deposited the remainder of the dishes in the sink. He turned around and braced his hands on the edge of the counter. “I have to consider my reputation. A failed job can be like a death sentence in this field. Screw up once and people don't want you designing their homes for fear it'll fall down around them."
"So, we're facing a similar peril, aren't we? The only difference is I'm screwed for sure because you won't do the job. You, on the other hand, only have the potential to screw up. It isn't a given."
"No. It is a given. I do this job, and I'll be a laughingstock. People will automatically assume I've screwed up when I haven't."
"You don't know that. We pull this off with grace and style and you could be the most sought after architect in the world. You'll be revered as much as Frank Lloyd Wright."
"Yeah. You bet.” Alex rolled down his sleeves and Casey knew he was ready to call it a night. Men. When they made up their minds about something, the conversation ended. They relished going into their caves and shutting women out until they were ready to reemerge—confident they had the answer, their way being the only way.
"My partners and I sunk just about everything we had into Studs. We can't afford to lose this deal. And if you go back to Denver, that's exactly what will happen. Heather won't settle for anyone else. That's just the way she is. When her mind is made up, it's made up.” Damn, she sounded desperate, pathetic even, but then she was.
"Casey,” he sighed. “I'm sorry. I really am. I've got a valid reason for not doing this and you know it."
"Valid?” She crossed her arms in front of her. Her defenses firmly in place. Well, she had her own valid reasons for wanting to do this.
"Look. I'll call a cab and grab my things. I don't want to trouble you any more than I already have. Thanks for a
great evening.” He pushed away from the counter and strode toward the door. Without looking back he headed for the stairs to retrieve his suitcase.
So that was it? No good luck? No good-bye? No sorry I ruined your life? Casey covered her face with her hands and fought the impulse to throw a bona fide tantrum. So much for being in control.
* * * *
Ten minutes after Alex had left, Casey lounged on the couch in her favorite comfy, yet stylish scarlet-colored sweat outfit. A cold cloth covered her face, Brudy snuggled at her feet, and a half a glass of wine dangled dangerously in one hand over the edge of the couch.
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02] Page 5