Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  I grinned as I cracked the eggs into the sizzling hot pan. “Because it was impossible. My reputation is just now starting to spark. If I do this and do it well, I’ll catch fire. Mansions, castles, beach house renovations, architectural wonders the world over will have my mark on them. Besides, it’s kind of a thrill to conquer an impossible task.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You remind me of myself,” he said. “A few years ago, of course. There are very few people, in my experience, who will dive headlong into an impossible challenge and come out ahead.”

  “That latter half is the tricky part. I don’t know if I’ll come out ahead on this one, honestly. I think I will. I believe I can. But I don’t always work well under pressure, especially tight deadlines. It makes my brain freeze up. Not all the time, just sometimes. Then I get to the job only to realize that I designed a staircase to nowhere or planned to paint a room three different colors and never picked one, and if I don’t double-check my work before the decorators take it and run with it, the whole job gets muddled.”

  “We will have to ensure that doesn’t happen,” he said solemnly. “For my sake as well as yours.”

  “What do you have on the line?” I asked as I slid the eggs out of the pan onto two plates. I split the crackers evenly and slid a plate across the counter to him.

  He took a bite before he answered and chewed slowly.

  “When you’re finished with this project, you’ll be going back to New York, I assume.”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with it?”

  He gestured around. “I’ll still be here, won’t I? Mrs. Hornsby-Harris may have a house in New York, but she is a London resident. There isn’t a who’s who around here who doesn’t know her name. If she chose, she could ruin me.”

  “But if it does go poorly, you never have to admit to being a part of it at all. As a contractor you could simply melt into the shadows. My name will be mud, of course, but yours will be safe.”

  “That is a relief,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Tell me, what are your plans for the rest of the place?”

  “Oh, it’s all going to be very artistic. The gallery and the dining room especially, lots of subtle color and rich furnishings. Honestly, I’m most excited about the gallery and Mr. Harris’ rooms, the office and the bedroom. Everything else will be designed specifically to suit Amelia’s tastes.”

  “You don’t care for her tastes?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I said thoughtfully. “But there’s nothing I like more than letting a room tell me what it wants to look like. It’s a creative challenge to match a person’s personality to a room’s, and I enjoy that well enough, but there’s something almost magical about letting the muse take me where it wants to go.”

  “Ah, I see. And as Mr. Harris hasn’t made his wishes known, the rooms are free of human personality.”

  “That’s one way to put it. I wish he had made his wishes known to me, honestly. I feel like his personality has been misrepresented to me, but that’s just a hunch. Maybe he is dull and stuffy, and maybe he couldn’t care less about how his rooms look. I can’t be sure, though, and I wouldn’t want to inadvertently make him miserable.”

  “You think he isn’t miserable already? You thought otherwise when we were discussing the bedroom situation.”

  I thought about it for a while as I finished my makeshift dinner. “It really depends on his personality, I suppose. Perhaps he’s the kind to take lovers here and there in secret to make up for the lack of intimacy in his marriage, or perhaps he’s the kind who doesn’t require intimacy at all.” I sighed, saddened by the thought. “I just hope it isn’t like that if I ever get married.”

  “Is marriage on your agenda?”

  I shrugged, thinking off-handedly how easy he was to talk to. “If I meet the right person, I suppose. I do want to be married and have a family someday, but with my business catching fire like this, I don’t see myself having the time to develop the kind of relationship I want.”

  “And what kind would that be?”

  I sighed dreamily, gazing up at the cherub-painted ceiling. “A romantic friendship.”

  He raised an inquisitive brow.

  “Well, the romance is important,” I explained. “Fawning over one another, doing sweet little things for each other, making love, all of that is important. But it’s not everything. If I get married, I want it to feel like I’m marrying my best friend. I want a partner who will root for my success, whose success I can also root for. I want to experience life alongside another person. My parents were like that.”

  “Not any longer?”

  I shook my head. “My father passed a few years ago. They were thirty-eight and forty-five when they had me. He lived a good long life and it wasn’t really a tragedy, but…” I shrugged, swallowing against the lump that had risen in my throat. “Now my mom doesn’t have her best friend anymore. It’s really heartbreaking sometimes.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better, then, to have several close friends outside of one’s marriage?”

  “I don’t see why a person couldn’t have both. I feel like a person’s spouse should be as important as their siblings and parents and friends combined. Not to take on the burden of those relationships of course. A healthy relationship, in my limited experience, requires both the anchor of a loving partnership and the ballasts of friends and family.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You have a plan. I like that. Now how are you going to go about making it a reality?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know if I ever will. My business is my baby right now. It consumes my life. Well, it and taking care of my mother. She needs more from me these days. I haven’t had time to date, and that doesn’t look like it’s going to change any time soon.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and I thought he really was.

  “Are your parents still around?” I asked.

  “In a manner of speaking. They’re both alive, but they moved to New York after they retired. My mother grew up there and never lost her taste for it. She moved here to marry my father, but I remember her pining for the U.S. even when I was a child.”

  “It must get lonesome, living so far away from your family.”

