Breezing past his indifference, I thrust my handful of paint swatches toward him. “I’ve got some paint samples I’d like to go through with you,” I said. “If you have the time.”
I half expected him to close the door in my face. That was apparently his way of saying, Actually I’m quite busy now, Ms. Paulson, but if you could come back again in a few hours or tomorrow I will be available to answer your questions.
But he didn’t.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m due for a break anyway. What room is this for?”
He looked over the swatches, brow knitted.
Here was the tricky part.
“The library.”
Oliver frowned. He trained his eyes on me with thinly veiled irritation.
“I thought we agreed that the library was going to be a deep maroon or something?” he said. “Certainly not any of…” He waved a dismissive hand toward my colors. “These.”
Does he have to say it like I just showed him the literal shit I’m going to smear on his walls?
“We didn’t agree, actually,” I reminded him. “You imposed your desire and left before we came to a mutual conclusion.”
His eyes flashed. “That doesn’t sound like me at all,” he purred. “If I remember correctly, you and I have a history of reaching mutual conclusion.”
The air whooshed from my lungs like someone had kicked me and heat flared in my core. How was he still able to have an effect like that on me when I absolutely despised him?
Focus!
“If you join me in the library,” I said, gritting my teeth in an attempt to push away memories of the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just replanted in my head. “I can show you how the colors will look in the afternoon sunlight. You’ll see that using a lighter color for the walls is more favorable.”
“You sound like an old treasure map,” he muttered, strolling into the hallway. “In order to find the treasure, ye must view the carpet samples next to the wallpaper under the light of the full moon.”
I giggled but tried to cover it up with a cough. I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to see his satisfied smile.
“Also, I’m going to go down to the hardware store after this to change the knobs you don’t like on the kitchen cabinets.”
I was hoping to use that as some sort of peace offering before we inevitably butted heads again on the library paint colors.
“About bloody time, too,” he grumbled.
Aside from the knobs, Oliver had stopped complaining about the kitchen days ago, which I took to mean he actually approved of the final design after all. The temptation to mention our wager rose inside of me. Had he been thinking about it as much as I had? Instead, I chickened out and opted for something a little less touchy.
“Did you get a haircut?”
Oliver glared at me but didn’t answer. At least by continuing to be insufferable, he succeeded in making me forget how aroused I’d been by his earlier comment.
In the library, I flung back the heavy drapes and let the space fill with unfiltered light. It gleamed off the polished wooden bookshelves like glass.
“I’m going to show you how this scene would look if we chose the color you want, which is close to the color the library currently is.” I lifted one of the swatches from the back of the pile up to the wall. “Do you see how the sunlight makes it lose all its warmth?”
He furrowed his brow and stared at me. “I don’t see anything,” he replied. “I can’t tell what the whole library is going to look like based on one square you’re holding up to the wall.”
I sighed. “Use your imagination. It should be easy since the colors are so similar.”
He shook his head. “I don’t see the problem. It’s still a library. And if it’s really so bad with the sunlight, we’ll just keep the drapes closed during the day.”
I took a deep breath.
“Okay, let’s try with this one.” I held up my favorite of the two colors I’d chosen, a crisp ivory. “We’re going to do this color, with ebony wood accents—“ I held up the swatch for the accents underneath it “—and then we can keep the drapes if you want. But we’ll also have them open most of the time.”
He stared thoughtfully at the samples in my hands, then looked out at the rest of the room, then returned to the swatches.
“Maybe you’d like to take these?” I asked, my arms beginning to ache at holding them up.
“No,” he replied with a slight grin. “I want to see them from a distance. It helps with the visualization.”
Of course it does.
I continued holding the swatches, feeling like an absolute idiot. There was just no way to do this and look professional. Surely part of my job wasn’t to stand there and look like a tree? Did other designers have to do this?
“Mr. Bentley,” I said, after another moment. “How’s that visualizing going?”
He blinked and looked up at me as if emerging from a trance. “I think it would be better if you held the samples against the other wall.”
“Fair enough.”
Stepping over, I pressed the swatches against the new surface. “Can you envision how this would open up the room?” I asked, needing to fill the empty air with something. The library’s quiet was so oppressive that I almost wanted to start bickering with him to break it.
“Hmm.” He cocked his head to the side. “I can’t see it. Maybe try going over to the window.”
“The window?” I raised a suspicious brow.
“The window.”
I trudged back across the room. “And what do you want me to do here?” I lifted them to chest height. Holding up the samples in front of me seemed pointless, but did he expect me to press them against the glass? What purpose would that serve?
“I want to see what they look like next to the drapes,” he said, as if it were obvious. The only thing obvious to me at that point was that he was trying to make me look like an idiot.
And he continued doing that for the next fifteen minutes, ordering me around the room so that he could see the colors in “different lighting and from different angles”. He even had me climb up to the mezzanine and hold them for him to look at from the floor. Afterward I had to climb down and hold them so he could look at them from the mezzanine.
