From the Moment We Met

by Adair, Marina

  “How is everything going, dear?”

  Abby eyed the dog, who was still showing his teeth, and smoothed her palms over her skirt. “Great.”

  “Oh, lovely, I hope The Duke was being a good host,” the older woman said, beaming with delight, her kitten heels clicking the marble floor as she strode across the foyer and into the sitting room.

  The woman was notorious for wearing leisure suits with coordinating robes and eye shadow. Today the suit was teal, the robe pooled to the floor, and she had on a stunning diamond choker. With her birdlike face, frail limbs, and halo of out-of-the-bottle apricot curls, she looked just like her dog.

  “Did I misunderstand our meeting time?” Abby asked, because she’d been sitting with The Duke for over an hour while Babs busied herself elsewhere.

  “Oh. No, dear.” She sent Abby a sly wink and gracefully reclined in the wingback chair next to the dog. “I was preparing lunch. And giving you two some privacy to, you know”—she reached over and patted Abby’s knee—“bond.”

  No. Abby didn’t know. But Babs was opening an exciting new shop on Main Street. And Abby wanted to be a part of that moment.

  The Pungent Barrel, when complete, was rumored to be set to become wine country’s premiere destination for wine and cheese connoisseurs. The innovative reimagining required to turn a historical bottling plant into a world-class tasting room would allow Abby the chance to showcase her knowledge of wine culture and spatial transformation.

  Not to mention being a Hampton project lent it the kind of prestige that would look stellar on her resume and, more importantly, if Abby could create a wine and cheese experience that appealed to all the senses while managing to gain the Babs stamp of approval, which she would, it would be the kind of in she desperately needed—where getting hired for other, more exclusive projects would be a snap.

  So if it took bonding with Fang over there to get this deal, then she’d start packing doggie bones laced with mood stabilizers.

  “I brought these for you. Just a few samples of my work.” Abby pointed to her portfolio and The Duke snapped his jaws. “Why don’t you take a look, see the range of projects I have designed, and then we can discuss . . .”

  Abby stopped because, what was she doing? She wasn’t a hard sales kind of girl. She was a people pleaser and she wanted to please Babs. But she also wanted to be honest. “I know that your last designer left and you are anxious to resume construction, so I want to assure you that I am able to move fast, adapt efficiently, and, if you decide to use my firm, I am ready to begin work immediately.”

  “Oh, that’s just lovely,” Babs said excitedly.

  Lovely.

  Abby felt her lips curl up into a triumphant smile. She was going to land this job without Tanner’s referral, without her family’s influence, and without the glossy sales pitch Tanner had gone on about. She was going to land this job on her portfolio, talent, heart, and good old-fashioned communication—and she couldn’t wait to rub it in Tanner’s face.

  Confidence bubbling, Abby went on. “I have to admit, I called around and discovered that you use Valley Textiles, and they were nice enough to send me some samples of what you had already picked out. Very elegant and modern. I was impressed.”

  “Thank you.” The older woman preened at the compliment, and Abby had meant it. For a woman who usually favored over-the-top, the color scheme was sleek and innovative.

  “Since you are looking for a historical rehab with a modern twist, I think you’ll love what I did with the master suite at the villa in Italy.” She grabbed her portfolio and flipped to the section showcasing her family’s destination getaway. “If you look here, you can see how I merged old-world details original to the farmhouse with—”

  “Hydrants,” Babs provided and smiled as though that made perfect sense.

  “Pardon?”

  “Fire hydrants. The Duke loves fire hydrants. And fire engines and fire hats and his favorite color is, oh my, it is, uh . . .” The woman’s lips pursed in concentration as she snapped her fingers.

  “Red,” Abby offered.

  “Yes.” She clapped her hands and the dog barked. “The Duke just loves fire-engine red. With yellow accents and little bones everywhere. That will be nice, don’t you think?”

