by Ana Huang
Blake’s breath hissed out in shock. This was real.
He’d fantasized about their reunion a million times, but now that it was happening he had no clue what to do.
He just stood there, gawking at her like an idiot.
Say something. Anything.
"You haven't aged a day.”
Anything but that.
Landon choked on his water while pink rose on Blake’s cheekbones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this flustered. He felt like a damn schoolboy with a crush, one who’d waited five years to see the girl of his dreams again, only for his first words to her be…you haven’t aged a day.
He wanted to die.
Landon’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, but Farrah’s expression remained smooth and hard as stone.
“Thanks,” she said. Zero emotion, not even sarcasm.
The Farrah Blake knew would’ve called him out on his lame-ass greeting faster than a teenager could text in class, but the Farrah he knew also used to look at him like he hung the stars in the sky—until he fucked it all up.
"Do you know each other?" Landon asked, controlling his mirth long enough to ask the world’s most obvious question.
Blake forced his legs to move. He sank into the chair next to Landon and tried not to shake too much as he lifted a glass of water to his lips. "We studied abroad together in Shanghai."
He felt Landon's sharp inhale beside him. He'd told Landon about Farrah one drunk night after he and Cleo split for good. Blake had been spiraling, drowning in guilt and regret and booze, and his usual filter had been down for the count. In its absence, confessions about Farrah and what happened in Shanghai tumbled out. Blake hadn’t divulged Farrah’s name, but Landon was a smart guy. Blake could tell by the look in his friend’s eyes that Landon had already pieced the puzzle together.
The waiter showed up and took their orders. Blake didn’t remember what he ordered. He didn’t care; he was too busy staring at Farrah.
It’d been five years, and God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. More sophisticated and self-assured. Time had sculpted her features into a masterpiece, and her slim figure had blossomed with curves. She was no longer a girl but a woman—one who sent desire curling through his gut even as his heart ached.
Farrah, on the other hand, hadn't so much as looked at him since he sat down.
“So.” Landon filled the silence. “Farrah, as I mentioned in our call, Blake is looking for a designer for his new condo. Two bedrooms, two baths, in the West Village. It'll be his primary residence from now on, so he needs someone to spruce it up. Make it feel like home.” He nudged Blake. “Right?”
"What? Oh, uh, yeah."
Get your shit together, man.
“Right.” Landon's gaze ping-ponged between Blake and Farrah. “About the compensation. Since this is so last minute, Blake will pay twenty percent above—”
"I can't do it." Farrah’s quiet refusal brought the conversation screeching to a halt. She kept her focus on Landon as she explained, “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I appreciate you thinking of me, and I’ll pay you back for this meal. But I just remembered I have, um, another project I need to work on, and I won’t have time for this. In fact, I should probably—”
“Double.”
Farrah stiffened at Blake’s offer. “What?”
“I’ll pay you double your rate if you agree to work with me.”
“That’s not going to—”
“Triple.”
Farrah’s gaze slammed into his. Her eyes smoldered with disbelief, and Blake couldn’t fight the small grin of victory on his lips. Finally. A reaction.
“You don’t know how much my rate is.”
“How much is it?”
After a beat of hesitation, she said, “$300 an hour.”
“I’ll pay you $900 an hour. But it has to be exclusive. You’ll work only on my apartment for the duration of our contract period.”
“Jesus, Blake,” Landon breathed.
Across the table, Farrah’s lips parted with shock.
$900 an hour was a shit ton of money, but Blake could afford it. He wasn’t as rich as Landon, but thanks to both Legends’ success and a slew of smart investments over the years, he had enough of a financial cushion to absorb the cost. Besides, he didn’t care about the money. He cared about Farrah.
He’d bitten the bullet and asked Sammy for her number over the weekend. Sammy had been wary of Blake’s sudden desire to reconnect with her but being the good friend he was—as well as the only one in their old Shanghai group who knew the truth about Blake’s feelings for Farrah and what happened with Cleo—he’d relented.