Then he couldn’t decide on a wall color without seeing different kinds of flooring next to it—and all that in different light too.
It was exhausting. It was infuriating. Worst of all, it was time consuming.
“Mr. Bentley,” I said sourly, after presenting my flooring options to him for the third time. “If I don’t get to the hardware store before they close, I won’t be able swap out the cabinet hardware until tomorrow.”
“I don’t see how that’s a problem,” he said, arms folded over his chest imperiously. “Just go tomorrow.”
I frowned and crossed my own arms.
I could go tomorrow, or even make a stop before coming here in the morning. Sure, I’d told Oliver the kitchen would be done today, but missing that deadline was his own fault and he clearly didn’t care.
But I won’t see Harry if I go tomorrow.
Harry and I had flirted in the past, and I was a little starved for positive attention lately. The thought of getting to see him tonight was a pleasant light at the end of this dark library.
“I want to go tonight so I can cross the kitchen off my list and be done with it,” I argued. It wasn’t totally a lie. “It’s just an organizational thing. I told myself it would be done today and I’ll be frustrated if it isn’t.”
“Sounds like you need to let loose a little,” he replied.
The glare I shot him wasn’t nearly as intense as he deserved. We weren’t accomplishing anything here anyway, this was a waste of my time, so I just repeated myself. “I need to get to the hardware store before it closes.”
The light from the fire, which was the last light source Oliver had made me compare swatches against, dappled Oliver’s face with warm bursts of orange and flicker
s of shadow. The corner of his lip twitched into a smile, which looked positively sinful in the dim glow.
“I’m thinking a bearskin rug here,” he murmured, glancing down at the carpet.
“I’m thinking that’s disgusting.”
His eyes returned to mine, shimmering. “You misunderstand me, Ms. Paulson.” Oliver took a couple steps toward me. The gap between us was no more than a few feet now, but I’d be damned before I retreated.
His voice was like silk as he continued. “Not a real bear, of course. That would be barbaric.” He chuckled, eyes drawing me in. “But a fake fur rug that looks like a bearskin. One you could sink naked into next to the fire, big enough for two. One that is soft enough to lie against, or to move around on, that keeps you comfortable and warm so that you don’t have to rise again until the flames had simmered down to embers.”
My breath caught in my throat. The intensity of his gaze and the images flashing through my mind were too much. I was practically lava inside.
How is he still able to infuriate me one minute, and leave me melting with desire in the next? “I was thinking of axing the gas fireplace, actually,” I managed to choke out. “Seems kind of pointless to have more than one in the room once the other one is fixed.”
He shrugged. “That just makes it better. Fake bearskin rug, real fire.”
Dammit.
I was hoping he’d fight me on the fireplace removal so we could end this conversation. Oliver was too close. His voice was too husky. He was trying to get a rise out of me, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep it together.
But then again, part of me was curious to see where this conversation was headed. What would happen if I said screw Harry, and screw the hardware store? What was Oliver’s game plan? What kind of point was he hoping to prove to me here, against the glow of the flames?
I noticed he was watching me, waiting for my response. His sudden switch from antagonistic to seductive had me confused, so I just said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Sounds like a fire hazard.”
He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if that was really all I had to say in response.
I shrugged at the unanswered question. “Have you seen the carpet by the hearth? There are so many singe marks that it looks like a connect the dots.”
Oliver stared at me for a moment longer and then laughed. I was grateful for the sound, as it seemed to break the complicated stillness that had gathered around us.
“Go to the hardware store, Ms. Paulson,” he said, and then he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
“I doubt I’ll even make it now,” I muttered, more to myself than him. I was suddenly feeling sullen, more disappointed that the moment was over than I wanted to admit.
Shrugging it off, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. With a little luck and some good traffic, I might still make it to Big Al’s after all.
11
Oliver
The phone rang three times before Damien picked up. It was a new record.
“Are you dying?” I asked, tossing a charcoal tie from my closet to the bed. The tie unrolled partway and slumped to the carpet a few feet from its intended destination. I frowned and continued picking through outfits.
“Why would you say that?” Damien asked.
“You’ve never taken so long to pick up.” I rubbed at the sleeve of one of my shirts absentmindedly. “At one point I thought you’d actually gotten your phone implanted.”
“Ha-ha.” Through the phone, I heard a horn beep. “Shit.”
“Am I distracting you?” I asked sweetly.
“Just traffic.” He groaned. “Gets worse every goddamn year.”
I grabbed a shirt from the rack and strolled back over to my bed, laying it on the covers while I retrieved the errant tie from the floor.
“That’s why you should live outside of the city,” I replied. “Like me. It has its benefits.”
“If I wanted to wait out a zombie apocalypse, maybe. If I want to be a productive business owner, maybe not.”
