by Susan Hatler
He leaned against the door, holding his new kitten in one hand. “Decided to forego your nightly run?”
I twisted my dark hair around my finger, noting how he’d veered away from a business topic. I also noticed how cute he looked holding that kitten, but I restrained from petting her since I was only here to work. “This first meeting is important. You paid a lot of money for my decorating services and I plan do the best job possible. On behalf of the charity, of course.”
There. Back on track.
He held the door wide. “Let’s get to it then. Would you like a drink? Soda, iced-tea, juice?”
My throat did feel parched and professionals needed to stay hydrated, right? “I’d love some water. Thanks.”
I went inside, the smell of fresh paint wafting up my nose. White walls, new beige carpet, and an open floor plan. This was going to be fun.
“We need to discuss your expectations first and then your budget,” I said, following him into the kitchen. Light speckled granite countertops. Dark cabinets. Stainless steel appliances. This had cost some money and everything looked brand new. “You did the kitchen yourself?”
“Housewarming gift from my mom.” He pressed a glass to the water dispenser on his fridge with one hand, while still holding the gray kitten in his other. “She had it done last week after I closed escrow.”
“It’s beautiful.” His mom must be very generous. My parents hadn’t even sent flowers when I’d moved into the condo downstairs. It’s not like I’d purchased it, but I’d made the place my home so that should count for something. “I assume you don’t want anything changed in here?”
“You tell me.” He set the glass on the counter next to me. “I’m a doctor, not a decorator.”
“I’m actually an office manager.” I figured we should clear the air about that right away. I lifted the glass and took a sip, the cool liquid feeling like heaven as it rolled down my throat. “Until now I’ve been decorating as a hobby, mostly for myself. But I’ve helped out quite a bit with my friend’s remodel.”
He leaned onto the counter, the kitten making a soft mew before she started batting at a pencil on the countertop. “I’m honored to be your first official client.”
Twisting my hair, I lifted my lashes. “I hope you’re not too disappointed in my pathetic credentials. I know how much money you paid at the auction and I don’t want you to feel you’ve been cheated in any way.”
He straightened. “I didn’t place the bid expecting an extensive résumé.”
Thus came the nagging question that burned my brain. “Why did you, then?”
If the answer was what I suspected, I’d have to make it clear that this remodel would only be about business. I certainly didn’t want him to think he had a chance at more than friendship with me.
His expression grew serious. “I bid on your item for one specific reason. The photos you framed and displayed on the auction table? The ‘before’ picture showed a sterile environment that had all of the makings of a house, but wasn’t a home. It didn’t have heart.”
My hand slipped, my glass bumping against the counter with a clank. He’d just described the exact feeling I’d had when I rented the unit.
“Your ‘after’ picture showed a place that had been transformed, filled with colors and warmth—a home I’d be eager to come back to every night. Or every morning, depending on my schedule,” he joked.
I chuckled, remembering he was working the graveyard shift.
He stroked the kitten’s tiny little head. “I want you to do the same thing for my place. Make it a home. Simple as that.”
“Oh,” I said, my insides glowing from the compliment. Then my cheeks heated, and I glanced away. Guess I’d been pretty far off, thinking he’d bid on the auction because he liked me. Oh, embarrassment.
He set the kitty on the counter then tilted his head my way. “You thought maybe I’d bought the package because I wanted to date you?”
“No way.” I scoffed, even though he’d read my mind. The kitten pranced over to me, rubbing his soft cheek against my hand, and I was glad for the distraction “We should get back to business. Let’s talk style so we can narrow down exactly what you want.”
“All right.” He picked up the kitty and gestured toward the living room. “We’ll discuss my style, or lack thereof, over on my very unfashionable sofa.”
My cheeks burned as I walked toward his couch, unable to believe I’d let my thoughts get personal again. So mortifying.
He fell in line beside me, then turned my way. “I bought your package based on your talent. True. But that doesn’t mean I don’t also want to date you. In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” I tried to keep a straight face to maintain my professional dignity, but I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching.