Blake had stared at the ten digits all weekend, trying to work up the courage to call her. He’d chickened out every time, but now here she was, right in front of him.
It was like the universe had tired of his waffling and given him the kick in the ass he needed.
This was a sign.
Of all the designers in all the world, she was the one Landon invited here.
Two people in a city of eight million, reunited against all odds.
Coincidence? Hell no.
Farrah was the one who’d taught Blake to believe in fate, and like everything else about their relationship, he’d carried it close to his heart all these years.
“Do we have a deal?” Blake kept his tone even, but inside he was a chaotic storm of need and emotions.
Say yes. God, if she says yes, I will never ask you for anything else ever again. Except maybe for a team other than the Patriots to win the Super Bowl, but I’m willing to negotiate on that front.
Farrah fiddled with her necklace while indecision flickered across her face. After an eternity, she bit out, “Yes.”
Blake released his breath and sent a quick thank you up to the heavens.
“It’s a deal.” He grinned, revealing his trusty dimples in all their glory, and held out his hand.
After a brief pause, she took it.
A current of electricity sizzled through his body the second they touched, and judging by the way Farrah’s nostrils flared, he wasn’t the only one who’d felt it.
Blake’s grin widened.
The universe had handed him his second chance on a platter, and this time, there was no way in hell he was going to fuck it up.
Chapter Five
Farrah made it two blocks before she fell apart.
She’d sat stone-faced through lunch, hauled ass to a department store near Z Hotel, and bulldozed her way into a restroom stall before she collapsed into a heaping mess.
Blake freakin’ Ryan.
Of all the times he could’ve walked back into her life, he had to do it now, when she was 1) unemployed and therefore unable to brush off his generous offer, and 2) so sexually frustrated she’d gotten turned on by a handshake.
Farrah shivered when she remembered the strong, warm grip of Blake’s hand around hers and the resulting shock of electricity that had traveled up her arm and into her chest, making her heart beat in a way she didn’t think it capable of doing anymore.
She’d dated other guys since Shanghai. Some of them she’d liked, some of them she hadn’t. None could turn her into a live wire of emotions like Blake could.
Smoky memories of long nights, passionate kisses, and whispered secrets crawled into Farrah’s brain, drowning her in the past.
I think you’re a smartass who’s too stubborn for your own good. I think you drive me crazier than any person ought to. And I think I might die if I can’t be with you.
Whatever happens, we can get through it together.
You said once every second counts, and I don’t want another second to go by without you knowing that I am totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you.
A sob escaped her throat. Farrah pressed a fist to her mouth, struggling to remain calm before she turned into a girl-crying-over-a-boy-in-a-public-restroom cliché. Even though her eyes were already glazed wit
h tears. Even though her chest ached so much she wanted to curl up in a fetal position on the floor, germs and potential cholera be damned.
She wasn’t in love with Blake anymore. You needed trust for love, and he’d lost hers long ago. But dammit if he couldn’t make her heart pound with one smile, and her body clench with one touch. Their physical chemistry had always been off the charts, and apparently, the flames still burned hot after all these years.
A call from Olivia lit up her phone and yanked her thoughts off the dangerous path they’d taken.
Farrah swallowed and composed herself before answering.
“Hello?” A slight waver. Pretty good, considering snot and dried tears streaked her face. Farrah yanked a few so-thin-they-were-transparent squares of toilet paper from the roll and wiped her face. It was like exfoliating her skin with sandpaper.
“Hey! How’d the lunch meeting go?” Olivia asked.
“Fine. What are you doing calling me from work?” Farrah stalled, debating whether to clue Olivia in on today’s developments now or wait until they were face-to-face.
Now, she decided. Olivia was going to shit bricks. She’d hated Blake since he broke up with Farrah, and Farrah was already bracing herself for the hurricane once she told Olivia she’d accepted Blake’s job offer.
