by Susan Hatler
Really, it was pointless to waste time thinking about having children of my own. Sometimes I felt like I already had a child, taking care of my sister all the time. I’d even had to cover her half of the rent again this month because she’d blown her cash on a girls’ trip up the coast. No, having a baby would be too much responsibility for me. It was hard enough trying to get my own life together.
Suddenly, almond-brown eyes appeared in my head, making me feel warm and serene like when I ran by the river. Actually, the tingles that rippled through me felt even better, like my future was deep and filled with endless possibilities.
Ugh. Why did I have to be attracted to the one guy who was totally wrong for me? My masochistic mind needed to move on.
Staying away from Greg would be tricky now that he lived in Sacramento. He’d obviously be spending time with Jill’s boyfriend, Ryan, but I’d just avoid attending any events that Greg might be invited to. Totally doable.
****
Monday evening, I set out for my nightly run at sunset. Usually I followed the same path but, after the day I’d had, I needed a couple extra miles to clear my head. Today, at work, Rich Woodward had decreed that any time employees came to my office to stock up on office supplies, they had to fill out paperwork in my presence. In triplicate. Seriously?
It’s like we were in high school and I’d been voted gatekeeper of pens and pencils. Like my career choice hadn’t depressed me enough before this new twist. On top of that, I’d made the mistake of complaining to my mom while we were talking on the phone. She’d emphatically maintained that more responsibility equaled job security. She so did not get my point. Or me, for that matter.
I mean, job security was all practical and lovely but, in my case, it was lulling me to snooze at my desk. Sad, but true. I made a mental note to get more sleep tonight so that didn’t happen again.
I pumped my arms faster and my feet followed in rhythm until brilliant colors swept through my mind. Vibrant orange. Almond-brown. Splatters of bright yellow. My thoughts swirled as I envisioned my paintbrush sweeping across a blank canvas, filling the empty space with a world of hope.
Before I knew it, my condo complex came into sight, so I slowed my pace to a walk. Wiping my damp forehead with the back of my hand, colors continued to dance in my mind, and I itched to bring these happy thoughts to reality on my easel.
I pulled out my key, which turned easily in the lock, telling me I’d wasted my breath lecturing my sister on safety. With sweat rolling down my temples, I pushed the door open, and barged in. “Mary Ann? How many times do I—”
My mouth froze when I spotted the back of a (very built) man on a ladder in the middle of our living room. He wore khaki shorts that hugged his (amazing) backside snugly as he spidered down the steps.
Mary Ann held one leg of the ladder, watched him descend, then turned to me with a wicked smile. “Meet our new upstairs neighbor, who was kind enough to change a light bulb for me.”
Sweat dripped down my jawline and under my chin as my eyes narrowed. Our living room light bulbs had been perfectly lit this morning. Obviously one bulb had been sacrificed in my sister’s plot to give our unsuspecting neighbor a hero complex, thus granting her the role of the damsel that needed rescuing. Gag.
Although, she had been accurate in her judgment of our neighbor’s sinewy arms when she’d ogled him as he’d moved in the other day. I’d totally give her credit for that assessment. Shiver. Those muscles made me want to slide my hands over them and—
The man turned so he was now facing me.
“Hi, Ginger.” Almond-brown eyes danced with amusement. “Or should I say, ‘Hi, neighbor?’”
“You . . . he . . . how . . .?” Intelligent words escaped me. Clearly my brain was having an adrenaline overload from my run, because it appeared that Greg Shaffer was standing in front of me, in my living room, and had just confirmed he was my new neighbor. “This isn’t happening.”
He winked at me. “Nice to see you, too.”
Mary Ann thrust her hands to her hips and her mouth transformed into her infamous pout. “You guys know each other?”
“Not as well as I’d like.” He tossed his screwdriver in the air, caught it easily, then turned to Mary Ann. “I asked your sister out and she turned me down.”
My heart pounded in my chest. “That was a month ago.”