  His crystal eyes clouded over slightly. “I avoid thinking about it whenever possible. As you said, my work is my baby. Difficult to feel lonely when there’s something to do, isn’t it?”

  I smiled sadly. “Most of the time it is. Until you come home after a long, hard day and have to make your own cocoa and run your own bath.”

  “Or just fall into bed instead because it feels pointless to care for yourself when no one is paying attention.”

  “Yes,” I said, touching his hand sympathetically. “You understand. The loneliness lurks in the periphery, waiting to jump out as soon as you aren’t distracted by something.” I realized I had my hand on his. What am I doing? I moved it to pick up a cracker.

  “It makes me miss living at home with my mom,” I admitted. “She’s a blunt, rough-edged kind of person, but she loves me fiercely. When I first started designing and was spending eighteen, twenty hours a day on low-paying projects, she would go out of her way to make sure that I had all of the things I needed to relax and recharge for the next day. I miss having a person.”

  “Is it something you want?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. I mean, it would start with a person, but I want more than that. I would love to have a family of my own, and babies, and—but it’s about priorities, isn’t it? My priority is my work. If something happens to change that I won’t necessarily block it, but I can’t afford to go searching for it right now.”

  “Well, you’re young,” he said encouragingly. “There will be time.”

  I smiled at him, then shook my head. “I won’t have kids as late in the game as my mom did. The way I see it, I have about three years to find a person, get married, and have a baby. Seems like a lot to ask for, doesn’t it?” I tried to laugh it off, b
ut the sound came out hollow and cold. I bit my lip and looked away.

  Mercifully, he changed the subject.

  “I must ask you, Grace, why are you working so hard on this? You were promised more decorators, weren’t you? And to expect any person to get a project of this size done in less than three weeks seems insane. Are you personally indebted to her?”

  I shook my head. “Not personally. Not even professionally. Not yet, anyway. But I haven’t let a client down yet, and I don’t intend to start now. Especially her. There’s something about her…some kind of power.”

  “Are you afraid of her?”

  He asked it nonchalantly, but there was an intensity in his eyes which startled me.

  “I wouldn’t say that I’m afraid, exactly. More…in awe.”

  “You know she’s only human.”

  “Are you sure?” I was only half-joking.

  He flashed me that disarming grin. “What else would she be? You shouldn’t let yourself be intimidated by her, Grace. You are clearly more talented than she is.”

  “At interior decorating, sure,” I said dismissively. “But she’s an accomplished socialite, and that’s something I could never be.”

  “Oh come now, you’re social enough.”

  “How do you know how social I am?” I grinned, softening my defensiveness into a tease.

  “In my experience, beautiful people move easily through society.”

  He said it so off-handedly, as though he were talking about the weather, that I almost missed the compliment. It wasn’t until he flicked those deep blue eyes up at me from across the counter that I felt color trickle into my cheeks. I broke the gaze, awkwardly glancing around the room to find something else to look at.

  My eyes landed on the clock above the stove. “Oh my gosh, is it really that late? I’m so sorry to keep you here this long. I really should check into the hotel. I hope they haven’t given my room away already. Here—” I fished the key out of my pocket and slid it across the table to him. “Lock up when you leave, will you? And just tuck the key under the statue by the door, please. I’m sorry to take off like this, but I really do need to go.”

  “No worries at all,” he said. “Be safe. It’s dreadful out there.”

  Chapter 7

  Grace

  Dreadful didn’t begin to describe it. It had taken me nearly twenty minutes of slipping, sliding misery to work my way down the long drive to the parkway below. Snow was still falling thickly, obscuring the few cars that were still on the road. I squinted, searching in vain for a cab.

  Shivering, teeth chattering, I waved a hand to flag down any cab I might have missed. It was a pointless endeavor. The driver who had brought me had apparently been one of the last and bravest cabbies out working in this weather, and all I got from my trouble were a couple of blaring horns.

  I certainly couldn’t walk to the hotel. Even if I could find it, I would freeze before I got there. The cold pinched my nose until tears froze on my lashes, and my arms were growing heavy pulling the suitcases.

  Finally admitting defeat, I began the long trudge back up to the mansion. I managed to keep my feet for the most part, only falling twice into snowbanks and once into a thickly concealed bush, which was decent considering how much luggage I was dragging with me.

  I really should have stopped at the hotel first, I thought as I walked. Amelia was just so insistent about me coming out here immediately. Note to self: be firmer with clients about my human limitations henceforth. I knew I wouldn’t, but it felt validating to make the note regardless.

  As I reached the door, I realized helplessly that my fingers were far too numb and clumsy to work the key. Banking on the off-chance that Dan had forgotten to lock the door, I tried the handle. To my personal relief and professional chagrin, the door opened easily.

  I’ll thank and admonish him later, I thought.

  Shivering furiously, I shook the snow off of myself and immediately stripped out of my wet over-things, leaving them in a temporary pile at my feet. I was halfway through taking off my second sock, intending to get out of my wet coveralls next, when Dan turned the corner.