“I’m on a coffee break,” Olivia said, which surprised Farrah almost as much as seeing Blake at The Aviary. Olivia worked long, hard hours as an analyst at Wall Street’s most prestigious private equity firm, and she rarely took a break on the clock. “I have six minutes and twenty-seven seconds before my break is over, so give me the deets quick.”
“Okay.” Farrah took a deep breath. “Long story short: I got the job, and they’re paying me $900 an hour.”
Always lead with the good news first.
“Oh my God!” Olivia whisper-yelled. “That’s amazing! $900 an hour? We have to celebrate! I won’t make it out in time for happy hour today—this deal we’re working on is the bane of my existence, I swear—but I’ll pick up ice cream and wine on my way home. We can have a proper celebratory dinner this weekend.”
“Sounds great.”
There was a pause. “Why do you sound so not excited about this? Is it the client? He’s a jerk, isn’t he? Or is he a creepy old perv? Remember, if he tries anything, you can take one of your stiletto heels and jam it up his—”
“It’s Blake.”
“Blake who?”
“Blake Ryan.”
Another pause, and then, “Your new client is Blake Ryan?”
Her yell pierced Farrah’s eardrums. Farrah winced and held the phone away from her ear as Olivia uttered a stream of curses so colorful and fantasy murder scenarios so graphic, she could’ve moonlighted as a horror author.
Once she stopped for breath, Farrah interjected. “Look, I get it. The situation is not ideal.” That was putting it mildly, but Farrah didn’t want to fan the flames of Olivia’s anger. “But I don’t know when I’ll get a new job, and I need the money. He’s paying me a lot, Liv. Like…enough to cover half a year of expenses if I’m smart about saving.”
She could hear her friend ruminating in the silence that followed. “Have you asked yourself why, exactly, he’s paying you so much?”
Farrah frowned. She’d been so surprised by Blake’s sudden reappearance in her life she hadn’t stopped to think about the reasons behind his offer. “No…”
Suspicion seeped into her veins. Why had Blake been so insistent on hiring her? He’d kicked her to the curb for his ex-girlfriend, and they hadn’t spoken in half a decade. Plus, he could hire any designer in the city for the price he was paying.
They weren’t friends on social media, but she’d stumbled on articles about him over the years. His sports bars were doing well. Really well. Despite herself, a flicker of pride flared in Farrah’s stomach at his success.
Farrah had walked into the meeting intending to quote $150 an hour, given this was her first freelance gig. Once she’d realized the client was Blake, she’d jacked the price up to $300, desperate for an excuse not to have to see him again. When he not only agreed but tripled her rate, Farrah nearly had a heart attack. Not even Kelly Burke commanded $900 an hour.
“He’s up to something. Be careful,” Olivia warned. “The boy is your kryptonite. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Not so much a boy anymore.
Farrah’s mouth watered when she remembered how good Blake looked. College Blake had been hot, but he’d possessed a boyishness common amongst twenty-two-year-olds. Grown-up Blake, with his stubble and lean muscles and confident, panther-like stride? He was fiercer, grittier, and he exuded a raw, hard masculinity that turned her knees to Jell-O.
“Like what? I’m designing his apartment. It’ll take a few months. That’s it.” The words rang false to Farrah’s own ears.
“Uh-huh.” Skepticism coated Olivia’s voice. “I mean it, Farrah. Stay as far away from Blake as possible. I’ve seen his picture in magazines from time to time. He’s still fine as hell, which makes him dangerous. Don’t sleep with him, and for God’s sake, don’t fall in love with him again.”
Now, that made Farrah laugh. “I won’t fall in love with him again.” She was horny, not an idiot. Her body may crave Blake, but she’d built enough defenses around her heart to keep an invading army at bay.
“Good.” Olivia sounded satisfied. “So, he’s Landon’s friend, huh? What are the freakin’ odds?”
