Snobby people like your parents—people who put their own selfish wants before their son’s needs. She thought about the instant bond her father and Eric had shared. She suspected, without his love and encouragement, the guy standing in front of her might have given up on humanity altogether.
“Well, I owe you. Without your connections, I couldn’t have gotten past the parking attendants. And…”
He raised an eyebrow when she paused.
“I’m proud of you, Eric. And you’re nothing like them. I know you worry about that.”
“So, you’re saying I’m not conniving, self-serving, and completely amoral?”
There was too much deep-seated hurt in his joke to laugh at it. “Not even a little.”
For one brief moment, his guard slipped, and a raw vulnerability reflected in his eyes. “Our choices make us who we are. Your father taught me that. And I will never choose to let money drive my decisions. I’m not like those rich clowns at that party, and I couldn’t be happier about that fact.”
She bumped his arm with her elbow. “I’m glad. And I mean it—I owe you.”
A heaviness threatened the office, and she glanced to Sarah for help, hating to see this side of her usually goofy, if not snarky, friend linger too long. To her relief, her assistant winked and pulled something out of her top drawer.
“Actually, you’re going to have to owe him twice. The American Architecture Organization tickets arrived today.” She waved an envelope above her head, an errant curl escaping to fall beside the beauty mark high on her right cheek.
Eric made a face—one that gave the impression he had a charley horse in his right calf. “The architecture convention? That’s this month?”
Madison pointed at him, grateful to see him snap out of his past. “Yes, it’s next weekend, and you already promised to take Sarah’s place. Both days. And at least it’s local this year.” She took it as a white flag when he only frowned.
Leaning a hip against the wall, she resisted the tug the AAO brought on her heart. She didn’t think the tender muscle’s walls could handle that ache on top of the loss of her bracelet.
“What’s up?” Eric folded his arms, watching her. “You still thinking about not getting the contract?”
“Or is it your charm?” More curls fell loose as the receptionist shut down her computer and stood. “The lady at the hotel is looking for it. I'm sure it’ll turn up.”
She clung to their hope-filled smiles. “Sorry, guys. Yes, I’m dying about my bracelet. And it was hard finding out about the Old Theatre the way I did.” Simon Weston’s insulting words shuffled front and center. Right along with his sister’s big announcement, but those weren’t her only worries. “Maybe Eric was right, and I was too ambitious changing the company’s primary direction. And location.”
When she didn’t elaborate, Eric placed his palms together and pointed his fingers at her. “First of all, I never said you were too anything. I merely stated the higher risk. Which is my job. But…” He waited for her full attention. “I’ll ask you the same thing I did six months ago. Will being a residential architect make you happy?”
She dropped his gaze. “No.”
“We have a solid plan, Mads. And an equally solid one if things don’t pan out here. Designing commercial and public buildings has been your dream since I’ve known you, and one of the promises I made your dad was to not let you settle.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned against the front desk. “I think it’ll work out. With or without Mr. Money.”
She wanted to believe his words. She’d believed them in February when her father’s lease had come up for renewal and she’d decided not to resign. She’d also trusted them when she’d made the choice to pursue commercial contracts instead of residential, like her father.
Scary leaps, Madison.
“You’ve already got two great contracts in the works,” Sarah added. “Royce’s Charter Club is practically a done deal, and his sister-in-law, Camille, and her husband are all but begging you to design their new restaurant.”
Eric added his agreement with several nods.
“You’re right. I just hope moving the business to La Jolla pays off like I’ve envisioned it will. Your numbers painted a pretty clear picture, Eric. If I can’t make it in commercial, Dad’s old contacts and residential designs will barely keep us afloat here.”
He bounced away her concern with a lazy shrug. “Still not worried.”
She matched Sarah’s eye roll.
“Well,” the receptionist began, “what I want to know is what Cutter was like up close in person? Is he really as yummy as his pics in the magazines?” She held up last month’s business section of the newspaper, Jase’s face front and center.
Madison didn’t have to study the picture to know his lips curved the slightest bit higher on the left side but did anyway, because it was a great smile. And so much better in person.
“I bet he had every girl at the gala swooning at his feet.” Sarah batted her lashes in Eric’s direction and fanned herself with the magazine.
He gagged. “Swooning?”
Laughing, Madison pulled a set of keys from her pocket and shooed them away. “Why don't you both take off?” She placed Sarah’s purse in her hands when she hesitated and pushed her down the back hall after Eric, who didn’t have to be told twice. “I’ve got this. Go enjoy your night.”
She watched them leave before reaching over to shut off the lights, but the sound of a loud engine stopped her. A red pickup parked along the curb directly in front of her firm. Straightening her pencil skirt, she checked the time, half-hoping the new arrival was looking for either financial help or a spring bouquet. Then again, she needed more contracts.
When a gentleman got out of the truck and stepped up to her door, Eric’s blundering echoed in her ears. Haggard. She ran a conscious hand over her jade sweater and tried to muster up a natural smile.