Mary Ann’s head whipped my way and she pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You acted like you didn’t know who our new neighbor was.”
“I didn’t.” My mind whirled. Greg had just said he wanted to get to know me better. But, still. I reminded myself that it didn’t matter if he was interested in me. Um, big family ring any bells? Stressful career leaving no time for the significant other? “Did you know I lived here when you bought your condo? Are you stalking me?”
The thought secretly thrilled me.
“I didn’t find out you lived here until after I put an offer on the place.” He strode across the room, then dropped the screwdriver into a brown tool bag. “Ryan told me about the short sale and I got my condo for a steal. Not that stalking you would be a cumbersome proposition.”
A zing zipped through me, then I mentally chastised my body for the traitorous reaction.
Mary Ann’s brows quirked. “I thought you were dating the capital of New Jersey.”
“I am.” I stole a glance at Greg, whose jaw muscles tightened.
Mary Ann, on the other hand, appeared elated. She rubbed her hands together. “I looked Trenton Davis up online and saw that he was in Sacramento Living magazine’s top ten most desirable bachelors.”
I rolled my eyes. Why did everyone care about Trenton’s status in Sacramento Living? I’m sure Greg could easily be voted number one in Sacramento’s top ten bachelors. Didn’t mean his demanding career wouldn’t drive him to the bottle. Or that he’d make time for me.
“You’re a runner?” Greg asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“Every evening.” Since the front door was still open, I pushed it shut, then wiped away the rest of my sweat. Ick. Not that it mattered what I looked like since I wasn’t interested in dating him. I kicked off my shoes, then turned back around to face him again. “It’s the best time to run.”
“I beg to differ.” The corner of his mouth rose. “Every morning is the best time to run. That’s why I’ve made it a habit.”
Greg was a runner? Interesting. . . .
I stepped forward, shook my head, and suppressed a smirk. “There is nothing more beautiful than watching the sunset as you run.”
“Wrong again.” He took a step toward me. “The sunrise is the most incredible sight you’ll ever see.”
Mary Ann made an exasperated sound. “If you’ll both excuse me, I need to make a phone call. Yeah.”
My mouth twitched at Greg’s determined expression. “You sure are stubborn in your erroneous beliefs.”
“And you’re cute with your mistaken conclusions.” His gorgeous eyes danced and he came even closer. “I’m trying to picture how amazing you’ll look when you realize I’m right.”
I raised a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
He grinned, standing only a few inches away now. “Definitely. I can’t run tomorrow morning, though, because I work graveyard tonight.”
My mood deflated immediately. Ah, work. Where had I heard that excuse before? That’s right. All. My. Life. “No worries. We’re each entitled to our own opinions, so let’s just leave it at that.”
His face fell. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I lied, avoiding his eyes.
“Ginger . . .” He sighed, then surprised me by gesturing to the wall across from my couch. “That picture is amazing. You’re very talented.”
I followed the direction of his gaze. The rectangular painting was four-feet by two-feet with swirls of white and an arch of yellow across the deep-blue background. I’d painted the scene when my dad had promised to go to rehab. “You remembered I’m an artist.”
His
eyes met mine. “I remember everything we talked about that night.”
“Me, too.” Butterflies danced in my belly. I couldn’t believe I’d just admitted that to him.
“Your painting’s very emotional.” He circled his hand around the white swirls, then stopped next to the curved yellow strokes. “This feels like the promise of a new day.”
“More like a broken promise.” Every muscle in my body froze as I realized what I’d blurted. I’d gotten way too comfortable with Greg somehow and I so wanted to take my words back.
His brows came together. “Who broke a promise to you?”
“Ignore me.” I waved a hand, trying to dismiss the seriousness of what I’d admitted. “Just the artist being dramatic. It’s practically required if you want that title, you know.”
He reached up, his fingers brushing my cheek. “I don’t want to ignore you.”
My heart melted. I wanted to forget reason and give him a chance. Give us a chance. But I knew that wasn’t practical.