“Well, Landon is from Austin.” Now that Farrah thought about it, she remembered Blake mentioning back in Shanghai that his best friend was a hotel heir. Landon was the one who’d floated him the capital to start his bar. Blake might even have mentioned him by name. Farrah couldn’t believe she didn’t put two and two together until now.
“So are millions of other people. God, this world is too small.” Olivia sighed. “Shit. My break is up. We’ll discuss later, okay? In the meantime, buy yourself something nice, like a big bottle of vodka. You need it.”
Farrah snorted. “Thanks.”
She hung up, took a deep breath, and unlocked the stall. Thankfully, the bathroom had emptied, and no one was there to witness what a mess she was.
Farrah splashed water on her face, letting the cool liquid fortify her.
Blake’s project would take a few months, max. She could go that long without giving in to her base desires. Right?
Another image of Blake’s dimpled smile and broad shoulders flashed through her mind, and heat sluiced through her.
Dammit.
Maybe it was a good thing she’d agreed to go on that blind date with Olivia’s co-worker. Hopefully, it’d take the edge off.
Farrah stared at herself in the mirror. Her reflection blinked back, uncertain and uneasy.
“Farrah Lin, what have you gotten yourself into?”
Chapter Six
“I received your questionnaire.” Farrah frowned at the paper in her hands. “Half the answers are blank.”
“I didn’t know how to answer them.” It was the truth. Blake couldn’t name a single design style if his life depended on it, much less which ones he liked and didn’t like. “Besides, I figured it’d be easier to discuss in person.”
His mouth tugged up into a smile when Farrah side-eyed him.
Sure, he could’ve tried harder to answer the questions, but the less he answered, the more time they’d have to spend discussing them in person.
Time. They’d never had enough of it. Not in Shanghai, and not at that all-too-short lunch meeting the other day. But now that Blake and Farrah were client and consultant, he was determined to milk every second they had together.
And no, Blake was not above petty ploys like leaving half his new client intake questionnaire blank.
Farrah walked through his apartment, examining the layout and current decor. “Landon wasn’t kidding when he said you didn’t have a lot of furnishings.”
“I moved here not too long ago. Didn’t make sense to buy a bunch of stuff myself wh
en I was going to hire a professional.”
He hadn’t planned on hiring a designer until Landon pushed him, but Blake kept that part to himself.
“Have you worked with a designer before?”
“For the bars, yeah, but those were pretty high level. My team took care of the details. Since this is my home, I intend to be very hands-on.” Blake’s dimples beamed. “Expect to see a lot of me over the next few months.”
Farrah looked as thrilled as a mouse in a snake’s cage. “In that case, I’ll go over the different phases of the project, so you know what to expect. First, we’ll start with the planning phase, which is what we’re doing now. This is where I get to know you and your tastes, budget, and lifestyle needs.”
I need you.
Blake swallowed his reply. First, because it was cheesy as hell, and second, because he didn’t want to scare her off. They’d just gotten reacquainted, and Farrah wasn’t the type to let her guard down that easily. It’d taken months before she opened up to him in Shanghai, and given how they’d ended things…well, he was pretty sure an apology card and box of chocolates wouldn’t cut it for a reconciliation.
Farrah continued, oblivious to his internal strategizing. “After planning is the design phase. I’ll put together a few sketches and design boards for you to choose from. Once we finalize the design, I’ll hire the contractors, order the furnishings, and source the materials. That takes the longest time, given contractor schedules, shipping delays, and unforeseen circumstances. I’ll minimize those as best I can, but they pop up in any project. Finally, we execute. The contractors do their thing, we hang the art, arrange the furniture, and so on until your dream home is complete. Any questions?”
What Blake heard was, this was going to take a while. Excellent. “Nope. Sounds good to me.”
They entered his bedroom, and he tried. He really did. But Blake couldn’t stop his mind’s autoplay of X-rated fantasies at the sight of Farrah next to his bed.
Him shoving her tight gray skirt up and feasting until she screamed his name; her riding him while he sucked her nipples; them sixty-nining and coming all over each other’s faces.