Perhaps this guy in the fancy truck and suit will come in with the job of a lifetime.
A smirk tugged at her lips as she envisioned Blakeley A&D outshining Weston Designs, but she had a hard time holding the smile when the man walked inside.
“Mr. Cutter,” she breathed.
He pushed up his sunglasses to rest in his dark waves, his expression hinting of mischief. Or secrets. She didn’t know him well enough to read the subtle lines of that grin he wore.
“Miss Blakeley.”
Her skin heated and tattled on her nerves. “What brings you here?”
“You disappeared last night.”
She couldn’t tell him sticking around would have been a torture not even his charming self could compensate for. “You seemed pretty busy.”
“Yeah. That. The plan was to make the announcement next week. Natasha got ambitious.”
She smiled and tried to mean it but was still sore over losing to Simon. “So, what can I do for you?”
Despite her best mental prowess, she couldn’t figure out why Jase Cutter was standing in her office. And making her nervous. But then he held up her silver bracelet, and she all but vaulted over the desk to get to him, a dam of emotion threatening to spill over its feeble edge.
“How did you get that?” She reached out to take it, but he held it up, dangling the tiny charm above her open palm.
“You must have lost it last night right before we were rudely interrupted,” he said. “Something I feel terrible about, by the way. That, and running you over.”
“It was my fault. I really am sorry.”
He took her wrist and turned it over, his gaze not leaving hers. “Don’t be.”
She stood perfectly still as he carefully fastened the clasp. It was all she could do to hold back a shiver as his fingers grazed the tender skin on the inside of her wrist. When he finished, she glanced up to see only pure pleasure in that dangerous grin of his. The gesture sent her pulse sprinting.
“I take it the bracelet means a lot to you.”
“It does.” She watch
ed the light dance off of the charm in its familiar way. “It was a gift from my father. His last gift actually.” She blinked a few times to keep her emotions in check. “I didn’t think I’d see it again.”
“I heard about your father, and I’m sorry. Losing someone you love is…hard.”
“I appreciate that. And, thank you for returning this.”
He smiled a welcome then looked around her office, taking his time in his appraisal. She laced her fingers together to keep from fidgeting, wishing she were in his head. When she caught his slight nod, she exhaled.
“This place is fantastic. Did you have to do a lot of work to it?”
“Sort of.” She took a tiny step back, realizing, in her enthusiasm to get her bracelet, she’d invaded his personal space. “It had been a nail salon for six years, so we gutted the inside. I think originally it was an art studio, though. There were several large and small rectangular shadows on the exposed wood where the light had most likely faded it around paintings. Plus, I swear I can still smell turpentine in my office. Which, strangely, doesn’t bother me. I’d love to have seen it back then.” She stopped herself, not wanting to bore him.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How long have you been an architect? I mean, the work I saw in your portfolio is timeless—not something you usually see from our generation. Most are going for the wow factor.”
She considered a moment. “I think for some architects it’s the lure to stretch the bounds of convention. And gravity. It’s tempting to any designer.”
“From what I saw, you haven’t given in to that particular temptation. Even here.” He gestured to the straight, sophisticated contours of the interior. “It’s simple yet a sort of bold classic. You’ve reimagined the room but kept its roots, bringing to life your vision perfectly.” His attention rested back on her. “You did the same thing with that pink cottage you finished restoring last month.”
She put a hand over her heart. “The Shell Garden? I adore that little shop.” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait. How’d you know about Cécile’s place? I haven’t gotten those pictures on my site yet.”
He grinned. “Google.”
There wasn’t an ounce of shame in his answer, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or blush.
“Your approach is unique. It’s like you have this…tangible connection with each design, or…I don’t know.” He laughed, but the timid sound contradicted his shameless confession from seconds before. “I’m not making any sense.”
A physical rush shot through her, radiating warmth within her heart. Not only because he’d searched out her designs but because of what he’d taken away from her work. “No, you are. I guess, for me, it’s all about finding the heart of a project, its story, and weaving those elements into a fresh and stirring design. Whether a restoration or a new build, there's always a story attached, you know? And it’s those details that really grab you.” She regarded the photographs of her dad’s work, knowing each one had a tale to tell. “My father was the same.”
He ran a hand over the cream and burnt cayenne swirled marble of Sarah’s desk. “You really think that?” His thumb traced a dark, almost black streak in the pattern. “That each piece of land has a story?”
She didn’t have to think about her answer. “Absolutely.”
His hand stilled. “What if the story isn’t a happy one?”
Pulling from a place of honesty, she responded to the cautious curiosity reflected in his eyes. “Out of sadness, even cruelty, lies hope. Even if that hope is only a new beginning.”
He met her gaze; a physical charge stirred the air.
“And you can find those stories? Their new beginnings?”
“Well,” she hesitated. “A little history or background helps, but…”
“But?”