  “No cabs?” he asked a little too innocently.

  “Not a one,” I said through chattering teeth. “Excuse me.”

  The surprise of seeing him there delighted and flustered me at the same time. I picked up one of my bags and tip-toed around icy puddles to the powder room. Once inside, I got the last of my snow-packed clothes off my body and onto the floor.

  As I stood there naked, unzipping my bag, he knocked on the door.

  “Incredible timing,” I muttered. “Yes?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, just freezing. Pretty sure I left my feet out there in the snow.”

  “I’ll build a fire,” he said with a little chuckle.

  “Should you do that?”

  I didn’t know how Amelia would react to us using her house like that. I would hope that she would understand that it was an emergency, but I wasn’t sure she knew the meaning of the word. Dan didn’t answer.

  “Proactive to a fault,” I said, sighing, returning my attention to the task at hand. “Oh, fantastic. That’s great for my professional appearance.”

  In my rush, I had grabbed my night bag. I had a choice between a silky blue nightgown or fuzzy pink pajamas with little yellow ducks on them. I shrugged. At least the ducks would be warm. Dan might never take me seriously again, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

  “Well I’m certainly not putting those wet things back on,” I said firmly. “He’ll just have to look past the ducks.”

  I emerged a moment later, fuzzy from shoulder to heel, and then I took the time to hang my wet things in the bathroom and wipe the puddles up with a rag from a box of supplies. Once that was finished, I followed the scent of fresh kindling into the living room. Dan was on one knee poking at the fire and turned to give me a warm smile as I entered.

  “That looks lovely,” I sighed.

  “It feels even better. Come closer, thaw those poor hands.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as they flicked over my pajamas.

  I tossed my hair nonchalantly and strode over to the fire.

  “Oh, that’s glorious,” I sighed. “Good call.”

  The contrast of the blazing heat against my ice-cold skin made me shiver more fiercely than before, and a heart-melting look of concern touched his face.

  “Are you cold still? Stay there a moment—I’ll find something.”

  “Oh, don’t—” I was going to tell him not to raid Amelia’s house for blankets, but he just waved me off and kept walking out of the room. Since the downstairs furniture had already been moved out, I was glad that we hadn’t gotten around to pulling the tacky carpet up in this room yet. It was a terrible color and pattern, but it was thick and soft and retained heat from the fire.

  I scooted as close to the fire as I could bear and buried my fingers into a pair of orange zig-zags in the carpet. Dan was gone for so long that I began to wonder if he had changed his mind and gone home. I was just beginning to plan how I could make a functional blanket out of a drop cloth when I heard his feet on the rich wood floor outside the living room.

  “Here we are,” he said from behind a huge stack of blankets. “She won’t miss them. I took them from Mr. Harris’ room, and we’ll have them back before she arrives.”

  “I’m too cold and tired to argue,” I said with a sigh. “But remind me tomorrow to hold a team meeting about appropriate conduct in the client’s house.”

  If it was possible for a person to chuckle arrogantly, Dan managed to do it. I narrowed my eyes at him and he winked at me, which made me smile in spite of myself.

  “We’ll have a secondary meeting about why it’s a sin to charm your boss,” I said, catching the blanket he tossed at me.

  “Oh? Are you charmed?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s jet lag. I haven’t decided.”

  “I wouldn’t think the two could be con
fused, myself.”

  “Have you ever had jet lag? It does some weird things to your brain.”

  He had been arranging blankets around us as we spoke, setting a few folded ones around for cushions and opening the remaining few over us. I snuggled into the nest, recognizing that in doing so I was utterly discrediting everything I had just said about propriety.

  “I’ve had jet lag, and I’ve been charmed,” he said. “Frankly, I prefer the former.” A shadow crossed his eyes as he said this, but it passed so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it. He smiled at me and changed the subject before I could ask why. “What on earth possessed you to bring ducky pajamas to a job site?”

  I chuckled sleepily and shuffled my body closer to his. For warmth, of course.

  “I didn’t mean to. I was going to stop at my hotel and check in before I came out here, but Amelia insisted that I come and get started right away.”

  “You flew in today?”

  I nodded, barely able to keep my eyes open. My head was heavy, and the blanket cushion wasn’t doing a very good imitation of a pillow. Dan must have noticed my discomfort, because he slid his arm beneath my neck.

  “Try that,” he said softly.

  “Much better,” I murmured. “Keep talking so I don’t fall asleep.”

  “Once upon a time,” he murmured. “High in a castle up in the clouds, far away from any town, lived a fairy princess.”

  “Traitor,” I said through a yawn.

  He chuckled warmly as I slid off to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Grace

  Early the next morning, I awoke in his arms. I blinked sleepily at the dead fire, floating in a haze of contentment and peace, forgetting for a moment where and who I was. The nest of blankets was soft and warm, and his steady, even breath kept time with mine. No bed had ever given me a better night’s sleep. Too bad that Amelia could be here any minute.

  My eyes widened suddenly. She could be here any minute!

  “Dan, wake up,” I said gently.