He winked at me. “Glad we cleared that up.”
“Me, too,” I said, but couldn’t control the smile that swept across my face.
Chapter Four
After flipping through various magazines, Greg and I decided on a traditional, classic style interior for his condo. Simple, with clean lines, but also warm and inviting. Jenna, from Sacramento Living magazine, shot the “before” photos at his place Wednesday afternoon during my lunch hour so I was able to be there to meet the woman who could jumpstart my very own decorating business.
Due to the tight deadline, I promised to have the first room completed by Friday since she wanted to record the process as well as the results. After work, I gathered paint supplies, then recruited Mary Ann to be my assistant.
“This is your project.” Mary Ann sat on the drop cloth I’d spread across the floor of Greg’s den to protect his new carpet. She twirled a paintbrush in her hand. “I don’t get why I have to be a part of this. I could be on a second date with Liam right now.”
I dipped my brush into the beige paint. “I thought you didn’t date guys more than once.”
“No, my rule is that I date a guy until I’m bored. It’s not my fault that’s usually after the first date.”
Holding my hand steady, I slid my paintbrush carefully along the doorjamb to keep a straight line. “Could you just do this favor for me? If not to be nice to your sister, then to help me out because you bailed on rent this month.” I paused, glaring at my sibling with a raised brow. “I’m not made of money, you know.”
She sighed and waved her brush. “A professional decorator would hire a painter, not paint herself.”
“Any normal roommate would come up with her share of the rent,” I shot back, then dipped my brush into the paint bucket again. Dip. Brush. Paint. Repeat. “Besides, I’m going to make painting part of my business. My clients will get more than just decorating when they hire Up to Date by Ginger Nielsen. I’m thinking faux finishes . . . the works.”
“Up to Date is actually a cute business name.” She made a tiny grunt, stood, then patted her belly. “You can’t expect me to work on an empty stomach, though. I’m going to check out what our hot neighbor has in his fridge.”
Greg had left to run errands half an hour ago, and I didn’t know how long he’d be gone. There’s no way I wanted him to return to find Mary Ann snooping through his kitchen. Definitely not professional.
“Don’t you dare eat Greg’s food.” I blocked the doorway and pointed toward the corner I’d asked her to work on. Then I made a circling motion with my finger. “He’s my client. We’re here to redo his den, not raid his food. Now turn around and get busy.”
She rolled her eyes, but did as instructed. Finally. “It’s not like he’d care if we grabbed a little snack. I’m sure he’d give you whatever you wanted. It’s so obvious he’s into you.”
“He is not.” Although his words about wanting to date me rolled through my head, enticing me to forget what was reasonable and just give in. But, hello? I had to be realistic here. E.R. doc, remember? It was an honorable profession, but would also mean stress, cancelled dates, and watching him fight to cope with the loss of pa
tients. Year after year. And we all knew how my dad had coped with his buddy, Scotch. That wasn’t what I wanted in my life anymore.
“Do you think I’m blind?” She dabbed her brush along the corner of the wall at a snail’s pace. Actually, I was pretty sure snails moved faster. “I had to shake our light bulb to death to get that gorgeous man into my living room. Then you come in all grungy and sweaty, and he can’t take his eyes off of you.”
An image of him passing me outside on his way home from work this morning appeared in my mind. His smile was beginning to feel way too familiar. “Why is this happening to me?”
“You’re going out with a famous guy Friday night and our insanely attractive upstairs neighbor is hot for you.” She threw me a “give me a break” look. “I’m not exactly rolling with sympathy over here.”
“There’s a lot more to Greg than just being hot.” I finished the last of my edging, then swapped my paintbrush for the roller. “He’s smart, funny, and I definitely like him. But he’s an E.R. doctor and we both know what that means.”
She widened her eyes. “Free healthcare?”