I frowned. He didn’t intend to do it, but then again Damien never intended to offend half of the people he did. It came with the territory of being self-absorbed. It wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten that my status of unproductive non-business owner was a sore spot. I was used to it, though.
“Well you can show me all the wonderful things the city has to offer tonight,” I continued. “There’s a club opening near Chinatown that I’ve been invited to.”
“I can’t tonight. I’ve got to prepare a speech for my conference call tomorrow with the investors.” Damien’s voice sounded stressed, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of his presentation or the traffic.
“Fuck the investors.” I strode back to my closet to pick out a pair of pants and shoes. “Your stock keeps increasing. That’s all they need to know.”
“And then when they start pulling their shares because the CEO looks like a complete asshat, the stocks will start decreasing,” Damien said. “Brilliant plan, Ollie.”
Shoes in hand, I returned to the bed and sank onto it. “Jesus, Damien. Just help me get out of this goddamn house for a few hours. I’m going crazy here.”
“I always knew this day would come,” he replied. “I still can’t decide whether I’ll call the documentary ‘Mansion Fever’ or ‘The Shining and Cufflinks’.”
“Both horrible ideas.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s marketable as shit.”
I closed my eyes in frustration. “Hire a speechwriter.”
“You hire somebody for everything,” he laughed.
“If I hired somebody for everything then I wouldn’t have spent so much time personally scouring through everything my grandfather left.”
“And doesn’t that make you feel accomplished?”
“It makes me feel irritated and like I need to get out of this place before I rip my interior designer’s clothes off.”
I glanced toward the door. She wasn’t back from the hardware store yet, and anyway if she was she wouldn’t have any reason to come up here. Work on my room was being left until last so there would be another bedroom ready for me to stay in during the interim.
“I still can’t believe she’s the girl from Repeat,” Damien mused. “The only way that could be more serendipitous is if her friend showed up as my new secretary.”
“What, so she could reject you again?”
“I’m not saying it would be ideal,” he growled. “Just coincidental. Don’t be a dick.”
I chuckled. He deserved it after all the flack he gave me when he found out Elizabeth was my new interior designer.
“She’s been in your house for what? A month now?” he asked. “Why are you about to rip her clothes off all of the sudden?”
I hadn’t mentioned to Damien how I’d been struggling. It wasn’t a lie so much as an omission. For a guy who had such a keen business head on him, he really didn’t seem to get affairs of the heart.
“We had… I don’t know. I spent some time with her that didn’t end in a fight.”
“I don’t like the sound of that…”
I had told him about the fighting. He supported me finding her insufferable and forcing her to change her designs.
“Don’t worry, mom, I didn’t fuck her,” I retorted. “I fucked with her. She just didn’t react the way she should have.”
I sighed. How the hell could I explain this without having to put all my cards out? I just wanted to get some fresh fucking city air. I didn’t need the unsolicited advice that was sure to come out of this. I already knew the trouble I was heading for.
“How was she meant to react again?”
“The way she usually does,” I supplied. “Throwing her hands up in the air and storming away from me.”
At least, that’s what I had expected her to do at first, when I was sending her all around the library holding up those stupid paint chips.
I expected a much different reaction when I lost
control and started to flirt.
Lucky for me she hadn’t reacted predictably then, either.
“The fact that you’re irritated you didn’t get to play with your new toy worries me,” Damien said. “You know better than this, Ollie. You need to stay away from her.”
I knew he would say that. I also knew he was wrong. Not about staying away from her—I definitely needed to do that—especially since I was clearly losing my ability to control my attraction to her. But Damien had missed the mark as to the source of my frustration. Elizabeth wasn’t a squeaker toy that I hadn’t been able to make squeak anymore.
I was irritated that I felt bad.
I was beginning to feel guilty about the way I was treating her, and it was getting harder and harder to try to make her hate me.
But I wasn’t about to admit that. Not even to my best friend.
“So are you going to go out with me tonight or not?” I demanded, changing the subject back to something I actually wanted to talk about at that moment.
The sounds of traffic still blared in the background and Damien released a heavy sigh. “Fuck. Fine.”
“That’s a good man.”
“But not until after I’ve written my speech,” he warned. “So give me three hours.”
“Three hours to write a goddamn speech?”
“Three hours to write a speech and have some dinner,” he replied. “I have a steak marinating in the fridge.”
I rolled off the side of the bed and rose to my feet. “Whatever. I’ll be at your place in a couple hours.”
12
Elizabeth
There was no way in hell I was going to make it. The clock on my dash said 5:25 and I still had at least three minutes of driving left to do. Plus parking. Plus sprinting up to the front doors.
I should have just cut out as soon as Oliver started being ridiculous.
But I wasn’t going to turn the car around just yet. I zoomed into the parking lot and nabbed a spot right in front, hopping out just in time to see Harry walking away toward the back of the store, presumably having just finished locking the door. The OPEN sign was unlit.
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