I stepped back. “It’s late. I need to get cleaned up and ready for bed.”
His expression filled with confusion. “You’re avoiding me, but I can’t figure out why.”
“Don’t be silly.” I strode to the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open. “Thanks again for changing our light bulb.”
I mentally cringed at how lame that sounded.
“It was a strenuous task, but glad I could help.” He lifted his tool bag, followed me to the door, then stopped at the threshold. He turned around and leaned close to my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “We’re going to take that run, you know. It’s just a matter of when.”
Tingles danced across my chest and I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t just talking about running. My throat went dry and I swallowed. “Good-bye, Greg.”
He straightened, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Good night.”
As soon as he was safely outside, I shut the door and flopped back against it. The faint sounds of him climbing the stairs up to his own unit echoed through the door. I sucked in a deep breath then stared at the whirlwind of emotions in my painting.
Only now they reminded me of Greg.
Chapter Three
The next day at work, I received an earful of complaints from my co-workers when they had to sign out on any and all office supplies they needed. I’d kept repeating “don’t kill the messenger” until I coiled ready to explode. This is why I squealed with glee when Jill called and invited me out for drinks after work with our friend Kristen.
Sitting on a navy blue couch in the Geoffries hotel lounge, I lifted my margarita off the glass table and gripped the stem like it was the last drink on earth. “Everyone has to fill out a form each time they take so much as a lead pencil refill from the supply closet, which is ridiculous. Rich Woodward used to be the coolest boss ever. Now he’s putting us under the microscope when we haven’t even done anything wrong.”
Kristen sat between Jill and me on the couch and raised a finger. “Ah, but something has changed or he wouldn’t have altered his behavior. You just don’t know what it is.”
“You think?” I said, realizing she had to be right. “I never thought of that.”
Kristen Moore ran her own successful marriage and family therapy business. She could cut to the heart of any matter whenever we had a problem. For a moment, I considered asking her about my continuing and problematic attraction to Greg. This morning I ran into him when I was leaving for the office and he was returning home from work. He showed me an abandoned kitten he’d found, which he decided to keep. How adorable was that?
“Sorry you’ve had a hard day at work.” Jill sipped her Chardonnay, then her mouth stretched into a smile. “But I have some news I think will cheer you up.”
“I’m all ears.” I put my lips against my salt-rimmed glass—the chilled, sweet and sour liquid bursting with flavor against my tongue. Yum.
Jill twisted on the couch, so she faced us fully. “First, I’d like to thank you both again for your donations to the Founding Friendships fundraiser. We raised enough money that we’re signing a lease on a duplex, where each unit has two bedrooms. Bob and I have several candidates we’re going to approach this weekend once the homes are move-in ready.”
Kristen toyed with the thin black straw in her glass of soda water with lime. “That’s amazing, Jill. Congratulations.”
“To Founding Friendships.” I clinked my glass into theirs, then indulged in a large, refreshing swig. “You’re right. That did cheer me up.”
The corner of Jill’s mouth turned upward. “That’s not the news I was talking about.”
I stirred my frothy green drink. “Oh?”
She shook her head. “Get this. Jenna McCoy from Sacramento Living magazine attended the fundraiser Friday night. She’s eager to write an article on Founding Friendships and the home you’ll be bringing up to date. Interviews. Photos. The works.”
“No way.” Adrenaline pumped through me, even though I didn’t know whose house I’d be decorating yet. But I could transform any space. In fact, the more challenging the better! I wiggled in my seat. “This would be fabulous exposure for your charity, Jill.”
Kristen squeezed my forearm, her expression making it clear she’d already known about the article. “This could also be the advertising you need to start your own decorating business.”
My throat tightened and my eyes burned. “My own business?”
“We all know you haven’t been happy at work.” Jill’s words came out in a rush as if she couldn’t wait to say them. “When I took that art class with you last month, your face lit up and I could see that was your passion. Then I saw for myself how you decorated your condo . . . you’ve got a gift, Ginger.”