“Pressure.” I poured paint into the silver pan, moved my roller across it, then started on the walls. “Losing patients will get to him. He’ll need a way to manage the pain. I can’t take another alcoholic in my life. A doctor is not the right person for me.”
“So date him, then dump him.” Her voice held an edge of “duh” in the tone. “This method works wonders for me.”
I frowned. “Greg isn’t the type to just have a fling.”
“Convince him.” She wiggled her brows. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take much, judging by the way he devours you with his eyes.”
“He’s more grounded than that. I can tell.” I shook my head, reminding myself I shouldn’t have expected more from my younger sister. She hadn’t had a real relationship in years. “Besides, I’m not dating a guy who wants kids. Period.”
“You’re over-thinking things. It’s not healthy for your love life.” She admired the one corner she’d completed, then set her paintbrush on the bucket as if she were done. “What about New Jersey? Any potential there?”
“I’m giving him a chance. Kaitlin thinks we’d be great together.” I climbed the ladder to reach the high spots closer to the ceiling. “We don’t have any chemistry, though. Not like I have with . . .” My voice trailed off.
“Our very built upstairs neighbor? Ha!” She bounced over to me, making all kinds of kissy faces. “I knew you had it bad for him. You want Greg. Admit it.”
I gritted my teeth as I pushed my roller across the wall. “That’s not true.”
She poked her fingers into my back, then started singing. “Ginger likes Greg!”
Oh, man, my sister could irritate me like no other. “We’re not in junior high, so stop giving me flashbacks. I already told you I don’t want to date Greg.”
That’s when I noticed Greg standing the doorway. I cringed, wondering how long he’d been there and how much he’d heard. Mary Ann was going to get an epic lecture from me later.
His brows rose and he smirked. “Did I just get shot down again? When I wasn’t even present to defend myself?”
I glared at Mary Ann, who had the decency to appear apologetic.
“I’m afraid you did.” Mary Ann clasped her hands together. “But, if it counts for anything, I was rooting for you.”
“Thanks.” He held his fist out and they bumped knuckles as if they’d known each other for years. Were they ganging up on me?
“No problem.” She tossed me a quick look. “I assume this menial labor fulfills my rent obligation. Now if you two will excuse me, I’m going to run downstairs and get something to eat. I’m starving.”
I stared after her, unable to believe her nerve. I also wondered how much of our conversation Greg had overheard.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said, stepping down from the ladder. “You hired me to do a job and I thought Mary Ann could help. Clearly, I should’ve known better.”
His brows came together. “I just realized . . . Ginger and Mary Ann, like from Gilligan’s Island.”
I let out a small laugh. “My parents are huge fans of the show. Mary Ann and I spent much of our childhood pondering what we’d do to survive if stranded on a deserted tropical island. I actually wouldn’t mind putting her on one now.”
Greg chuckled. “Since she’s your painting assistant, I’m not sure that would be practical.”
Practical. Yes, I needed to stay reasonable, which would include not talking about not dating my client because he might overhear me. Oh, dumbness.
Mew. Mew.
I bent down and cooed at Greg’s little kitten, who’d wandered in. “Careful, buddy, or you’ll get paint on you. And, trust me, you’re not going to want to lick that off.”
Greg squatted down and scooped him up. “I’m naming him The Skipper.”
My brows came together and I peered at Greg. “You mean ‘Skipper,’ right? Because ‘The Skipper’ sounds like you’re naming him after Gilligan’s Island . . .”
He grinned.
My mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”
Mew. Mew.
“See?” He scratched the kitten behind his ears. “The Skipper likes his new name.”
Oh, my . . .! This guy was infuriating . . . and intoxicating.
I stood, snatched my paint roller off the tray, then climbed the ladder. My heart pounded in my chest as I rolled it across the wall with way more force than necessary. He wasn’t helping me keep my emotional distance by naming his cat The Skipper. That man was just so frustrating. Then I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Greg painting the other wall. The den door was closed and The Skipper must have been put outside because he was nowhere in sight.