  “Um.” Abby’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from the weight of keeping her smile in place. This woman was as crazy as her dog. No wonder she had scared off six other designers. “I’ve never considered fire-engine red as a soothing color. But maybe if you showed me the space, explained what you envisioned, I could better understand—”

  “You saw the space when you came in.” Babs looked as confused as Abby felt, and suddenly that bad feeling—the one that had formed in the pit of her stomach when Richard showed up on her lawn that morning and gotten worse when she’d learned she was stuck with him for a week—turned into a painful ache that swelled up into her chest until she was afraid she might pass out.

  “Right,” Abby ventured. “The old Jackson Bottlery downtown, the one at the end of Main Street. I passed it on my way here.”

  “No, the bottlery is for my cheese shop,” Babs explained slowly, her brows furrowing even more. “I was talking about my late husband’s old den. I pointed it out when you arrived. It’s the perfect place for The Duke’s new doggie habitat.”

  Which explained the “bonding” hour. And why Babs had set out a bowl of kibble on the coffee table next to the nuts. She was setting the scene for Abby to meet her new client. “But I don’t do doghouses.”

  “Habitat, dear. They’re all the rage,” she said, steepling her fingers beneath her chin. “The Duke and I saw a lovely alpaca habitat last week on our morning walk, and it got us thinking, ‘Now, wouldn’t that be nice?’”

  Yes, lovely and nice, lovely and nice, lovely and nice. They were the only adjectives the woman knew. Oh my God, Abby was going to lose it right there. On Mrs. Hampton’s settee. With The Duke playing witness.

  “Then I ran into your brother, Nathaniel, at the market, such a nice boy.” She gave that smile that every woman between newborn and not quite embalmed gave when they encountered Abby’s older brother. “I was buying some prime rib for The Duke’s dinner and Nathaniel told me that you helped him design the alpaca habitat. Invited me over for a tour, even gave me a bottle of that fancy wine of his wife’s, and I have to say I was impressed.”

  “With the wine?”

  “With the habitat. Although, that I acquired a bottle of Red Steel was all the talk at the Garden Society’s Friday tea.”

  “I bet.” Abby was going to be sick.

  “But the real star was that habitat. What a serene, playful, and perfect space you created, Abigail.” She patted the dog’s head. “Only we want ours red and with bones. Maybe even a little siren he can ring.” The Duke looked up at his mistress and barked, and Babs clapped once with excitement. “Or maybe a palace-themed habitat. I see royal, regal, elegantly fit for a duke. But with hydrants. Gold ones.”

  “I only directed Nate to a site that sold habitat blueprints. I didn’t actually design it.”

  “He said you helped add on the reading room and exercise corral as their wedding present.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Screw sick, she was furious. Not only had Nate butted into her life, something that all of her brothers had spent a lifetime mastering, he also felt as though he had to bribe an old lady with fancy wine in order for Abby to book an interview—for a freaking habitat.

  Closing her eyes, she let her head drop back against the couch, wondering how she could have been so stupid.

  Her husband was naked on her lawn and the entire town was flocking to get a look. Her family thought she was as good as her last closet. She was considering taking a job building a doghouse for a four-legged duke. And, oh God, the worst part of all—Tanner had all but told her so.

  Her
life was a mess. She was a mess. A talentless, jobless, pathetic mess.

  Your designs speak for themselves. If they pass, it’s their loss.

  Tanner had been wrong on both counts. Her designs wouldn’t be seen, let alone heard, and if Babs passed, it would be Abby who lost out. And she didn’t know if she’d bounce back. Because after her hellish day, she stood to lose a whole lot more than a stupid job.

  Tears burned her throat, so she reminded herself that her designs were incredible.

  So what if she was called here to pitch a glorified doghouse? She had designed million-dollar wineries. Completely renovated an Italian farmhouse, making it one of the most exclusive destination rentals on the Mediterranean. Who cared if the property belonged to her family? They hadn’t done the work, she had.

  Every grueling and inspired inch of it.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hampton.” Abby sat up and snatched the proposal right out from under The Duke’s paws. “My firm no longer specializes in nurseries or habitats. I came here to help you turn that old bottling plant into a wine and cheese shop that will be the envy of the vine and curd community. I want to make your dream a reality and ensure that your shop shines.”

