A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Natalee Cooper

  A Heart’s Design

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “You keep doing that.”

  “Doing what?” He walked backward, taking her with him.

  “Catching me off guard.”

  At the edge of the dance floor, out of the way of the brighter lights, he drew her close. He must have sensed her uncertainty because he slowed their steps and leaned in.

  “Dance with me, Madison.”

  Her name whispered from his lips, the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers, sent a shiver straight through her, enough he must have felt it. “You're making me nervous.”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  The sincerity in his eyes echoed his words, and she focused on him, letting everyone else around them fade into the background.

  “But I do have a confession.” His hand slid to the middle of her back as if he was afraid she'd pull away. “You made me nervous the moment I walked into the restaurant and saw you standing there.”

  The warmth on her cheeks had nothing to do with the dancing. “It’s—it’s the music. And all of the lights…”

  He moved closer, his breath teasing the tender spot behind her ear as he gave a hesitant laugh. “It isn't the music or lights that have been breaking into my thoughts since the gala.”

  Praise for Natalee Cooper

  A HEART’S DESIGN was a 2016 Pitch Wars Finalist.

  A Heart’s Design

  by

  Natalee Cooper

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Heart’s Design

  COPYRIGHT © 2019 by Natalee Cooper

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2019

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2668-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2669-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Cris.

  You have my whole heart—

  thank you for the safe place to land, always.

  To my children—

  your encouragement made magic happen.

  Mom—

  every dreamer needs a fan like you.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you all. Thank you again and again. I could never have made this dream a reality on my own.

  To my agent, Dawn Dowdle, thanks for taking a chance on me. And to my editor, Stacy Holmes, thanks for the excitement and dedication to help me create Jase and Madison’s happily ever after. Your story wisdom has been invaluable. To my publisher, The Wild Rose Press, thank you for making me feel like family.

  For Cris, the man in my own love story. You pull me up when I am down, lift me higher when I am soaring, and always, always keep me grounded when it is most important. I love you. And for my children and all the times I’ve told them, “Just a sec, let me just get this down…” THANK YOU! I’ll never forget all your prayers, love, and patience. You are my everything. To my parents, whose love supported me through it all. I’m lucky to call you Mom and Dad. For my extended family, your excitement has carried me through so much, thank you!

  From the very beginning, Jessica Clark, Adam Luker, Matt Brunsvik, and Bed Hodson, thank you for Gabba and the safe space to share my words. And to those along the way, especially Tiffany Odekirk and Wendy Jessen, thank you for the last-minute reads and constant cheerleading! To Jolene Perry, Ellisa Barr, Cassie Mae, and Kaylee Baldwin, your feedback, as always, has elevated my writing. And to the most fantastic accountability partner, thank you Leah Garriott—you kept me writing as well as sane.

  And, with a full heart, thank you, readers, for giving my words a place in your hearts. It means the world.

  Chapter One

  Madison Blakeley stared wide-eyed into a sea of dark suits and little black dresses, all accented with platinum cufflinks and cascading diamonds. She smoothed her scarlet gown with shaky hands then twisted her bracelet as her choice in evening wear taunted her already tight nerves. “Don’t ever let me take the advice of a style magazine again. Bold colors are definitely not all the rage.”

  “Oh, come on.” Eric Strand, her friend and companion for the evening, peered over the crowd. “Those two women over there aren’t wearing black. And at least you didn’t take advice from the senator’s wife.” He gestured to the curvy blonde’s gold and white striped skirt that could have doubled as a mini circus tent.

  He had a point.

  The Stratton hotel stunned tonight with its crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, their dramatic light catching the gold damask patterns in the burgundy walls. She glanced between the white marble fountain in the center of the room, with its raised fluted basin, to the scrolled custom crown molding, and her fingertips itched to trace the details. Both features stood as tributes to the ballroom’s original architectural history—something she’d be thrilled to lose herself in if it were any other night.

  Where are you, Jase Cutter?

  Madison followed Eric through a crowd of guests, their cocktail of perfumes and cologne whispering of money and importance. “Any sign of him?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure the bachelor won’t be too hard to spot. Or, what is it they’re calling him these days? ‘Brilliant real estate mogul?’” His snort drew a few looks.

  “And you’re sure he’ll be here?”

  He stopped behind an older couple waiting to accept their drinks at the bar, his voice going flat. “Trust me. He’s on the list.” The last three words were emphasized with air quotes. “All the one percenters in southern California are.”

  “Well, I don’t care what they’re calling him. I care about making a good impression.”