Oh, no. Now I’d started thinking of the kitten as The Skipper. Argh!
I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He looked quizzically at his roller. “Painting, of course.”
“Why?” I mashed my lips together. “You paid for a service. The client doesn’t help the professional do her job.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “You’re cute when you’re stubborn. And I hate to tell you this, but the professional does whatever the client wants. Within reason.” He shot me an intense look that made me wonder what else he wanted me to do.
I shivered, then rallied, letting out an exasperated breath as he continued painting again. “I’m used to working alone, Greg. It’s easier that way.”
He turned over his shoulder, and shot me a meaningful look. “Brace yourself. You’re about to see how much better life can be with a partner.”
Whipping my head back around, I attacked the wall with a vengeance. I had an out-of-control, crazy client. That’s the only possible explanation. I mean, The Skipper? How could he name his kitten that? It was so mind-boggling. So out of line. And so freaking cute.
No, I needed to calm down. Think rationally. Life was less stressful when I only had to worry about myself. I’d decorate the rest of his rooms, Jenna would take the photographs for the article, and in two weeks he’d be out of my hair for good. Except for the fact that he lived upstairs. Sigh.
Keeping Greg out of my life was becoming more challenging every day. But I had to find a way. The more time I spent with him, the more attracted to him I became, and these feelings would only implode in the end.
Suddenly, Greg started whistling the tune of “Reunited” by Peaches and Herb. Instead of feeling irritated, tingles floated up my neck at the romantic melody we’d danced to that night. I remembered the feel of his arms around me, warm and amazing. Not good. Chills vibrated down my arms, giving me the urge to forget what was practical and curl up in his arms again.
****
The next day, Rach opened the front door to enter Laurel Ann’s, a cute boutique in Old Sacramento with unique home décor. “I’m totally stressing about Ellen’s baby shower. I want everything t
o be perfect for her but you know how demanding she can be.”
“Definitely high maintenance.” Unlike Greg, who had given me carte blanche with his credit card to decorate his home however I deemed best. No pressure. I stepped inside the air-conditioned store, cool air caressing my skin. “At least you have a precise list to follow. I have to be creative under a deadline.”
She threw me a look that was not filled with sympathy. “My list is typed with bold fonts and way too many asterisks. How could everything be a priority? I’m going to screw this up and she’ll hate me.”
“You’re her best friend. She’s not going to get mad at you if something goes wrong.” Although Ellen still hadn’t forgotten that Rach had brought her miniature beagle into the five-star restaurant where Ellen and Henry’s rehearsal dinner was held. Rach adored her pup, and treated him like family—a hairy family member, who shed and slobbered while guests were eating. Ellen had flipped.
Thinking of Ellen’s pooch reminded me of The Skipper, so I shook my head to clear the thought away. I had a job to do—in forty-five minutes or less since we were on our lunch break. “I’m sure the baby shower will be lovely. We’ll all sniff those faux dirty diapers, laugh, and have a wonderful time.”
“Let’s hope so.” She sighed, fingering candles as we browsed along the aisles. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“Décor for Greg’s den that inspires me.” I gazed around at all of the goodies, waiting for something to pop out at me. Quickly, of course. I was on a time crunch. “Jenna’s taking the first round of ‘after’ photos for her magazine spread tomorrow at noon. This article is my first real credential as a decorator, so the den must be perfect. If I fail to wow her, then I may as well kiss my dream good-bye.”
“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.” She followed me to the back of the store and stopped near a bunch of framed artwork. “The point of changing careers is so you can enjoy your work.”
“Pfft.” Yeah, but that was before I knew I had to work with Greg Shaffer. Thanks to him, I couldn’t sleep all night. I’d tossed and turned in bed, worried about The Skipper being all alone in Greg’s condo while he was at work. I wondered if Sacramento Living could air brush the dark circles under my eyes. . . .