Trust by Design

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  The minuscule lift of his eyebrows challenged her to disregard every bit of common sense screaming for her to set the painting down and leave. Run would be even better.

  She stepped past, but before he could shut the door, she spoke over her shoulder. “You can grab the other two in the back seat.”

  “The other two?”

  “I was originally going to make you pay extra for this one, but then decided to get you your money’s worth.”

  “How very kind of you,” he called on his way to her car.

  “Fair,” she corrected. “I’m nothing but fair.”

  She set her package against the wall in the great room, then went to close the door against the spring chill after Dean carried the other two canvases inside. When he faced her, she extended her hand with the invoice.

  “The gallery agreed to let you mail a check.”

  He glanced at the paper, then folded it and stuffed it in his back pocket. “I’ll have Liz mail payment tomorrow. Now, let’s see what else you bought me.”

  She glanced toward the door. Leave while you can.

  The sound of ripping paper kept her feet right where they were. “You’re going to want to save that wrapping for when you take them to be framed,” she warned.

  He uncovered all three canvases and leaned them up against the wall. Then he stood back and studied them. One was the sweeping Rocky Mountain landscape he’d chosen at the gallery. Another was of a large bull elk with massive horns, head raised in a bugle, its breath a frosted cloud against the vibrant fall setting of yellow and orange.

  The last was a mountain lion in mid-muscle-rippling stride, its gracefulness and intense predatory gaze magically replicated in a still image that defied the limits of a paintbrush.

  Dean stared at the tawny-colored cat long enough that she found herself holding her breath as she waited for his reaction. It was her favorite of the three.

  “Wow. That’s just…wow.”

  “You like it?”

  “I love it.”

  Her relief told her the window for escape was closing, so she turned to leave. “Good. Enjoy the paintings.”

  “Gina.”

  His low voice halted her halfway to the door.

  “You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  She faced him once more. “Good at what?”

  “Running.”

  “I’m not running.” His raised brows challenged her to insist, “I’m not.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly to the right as she watched his expression. “Why did you offer me the job?”

  “I like your work.”

  “You haven’t seen my work.”

  “Yes I have.”

  “Bare bones sketches don’t count. Try again.”

  “You picked these out.” He indicated the admittedly exquisite artwork she delivered. “And your website has an extensive portfolio section. Trust me, I’ve seen enough of your work.”

  For some reason, she hadn’t expected him to have looked at her site. The knowledge knocked her irritation askew, until she remembered why she was angry in the first place. She summoned Bodacious Burgundy Gina as the words trust me echoed in her mind.

  “I still don’t buy it. There’s no way you should allow me to work in your house after the accusation you made yesterday.”

  He gave a small shrug. “I realized I was wrong.”

  “Right,” she scoffed. If that were the case, she wouldn’t still be waiting for that apology he’d mentioned last night. “You want to know what I think?”

  “I think you’re going to tell me either way.”

  “You want to keep an eye on me,” she stated. “See if I try to do anything, like maybe access your computer to steal some ideas.”

  He didn’t say a word, just watched her with a poker face that would serve him well in Vegas.

  “But catching me isn’t a guarantee, so all the while I’m here, you’ll also be working on getting me to reveal some sort of dirt on Jackson.”

  His expression remained impassive, but she watched close enough to catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

  “You know, you never explained how you know him,” she reminded.

  He turned away and bent to pick up the cougar painting. “Six years ago we were business partners.”

  “What happened?”

  He gave her a sideways glance and countered, “Why’d the two of you break up?”

  “I would suspect for the same reason you did.”

  He held the canvas at waist level and smiled. “If that’s the case, there should be absolutely no reason for you to refuse either the job or to give me dirt on the sonofabitch.”

  She couldn’t care less about Jackson these days. But the way her pulse fluttered at the sight of Dean’s smile told her there were plenty of reasons to refuse this job.

  Unfortunately, there was one major reason why she should accept, and she literally couldn’t afford to ignore it. Not if it meant giving up her dream, tucking tail, and facing her parents.

  She thought about reminding him of the apology he owed her, but realized she didn’t want to hear the words if he didn’t mean them. Until he truly realized he was wrong about her, he could keep the meaningless gesture.

  Now, the question was, could she manage to ignore the more dangerous reasons as to why she should refuse in order to prove him wrong?

  “Where exactly did you envision this?” he asked as she was still deciding.

  Oh, she was so not touching that one. When she’d first spotted the mountain lion, she’d immediately pictured the empty space on the wall above his bed.

  “I’d have to see the rest of the house to be sure,” she fibbed.

  His expression said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push the issue as he walked over to the massive stone fireplace and reached to set the painting up on the mantle. Large as it was, the stonework dwarfed the unframed canvas. Once framed, however, it might work.