  Babs took the offered package and flipped through it, her eyes scanning with practiced precision, her fingers running down the length of the pages. Abby could see it, the way her face lit with excitement, how her hands shook as she saw the potential of what Abby’s Designs could bring to her shop.

  “This is impressive,” Babs said, professional appreciation lacing her voice.

  Then she reached the proposed budget Abby had put together and her eyes dimmed. Not a lot, but enough that the back of Abby’s throat began to burn. “But I think that the habitat is more in line with your . . . comfort zone.”

  “If it is the size of the project, I assure you that I am more than qualified to handle it,” Abby clarified, tired of people underestimating what she could handle. “If you’ll turn the page, you will see that I have handled budgets three times this size.”

  Babs closed the folder and placed it on her lap. “Yes, dear, but that was with your family’s money.”

  It was as though time stopped, rewound, and lodged itself right through Abby’s chest. She knew the look on Babs’s face, knew it well. It was the same look the paramedic had given her when she’d asked if her parents were going to be okay. The same look she’d received from the investors when she’d explained that Richard, and their money, had disappeared. It was the same look her family was going to give her when they discovered that Richard had returned—albeit in statue form—and was somehow her problem once again.

  “Are you afraid I won’t be able to handle a project this complex?” As the words left her mouth, a sick sense of dread made it difficult to speak. “Or are you afraid I’ll have a hard time keeping the money from disappearing into my pocket?”

  “Oh, no,” Babs said, her hand clutching her chest in genuine horror. “I would never think you could steal. From me or anyone. You’re not that kind of girl. Never have been.”

  Abby felt herself relax a little. Sometimes, when she was too tired to pretend everything was all right, she wondered if what happened with Richard was part of the reason people in town always went with other designers. She was relieved to know, whether she got this job or not, that wasn’t the case here.

  “No, dear, my concern would be that someone would sweet-talk you into gaining access to the account. Plus, my son would never allow it. Ferris was one of Richard’s original investors.”

  Tanner rested his arms on the top of the steering wheel to get a better view of the deserted parking lot as though he were a detective on a stakeout when, in fact, he felt more like a Peeping Tom.

  He had no idea how he’d managed to get stuck on Abby duty. Except, oh right, he’d lost big at last week’s poker game and the guys had called in their marker. Guys who happened to be named DeLuca.

  Not that it was a hardship, he thought, watching Abby roll on her toes to peer inside the abandoned bottling plant. Nope, not when her shirt shifted way up, emphasizing the sweetest ass in the history of the world and two very toned, very sexy legs.

  He reached for his thermos and took a pull of coffee, wondering A) what she was doing creeping around a dark construction site at night with her face pressed firmly against the window, and B) if she bent over just a little farther what color silk would he find peeking back. His brain already knew the answer to the first. Too bad his dick couldn’t stop thinking about the second.

  For a girl who’d spent the past few minutes diving behind an overgrown shrub every time a car drove by, she sure picked the wrong outfit to lie low. Her tight cream skirt and matching sweater set was like a freaking homing beacon, radiating under the parking lot lights.

  Drawing him in.

  He pressed speed dial, calling Abby’s brother Marco. Having a wife and new baby daughter to worry about should have calmed Marco down a bit when it came to his kid sister. It hadn’t.

  “Did you find her?” Marc’s voice filled the cab of his truck.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s it? Yup?”

  “Yup.”

  They’d had this argument less than an hour ago, when he’d made it clear that playing spy for a group of domineering brothers wasn’t going to happen. Tanner had only agreed to find Abby because they’d been worried sick since she’d decided to go radio-silent after the naked Dick appeared on her lawn. Then, there was the botched interview with Babs earlier—he should have known her brothers wouldn’t be able to help themselves. Which was why he figured she’d been avoiding them to begin with.

  “I said I’d make sure she was all right. She is.”