  No. Not good—unforgettable.

  “Right. Give Mr. Cutter a face to go with your bid.” He snapped his heels together, his shaggy hair falling across his eyes as he gave her a sharp nod. All that was missing was his signature mock salute.

  She smothered a laugh behind her hand. “Stop. This contract is important. Y
ou understand that better than anyone.”

  “I do. Unfortunately…”

  “Not all wealthy people are awful, you know.”

  “Pleading the fifth on that one.” His shoulders relaxed. “Listen, I’m already in, and not just because we’re friends or you’re my boss. If you’re determined to get away from designing the single-family homes and pool houses your father was known for, I’m behind you four hundred and ninety-nine percent. You know this.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled but twisted her fingers together only to smooth out her gown again, her stomach knotting like it did right before boarding a plane. “I guess I still feel like Richard Blakeley’s baby girl playing shop in his architecture firm, you know? Working with Jase Cutter could change that.”

  He didn’t respond one way or another, and she wasn’t surprised. She was simply grateful he’d pulled some strings to get them into the gala, so she could make a business connection with the entrepreneur.

  If we can find him.

  “Just be prepared to get in line behind his entourage. No doubt he’ll be surrounded by a mob of women.” Eric rubbed his chin. “Actually, that might make him easier to find.”

  She stilled. What if Jase lumps me in with his fan club? She couldn’t afford that. He needed to see her as a professional.

  Wishing her father were here, she lifted the charm on her bracelet and rubbed a finger over the engraving. To my Sidekick. Love, Dad.

  A familiar ache stole through her, but instead of filling her with grief, it gave her determination. Her father had chased his dreams, and she could chase hers, too.

  “What are you having?”

  Eric’s question jarred her from her thoughts, and she let the charm drop. “Water, please.”

  He turned back to the bartender. “A scotch and soda for me, and a water with a wedge of lemon for the lady.”

  Deep laughter cut above the music and loud chatter, and she spun to see a camera crew circle a small group of men.

  Anticipation had her tugging her companion’s arm. “Think that’s him?”

  “I can’t tell…maybe?”

  She gave his arm another pull, but he gestured to the bartender who was still getting their drinks.

  “Oh. Right.” Madison looked from the bartender to the group, not realizing she drummed her fingers on the counter until Eric pinned them to the wood.

  “Go.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m wearing a tux, attending a stuffy gala, and looking up everyone’s upturned noses. All so we can chat with Mr. Money over there. So, yes. Go. I’d like to leave before someone recognizes me. Or worse, I run into the parents.”

  Madison took his scowl for what it was, a judgment of the people around them in all their rich and entitled glory. No one could blame him with his history.

  “I owe you, Eric.” She patted his satin lapel. “And bowties suit you.” Laughter escaped her lips when he grunted, but without another word, she spun around and headed toward the commotion.

  When she reached the other side of the room, the group near the camera had split up, and her steps slowed. Most of the gentlemen were easy to pick through with their silver receding hairlines. Her sights, however, were set on broad shoulders and wavy hair hinting of ground cloves. But as the cameras backed away, Jase Cutter was quickly surrounded by a handful of women.

  No. Make that two handfuls of women. In all their French silk and custom tailoring.

  “Figures.”

  She stopped next to one of the antique-capped marble columns and debated what to do. On its other side stood a man with perfectly sculpted hair more blond than sandy. The stranger adjusted his bowtie, his long fingers straightening the paisley silk. He had maybe ten years on her own twenty-six.

  Something about him brushed at her memory, and then it hit her. “Simon Weston. With Weston Designs in Seattle?”

  The man gave her a vague nod, barely glancing in her direction.

  “I’m Madison Blakeley with Blakeley Architecture & Design.” She held out a hand, which he took in a limp shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your work is incredible. You designed the library on the corner of Fifth and Heaston, if I remember right?”

  He adjusted the cuffs of his starched shirt then sniffed, wrinkling his straight nose. “I did.”

  She waited for him to say more, but he stood silent.

  Okay…

  Complimenting the library had been sincere. Simon Weston was considered one of the west coast’s top architectural designers. A fact clouding his head, apparently. What confused her was why he was here. Unless…

  Unless he was her competition. Here to schmooze Cutter like she was.

  Tilting her head, she studied both the Seattle architect and the bachelor. The Old Theatre restoration had tempted several architects to bid, including her. It made sense Simon would also be in the running for Jase’s project, and more stupid knots tortured her stomach.