  She’d intended to let him do that himself. In fact, she was supposed to be halfway back to Boulder by now so she could get to work clearing her things from the office space she’d been renting on a month to month basis. With April just a week away, she had to pack everything and get it transferred to the studio apartment she’d found after moving out of Jackson’s place.

  Dean turned around. To his credit only the barest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Is that a yes?”

  “As you pointed out, I do need the money.”

  Any sign of a smile disappeared, and for a second he looked contrite. That was gone just as quick, too. “Let’s get started and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  “I don’t have any of my notes with me.”

  “I can wait while you get them from your car.”

  “No, I mean I don’t have anything with me at all.”

  His brow creased. “You really didn’t have any intention of taking the job?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She met his gaze and gave a small smile. “But seeing as now we both know exactly where we stand, it’s kinda hard to resist this place.”

  “I’ve got some paper in my office.” His expression remained solemn as he led the way through the kitchen. “My next couple days are extremely busy, so I’d rather get this out of the way now, and then you can get started whenever you’d like.”

  She followed him to his study, and after stepping across the threshold onto the plush carpet, she paused in surprise. The room was about half the size of his upstairs bedroom, and yet it was still huge by home office standards. Not to mention, it was completely furnished and decorated. The only room in the house to be so, besides the bedroom and kitchen, and those didn’t count since they only contained the bare necessities.

  But this room was beautiful. Once again the wall facing the lake was mostly glass, allowing for a wealth of natural light. The wall to the left was solid bookshelves fashioned from half logs and lined with leather bound books and other collectibles. An oversized, sage gre
en couch with cream accent cushions nestled in a far corner. It invited her to pick a volume and snuggle in to read for hours by the light of the iron lamp on the end table.

  The wall separating the room from the kitchen was varnished knotty pine, and featured some beautiful western paintings, as well as some intriguing wall hangings. The one opposite had the whole duel staircase again. One set led to the master suite above, the other to the bottom level. To the right, there was a small conference table directly in front of the windows, and his large wooden desk sat at an angle half-facing the windows and the door to the kitchen. Two dark green leather chairs offered seating for visitors.

  She did a slow three-sixty as she took everything in. “Who did this room?”

  He sat in his chair and pulled out the bottom desk drawer. “I did.”

  “Really?” A half-turn allowed her to study the furnishings with even more interest.

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  She shrugged while biting back a smile at the defensive note in his voice. “No. But why didn’t you do the rest of the house?”

  “No time.”

  “Well, I like it. And it’s nice to get an idea of what you like.”

  He didn’t reply, and when she faced his desk again, she found his gaze fixed on her.

  Chapter 8

  Dean didn’t avert his eyes, and then her gaze met his and the air crackled to life between them. The flush of awareness tinting her cheeks echoed the heat that suddenly made even his simple T-shirt and jeans feel like too many clothes.

  Before the tension built to uncomfortable intensity, he broke eye contact and picked up the white legal pad he’d pulled from his desk drawer. “Will this do?”

  She gave a quick nod. “That’s fine.”

  He handed it over, along with a pencil from the container next to his monitor. “Based on your previous notes, you’ve seen everything but the lower level.”

  “I’d still like to go through the whole house so you can answer some questions.”

  The whole house. Something told him that would not include his bedroom. Which was probably for the best. “We’ll start with the downstairs.”

  Once again, he led the way. At the bottom of the stairs, she asked, “How do you want your house to be perceived?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pretend I’m a first time visitor and I’ve never met you.” She wandered into his home gym, but turned to face him. “Rounding the corner of your driveway, my first impression is, wow, this guy’s loaded. I see an enormous log house, extensive landscaping that I’m sure you’ll have done later this spring, and while I’m standing by the entrance waiting for a servant to answer the door, I wonder…what is he going to be like?”

  Dean wondered if she was describing her first impression. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the stairway railing, curious to see where she was going with her little story.

  “Let’s say you open the door and I think…oh, I don’t know…” The corners of her mouth curved up in a little smile. “Self-serving, arrogant jer—”

  “Whoa,” he protested. He didn’t like the probability that that was her opinion of him. “Did I even say hello yet?”

  She waved her hand at his raised eyebrows. “This is after a minute of conversation.”

  “Only a minute? What about later, after we’ve talked longer?” He gave a hopeful smile. “Say, after I’ve given you a job?”

  “This is purely hypothetical.”

  Yeah, right.

  “My point is, do you want your house to be a home, or simply a house?”

  The question brought his mother’s words back to him. Something about a pile of logs and empty rooms.

  When he didn’t answer the question, Gina prompted, “Do you want me—your guests—to feel welcome in your home, or do you want your house to assert a position of power?”

  Dean frowned at the explanation. “Of course I want you to feel welcome.” The instant he said it, he was surprised that despite everything, he meant it. For regular guests, but more specifically, he wouldn’t mind her feeling at home.

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Next question…do you want to show off as you welcome, or understate your already obvious wealth?”

  “Already obvious?” he echoed.