  “At least tell me if she’s crying. She doesn’t do well with this kind of stuff. Never has,” Marc said, but Tanner wasn’t listening. He was too busy watching Abby pull a flashlight out of that ridiculously gigantic bag she always carted around, kick off her shoes, and step up on a raised flowerbed to shine the beam through the widow. “God, I’m going to kill Nate if she’s crying.”

  Tanner wanted to kill all of her brothers. It was an urge he fought on a weekly basis. This week it was stronger.

  When would they figure out Abby didn’t need a keeper—never had?

  Something Tanner knew firsthand.

  “She’s not crying.” She’s tougher than that. “Although Nate will be when she kicks his ass. What was he thinking? Abby could have landed the Pungent Barrel account if you guys hadn’t undersold her as a doghouse designer.”

  He could almost hear Marc flipping him the bird through the phone because he knew Tanner was right. They’d screwed up. Big-time. And Abby had lost out.

  “We’re considering calling Gabe, asking him to come home early and help deal with this whole Richard shitstorm,” Marc said, referring to the eldest DeLuca brother, who was currently vacationing in Italy with his wife and three daughters.

  “We as in you, Nate, and Trey?” Were they serious? “Because I guarantee you, there is no way Abby would agree to that. Bringing Gabe and his family back just in time for little Holly to see a naked statue of her father sounds like a complication Abby would want to avoid.”

  Richard hadn’t just slept with his interns—he’d gotten one pregnant, then abandoned her. By some weird twist of fate, Richard’s mistress, Regan, was now married to Gabe, making Richard’s love child Abby’s niece. And the rest of them one big, happy family.

  “Dick is still in her yard?”

  “Until Sunday.”

  “Sunday! That’s a long time to keep this from my nonna. Because if he’s still here when she gets home from her bachelorette party, all hell will break loose.”

  ChiChi had recently ended a sixty-year feud with their family’s biggest rival, Charles Baudouin, and the two were now planning a wedding, an event that ChiChi and her geriatric brigade were curren
tly celebrating in Vegas—at a strip club, according to the updates on Facebook. And Marc was right to be concerned. ChiChi was so unpredictable Tanner had no idea what she’d do when she learned that the most notorious Dick in the valley was once again stinking up her granddaughter’s life—only that it wouldn’t make the situation any easier for Abby.

  Marc sighed like he was all put out, then went on. “You think you can still get her to the Sweet and Savory by seven?”

  Abby took that moment to see just how secure the locks on the windows were. When the first one didn’t slide up, she stomped her foot, nearly falling off the flowerbed, and huffed her way toward another window on the far side of the building. “Not looking good, bro.”

  “Christ,” Marc mumbled. “Lexi will be crushed if she doesn’t show. She’s been planning this party for months. Got the whole bistro looking like some kind of twisted bachelorette party, only in reverse.”

  Right, because, again, what Abby really needed right then was a surprise divorce party?

  “I’ll try my best to get her there,” he said, smiling when she dug through one of the half dozen pockets and flaps on her purse and pulled out a screwdriver, which she wedged between the window and the sill and—if his eyes didn’t deceive him—started jimmying. Here her brothers were worried she was sobbing her eyes out in some dark alley, and Abby was getting ready to add breaking and entering to her resume. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  Okay, not worst, since she’d had quite a few of those in her lifetime. But easily top ten, Abby thought as she wiggled the window to see if she’d loosened it enough to—

  “Yes!” she squealed when it slid open, and she did a silent happy dance that included several fist pumps and a lot of booty shaking.

  Feeling pretty darn proud of herself, she scanned the dim lot once more to make sure she was alone—not that she was breaking in so much as taking a peek around.

  Walking away from the Pungent Barrel project wasn’t an option. Not anymore. She had been living a half-life since the day Richard left. And just when she thought she’d been given a break, had finally let her guard down enough to allow for something amazing, something more, Richard had once again crapped all over her plans. Then her brothers and their insistent meddling had smeared it all around.