He’d leaned in, hardly blinking, and she shrugged, though her arms prickled with the change in the space between them. “Sometimes I just feel it. Like an impression or sentiment, and I let that guide me.” She winced when he only stared. “You think I’m crazy.”
He shoved his hands into his slacks’ pockets. “No, it’s brilliant. And I know it’s not any consolation, but your bid would have been right at the top with more restoration experience. You have a gift.”
His praise was like a summer sunrise, filling her with a confidence to take on anything she set her heart to, and she returned his admission with one of her own. “Thank you. I had a good teacher.”
“Your father?”
She nodded. “He taught me everything he knew. He started Blakeley Architecture & Design over fifteen years ago in a small rundown corner office he rented in the city. He loved it.” She laughed. “The business. Not the office.”
“Of course.”
The amusement in his voice sparked another kind of energy, and heat soaked deep under her skin. “And now I’m rambling.”
“Not at all. Your father sounds like a great man. It’s obvious he passed on his passion for design.”
The compliment struck her. “With all of the sharks out there, I don’t think I’d make it if it were merely a business to me.” She thought of Simon Weston’s cheap-shot words. “Besides, there are too many stories out there waiting to be told, right? I’d hate to think they’d be forgotten.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room echoed from Sarah's miniature Eiffel Tower clock as it kept time. Then he focused on her with an intensity that magnified each fleck of color in his hazel eyes.
“What would you think of doing a personal project for me?”
She blinked. Personal project?
“It's not as glamorous as the Old Theatre restoration.” His brows carved downward. “And it's nothing like the work I'm sure you’re used to, but…”
He shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts straight, but all she registered were the words personal and project.
“It's in Idaho.”
Wait. “Idaho?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a ranch a few miles north of Sun Valley.”
“You want me to work on a personal project for you? In Idaho?” She hadn’t seen that detour coming.
“Yes,” he said, but it sounded like a question. “Except, I’m afraid it’ll be a simple residential design.”
And with those two words, her excitement broke like the tip of a drafting pencil when pressed too hard. With all of her current work to build her portfolio with larger-scale projects, a house in Idaho was a step back.
But this is Jase Cutter.
She stalled. “What sort of residence?”
“Honestly, I'm not exactly sure.” He played with the stack of business cards on the desk. “Maybe something large enough for a guest or two to stay but small enough to keep everyone together?” He slipped his hands into his pockets only to pull them back out and fidget with the cards again. “I guess what I mean is…a place you’d want to call…”
“Home?”
There was a guarded edge to his expression, but he nodded. “Yes.”
“Are there any buildings up there now? Or, is this new property?”
“There’s nothing there anymore but raw land.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been back in a while, but I’m sure it’s the same.”
She chilled suddenly and pulled her sweater sleeves down over her palms, despite the warm temperature in the office. “When do you want to start?”
“As soon as possible. I think.”
Okay. Whatever this project was, it appeared to affect him deeply if the way he avoided her eyes said anything.
“I understand if you can’t do it, or if the timing is bad. It was a random thought, really. Building probably isn’t a good idea anyway—”
“I’d love to.” She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but the moment he’d started to take the offer back, she’d panicked.
Abandoning the cards, he studied her closely. “You don’t mind it’s out of state?”
“Not at all.” Working on a project for Jase—any project—could lead to other incredible opportunities.
And wasn’t I hoping to show him what I can do?
It wasn’t the type of job she’d hoped for with her new start, but if it had potential to open big doors, she wasn’t going to turn him down.
She quirked her lips in a lopsided grin. “I’ve never been to Sun Valley. Come to think of it, I’ve never been to Idaho.”
“Really?”
She laughed. “Really.”
“Man, it’s incredible up there. At least that area is. Pines three stories high, a fishing creek. The ranch and surrounding land is pretty diverse, as far as nature goes. I know most people roll their eyes or think potato fields when you say Idaho, but…it has its charm.”
A flutter of anticipation had her fingers itching to sketch the possibilities. “Sounds like there’s a ton of inspiration. A lot to pull from.”
His nod was stiff. “There’s definitely inspiration there. It’s just been…buried.” He combed his fingers through his hair, like he debated his next words. Readjusting his dislodged sunglasses in his thick waves, he said, “You could meet me up there to see the property for yourself.”
The curve ball hit her heart with a mess of quick beats. “How soon are you thinking?”
“The sooner the better. Before I have a chance to change my mind.”
The last part he’d said with a chuckle, but he didn’t completely sell her on it, and she got the impression he was serious. She didn't want to lose the project before it got started. Not when she’d just jumped in with both feet.
“I'll be up there the end of next week,” he said. “I know it’s short notice, but if you can swing it, we can walk the land together and go over some ideas.”
Remembering the AAO convention, the one she’d gone to every year with her father since she was twelve, she hesitated. Did she want to miss it? Would she regret not going? She could squeeze in part of the first day. It would just be tight.
Scary leaps, right? It was almost as if her father spoke the words.
Madison gulped down her nostalgia. “I should be able to make that work.”
A Heart's Design Page 4