  “Yes, the size of the structure alone makes that statement. I was awestruck the first time I drove in here. And even if I didn’t know anything about architecture, a closer look at the design would’ve been enough to clue me in on what you’ve invested here.”

  He pushed away from the rail and walked to the center of the windows to look outside. The house and land had cost just shy of two million. He hadn’t purposely set out to build a place that screamed he was rich, but the plans had taken on a life of their own. Now that she’d stated how obvious it was, maybe subconsciously that had been his intent all along.

  He’d grown up with next to nothing, had never known what having money was like until his mother married Wesley when Dean was ten. But even then, he hadn’t felt like he was entitled to anything.

  His stepdad had taught him to work hard, and he was proud of the fact he’d put himself through college without any help. He and Jack Brady had started their software company while in school, and once they graduated, released their first product that put them in the game. Their next major success put them in the national spotlight and won awards, and that’s when the bastard maneuvered a takeover so expertly, Dean was left with no legal recourse.

  Once he’d started over and made Daley Solutions a success, he’d built the house. He couldn’t deny the look on Jack’s face when he saw it had crossed his mind a time or two, but now it wouldn’t be half as sweet if the sonofabitch bankrupted him.

  Behind him, Gina asked, “So, show off or understated?”

  “Understated,” he quietly replied.

  He saw her reflection nod, and then she turned her attention to the state of the art work-out facility and indoor pool he’d installed—his favorite place to work off excess energy after long hours at the computer. He wasn’t looking for much in those rooms, so after only a few minutes, they moved on to a game room. After that was the area he intended for a home theater, complete with tiered seating.

  For the most part, he kept his attention on the house and focused on her questions. But when she took a moment here or there to sketch and add notes to the paper, he couldn’t help but study her slim form.

  She looked very young today, but based on her online bio, he was pretty sure she was at least twenty-six. After the allure of her sexy dress last night, he was surprised to find her equally tempting in a snug pair of low-rise jeans and a loose sweatshirt.

  Her shiny, auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail, drawing attention to the graceful line of her neck and giving him full view of her face whenever she glanced up. Either she wasn’t wearing much make-up, or the freckles he’d noticed last night stood out a bit more in the natural light of day. With the casual clothes, they gave her a girl-next-door air that appealed more than he’d anticipated.

  “Now that this is all getting done, it would be nice to have the company party here for the release of the new program,” he mused. “How long do you expect it will take to get everything completed?”

  “A month. Longer if anything you want is backordered. When is your release scheduled?”

  “End of April.”

  “That gives me just over a month. I’ll concentrate on the great room, kitchen, and guest bathrooms first to make sure the main rooms are completed in time.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She jotted more notes as they exited the home theater and walked up the stairs in the game room that led to the main floor by the foyer. He was one step ahead, and as he reached the top, his front door opened. He didn’t keep the security alarm on when he was home, so Liz simply pocketed her keys as she greeted him with her usual friendly grin. In her hands was the telltale takeout bag from their favorite Chinese restaurant. Mouth-wate
ring aromas filled the air in seconds flat.

  “Hey, we brought you some lunch.”

  “We?”

  Mike followed her inside, speaking as he turned his back to shut the door. “I wanted to see how things went with Cindy, and you didn’t answer any of my texts. You did call her—”

  Gina stepped into view the same time Mike turned back. His eyes widened, then flicked to Dean’s in apology.

  Yeah, dipshit.

  “Who’s Cindy?” Liz’s narrowed gaze shifted between him and the brunette beside him.

  “No one, forget it,” her brother quickly said.

  Better get the introductions in and drum the correct name into his buddy’s head. No more Cindy, or Cinderella. “Liz, you and Gina met last night, but Mike, this is Gina Allen, my new decorator. Gina, Mike Hollister, my vice president. He handles all the stuff I don’t want to be bothered with so I can work at home in peace.”

  “Which means I do most of the work while he plays at being a creative genius.”

  “You’re just jealous because you have to dress up every day.”

  Suit coat in hand, Mike smoothed his tie as he laughed. “That’s not completely untrue.” He turned his grin on Gina. “Since we didn’t get the chance to actually meet the other night, it’s nice to meet you today.”

  Dean noted right away that her cheeks had turned pink at the first sight of his friend. With the blatant reminder of the scene at Club 9, the color deepened a few shades.

  “Any chance you’d be willing to pretend we’ve never seen each other before right now?” she asked his VP with a sheepish smile.

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  Dean had no intention of forgetting that night. Neither would Mike. However, there was a growing possibility it would be for much different reasons.

  “Thank you.” Gina’s relief became a teasing grin. “You’re a real gentleman.”

  Liz laughed while Dean fought the upward pull of his own mouth. “Give it some time,” he advised. “You’ll revise that opinion.”

  “Ignore both of them.” Mike took the bag of food from his sister’s hand and backed toward the kitchen. “Come join us for lunch. We have plenty.”