  It’s fine. Completely fine. Everything will be fine.

  “So, you’re an architect?” he asked, only slightly shifting her way.

  “I am.”

  “Local?”

  She nodded. “San Diego has been Blakeley A&D’s home for fifteen years. I took it over a year ago, last August.”

  More silence ensued, and for several heartbeats, a harmony of clinking glass, muffled conversation, and soft music were the only sounds between them. She didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.

  Glancing back at the bar, she wondered what kept Eric, only to see him cornered by the mayor.

  Straightening her shoulders, she returned her attention to the architect. “Did you see the news about Cutter’s recent project?” She was fishing for his motives and didn’t even care, but if his eyes were a window to his soul, he’d boarded them up and pulled the curtains.

  “I’ve known about it for several months.”

  “Oh.”

  “Naturally, I was consulted.” His gaze focused solely on her for the first time. “But as so often happens, a headline project like this always attracts amateurs—architects who don’t realize what an undertaking a restoration of this size will be. Or the vision and experience it requires.”

  She brushed at a lock of dark hair, working hard to keep a pleasant smile tacked in place. “There’s a lot of history in the Old Theatre. Something only a native of the city can appreciate. I hope Mr. Cutter won’t dismiss the value of tapping into that knowledge.” She nodded in Jase’s direction. “It would be disappointing for him to overlook talent in favor of years in the industry.”

  As if aware he was being discussed, Jase looked up from the conversation he was having and glanced their way. A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth, and she swallowed, shocked at the heat feathering her skin. The papers had not embellished that particular asset of his.

  A throat cleared next to her, and she turned back to Simon.

  He pinned her with a stony stare, his brows angled low over gray eyes. “You know, I’ve seen your type before when it comes to Cutter and his projects. Young. Ambitious.” He gave her an obvious once-over. “You think you’ve got what it takes to play with designers who’ve sacrificed years developing their craft, gaining experience, and building business relationships with industry specialists. And when you realize you don’t, you use your feminine persuasions to get what you want.”

  Fire sparked in her veins as she stared, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

  “Maybe I’m wrong and you’re different.” He lifted a shoulder. “Either way, you won’t have to worry. Cutter and I met about the contract this morning.”

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she stumbled over her words. “He’s already given you the contract? For the restoration?”

  “And the surrounding shopping district.”

  “But the announcement is still a week out.” She scanned the bar again, silently pleading for Eric to come and help her challenge the man’s claims.

  “Sorry to be the one to tell you.”

&n
bsp; Facing Simon’s stiff posture and aloof expression, both shouting he wasn’t remorseful at all, her disbelief drew out sharper than she intended as she battled the sinking weight in her stomach. “Forgive me, but I think I’ll wait to hear who’s won the contract from Cutter himself.”

  If the Seattle architect heard her, he didn’t show it. Neither did he look back as he walked away. And the more space the designer put between them, the less tall she stood—until all the excitement and hard work she’d put into her bid for the restoration fell like a crumpled, discarded drawing to the floor, where it was trampled by the expensive shoes of the strangers around her. What had been a brightly drafted vision for her company’s future might now be a shadowed reality—one that tempted her to crawl into its dark hole.

  But as she touched the silver charm on her bracelet again, felt its warmth against her skin, she lifted her head. She hadn’t promised her father defeat. Or acceptance. She’d promised scary leaps and new beginnings.

  ****

  Jase stood on the balcony, welcoming the salt-brewed air coming off the Pacific. He mentally shut out the noise of the gala and all of the long looks and not-so-subtle touches. He’d spent twenty minutes alone trying to escape the claws of the senator’s daughter. Not that all of the women on the other side of those doors were that determined. Some actually seemed to know the meaning of personal space.

  He shrugged out of his tailored suitcoat and laid it over the balustrade, fighting a yawn. Thoughts of the letter sitting on his nightstand, and his sleep stolen since its arrival, weren’t as easy to fight—or forget. Nor were the nightmares that had come with it. Between that stress and his latest project, his mind resembled the sand below, where the crashing waves pelted and clobbered the tiny granules.

  A killdeer called out in the distance, and he closed his eyes, pleading with nature to restore his mental balance before he had to return to the gala. But not thirty seconds passed before a sharp, too-sweet fragrance broke his peace, and he opened his eyes to find Simon’s sister two feet away, her hot pink dress clashing loudly with his mood.

  Natasha tucked a platinum curl behind one ear, the large diamonds in her bracelet catching what light was left of the late summer sunset. “Mind if I join you?”