“Maybe you could decorate part-time and fatten up your portfolio before you take the leap completely.” Kristen leaned toward me. “We support you no matter what your decision is, but we believe in your talent and want you to be happy in your career.”
“Totally up to you.” Jill nodded in agreement. “Not to put too much pressure on you, but Jenna needs to know by tomorrow if you’re interested in the spread. It’ll be six pages in their next issue, which means you’ll have to start on the winner’s place immediately so you can finish in two weeks.”
Ideas swarmed my head in a massive rush. Curtains. Area rugs. Sofas and loveseats. Vases filled with brilliant flowers. . . .
I squealed, reached past Kristen, and gripped Jill’s hand. “Please tell Jenna that absolutely and positively the answer is yes. I’d be thrilled to have her photograph the ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos of the home I bring up to date. Thank you for this opportunity. You have no idea what all of this exposure means to me.”
Jill scooted closer to Kristen, squeezing my hand. “When I asked you to donate your decorating services, I had the feeling this could be a life-changing event for you.”
Misty-eyed, I stared at my friend. “This is unbelievable. For the first time, I could really live the life I want with nothing to hold me back.”
Kristen joined her hand with ours. “We believe in you, sweetie.”
“Thanks so much, you guys.” I tilted my head, wondering if anyone had upped the thousand bucks my financial advisor, er, I mean, my date had offered on my donation. “So, whose home am I decorating? Who had the highest bid?”
Jill lifted her glass. “That’s another part of the good news. You already know him.”
“Trenton?” Energy coursed through me. Maybe if I called him now, he’d let me start work tonight.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not Trenton. Greg Shaffer.”
My mouth fell open and my face went numb. “G-Greg?”
“Yes.” She reached into her briefcase, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. “He tripled the highest bid. Look here. Isn’t that amazing?”
Not exactly the word I would’ve chosen.
I stared down at the scribbled numbers, unable to comprehend all of the zero
es before my eyes. Greg had pretty much guaranteed he’d win with that number. I could hardly believe this. In order to achieve my life’s dream, I’d have to spend the next two weeks working closely with the one man who had the power to break my heart.
Conflicting emotions stormed through me. With my insane attraction to Greg, I needed to steer clear of him so my crazy feelings would die out. But I’d always wanted to use art in my daily work and should never have caved to my parents back in college when I’d switched to the major they’d deemed more appropriate. I could correct that mistake now.
This was my perfect chance to change my career. I had to take it.
****
When I got home from drinks with the girls, I must’ve picked up my phone and practiced what I’d say a dozen times. “Hello, this is Ginger. . . Hi, I’m the girl downstairs. . . Hey, you’re a winner.” Ugh.
Finally, I punched in his number and let the words fall where they would, starting by thanking him for his generous donation and congratulating him on his win. When I let him know about Jenna McCoy’s offer to write the article on Founding Friendships, he agreed to let her photograph his place and told me he could meet for the initial consultation tonight. Yay!
Fifteen minutes later, I trotted upstairs to his condo with my sketchpad in hand. I knocked on the door, reminding myself that I was a professional and would keep a professional distance from my client. When the front door opened, Greg’s eyes latched onto mine and his mouth curved upward.
My breath caught in my throat. Hands down he could be Sacramento’s number one most desirable bachelor. Wow. He’d dressed simply in a short-sleeved shirt that stretched across his muscular chest and a pair of khaki shorts that showed off his strong runner’s legs. He looked hot. Absolutely hot.
No, Ginger. A professional decorator would not focus on how gorgeous her client looked. She’d care about the project. I cleared my throat. “Good evening.”
His mouth twitched. “Good evening, yourself.”
Oh, man. Did he have to sound so adorable when he greeted me?
Tightening my sketchpad in my hand, I said, “I appreciate you letting me come on such short notice. Jenna’s on a deadline and we need the consultation before I can get to work on the project.”