A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  “You can handle Simon,” Sarah said.

  The confident declaration pulled a laugh from deep within her, and she could have hugged her receptionist right there. “You’re the best. And you’re right. We’re going to nail the Idaho project and do the same with the Old Theatre.”

  Eric’s nod lacked Sarah’s enthusiasm, probably because he understood the blow they’d just received better than anyone, but Madison gave him points for trying to stay positive.

  “How's the Manor House coming?” he asked.

  “Great. The windows should be in soon.”

  “It's going to be killer. I can't wait to see the project finished,” he said.

  “Same,” Sarah chimed in.

  “Thanks, you guys.” She watched them leave, knowing it was close to closing, but didn’t follow. Instead, she shifted her thoughts to the Manor House Country Inn—the one, and only, commercial contract going well since their move to La Jolla. That design held a lot of pride for her. The couple having it built called often, telling her how much they loved it, too.

  It was good to be reminded of those people who cared and trusted her. Jase did, and not with one project but two. He found her capable and saw her ability.

  So, why didn’t Camille? Or Royce?

  As the shadows grew in her office, so did her suspicion over her bad luck with the restaurant and Charter Club. She pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the tension building behind her eyes, trying to sort through it all. Simon was snotty and prideful, but vindictive? And why? Because Jase thought her designs worthy?

  She stood and wandered from her window to the bookshelf then back to the window, her focus on nothing at all. And then her laughter broke the quiet, the sound as tired as her mind and body. The truth was, she had no control. Not over which clients stayed, and which ones left. Not over other bids, or other firms. It was a startling reality.

  Picking up the photo sitting on her desk, Madison looked into her father’s smiling eyes. They seemed to stare into her soul, and she begged him to give her all the answers. To tell her she imagined her worry over Camille and Royce, but he didn’t.

  After several quiet minutes, she kissed her fingers and pressed them over his heart.

  I miss you, Daddy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jase’s head pulsed under the strobe lights. The room was cool, despite the large crowd gathered in the nightclub. Not a conventional spot to conclude business, but Missy Oldman resembled nothing close to convention.

  He ducked to avoid the large emerald feathers in the heiress’ hair as she spun to yell something toward the man in the music box. Her whole hippie bohemian motif was absurd, but he supposed if anyone could pull it off, it was Missy.

  If this deal hadn’t been in the works for fifteen months, and one he’d fought tirelessly over—and possibly groveled for—he’d have put his foot down at going clubbing to celebrate the sale of her entire southern estate to him. But a happy Missy meant a good business relationship for the future. And he still had an interest in at least two of her dozen or so pieces of real estate.

  Strangers and couples on all sides danced to the layered beats, their moves playing off each other like some mixed-up version of truth or dare, and his thoughts hovered on Madison. He couldn’t picture her in a place like this—a place where women wore too little and men stared too long.

  No, she was a horse ride on a Saturday morning. A dip your toes in the creek on a Sunday afternoon, or a walk along the pier on a Friday night sort of girl. She was the kind to lay your head in her lap and fall asleep with her fingers in your hair.

  Or vice versa.

  The room temp seemed ten degrees hotter, and he tugged on his jacket collar. He hoped he’d made the right move yesterday in making her the restoration offer and, like before, thoughts of that fence in Idaho with architect Madison on one side and fun, warm-hearted, adorably sexy Madison on the other came to mind. And again, he wondered if there needed to be a choice.

  “Hey, you look a little lost. Want to join us?”

  A woman with a heart-shaped face and fire-red lips appeared in front of him. Golden blonde spikes tipped purple were strategically styled to frame her face—a face turned up and hopeful.

  “Uh.” He squinted under the low lights, wondering where Missy had gone. “I’m actually waiting for a friend.”

  The girl’s fake nails dug into his skin as she wrapped her fingers around his arm and gestured over her shoulder. “You can come wait with us?”

  His gaze followed hers to a group of five staring women with way too much energy between them. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t.”

  His new lady friend stepped closer anyway. As polite as possible, he shrugged out of her hold with another apology, grateful when at last she got the hint and rejoined her little group.

  A flash struck from his peripheral, and he forced his jaw to relax before turning to stare at the camera phone pointed at him.

  “Hey, man, you’re that big real estate shark, right? You’re here with Missy?” The guy smacked his gum between each word.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “Oh, don’t hurt the poor darling’s feelings.” Missy appeared at his elbow. “This will probably feed the parasite for a month. Might as well make the shot count.”

  A groan rose up in his throat, but he faced the camera, allowing the heiress to press her cheek next to his while the punk snapped a shot. When the dude readjusted for another, Jase threw up a hand then whispered close to Missy’s ear to be heard over the noise. “I’ve got to run. It was a pleasure closing the deal.”

  “It definitely was.”

  “Don’t start any bar fights.”

  “Who, me?” Her long, glittered lashes fluttered.

  Jase took the hand she held out and lifted it to his lips, knowing she wouldn’t settle for a handshake. Not Missy.

  She then waved him off. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Outside, the blast of frigid, unseasonal San Diego air was a huge welcome as he gave his name to the valet, but the second sweep of cold air held moisture. The hair on his arms stood up as thunder grumbled. Even for the city lights and late hour, dark clouds were visible in the night sky, their heavy masses inky, roiling shadows.

  Rubbing his arms, he muttered self-admonitions under his breath to not be pathetic. He was a grown man, for crying out loud. An adult. Storms couldn’t break him. Lightning shouldn’t paralyze him.

  They shouldn’t.

  He startled as another clap of thunder hit followed by a streak of light in the distance. A couple narrowed their eyes in his direction as he shrunk back a step, and he barely waited for the trim, neatly dressed valet to open his truck’s door before shoving a large bill into his hand.

  The rain’s patter against the windshield increased the closer he drove to his home. The music shouting through the station did little to drown it. With the storm’s pressure, and its taunting fingers of static light grabbing for the ground, his nerves weakened, and his breathing shallowed—so much so, his vision blurred as he pulled into his garage and cut the engine. He’d always labeled himself a fighter, but tonight, the torrent raging outside left him powerless.

  Dig deep.

  Darkness engulfed him as the headlights eventually faded, and, with the waning light, he shifted his focus to things more under his control. Like finalizing things with the bank for William’s ranch. Making peace with Idaho. Appeasing the community’s concerns about the restoration—which hopefully will happen now with Madison onboard—and getting Simon to not only see her potential but use her skills.

  He pulled his keys from the ignition, the storm no longer the biggest challenge he faced. Something told him that last particular battle might be two hundred times more difficult than closing a deal with Missy Oldman.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Madison held the schematics for the Idaho design tightly in one hand as the elevator ascended to the twelfth floor. She'd forgone her black
power suit in lieu of something softer, but as the little red light displaying the floors counted higher, the choice felt like a mistake. In her suit, she’d be less likely to forget her personal vow to keep things professional with Jase.

  Making sure her blue oxford was still tucked in, she adjusted the wide brown leather belt at her waist and took a deep breath. And then another. The last time they’d spoken had been only two days ago—yet the thrill that had rushed her insides at the sound of his voice then, hadn’t ebbed. Correction, she thought, checking her reflection in the mirror. That thrill hadn’t ebbed since their time in Idaho.

  Worse than that realization, were the daydreams. The most recent featuring him as her date to the movie in the park tomorrow night instead of the girls’ night out that it was supposed to be. Though, who could blame her? A blanket for two under a night sky watching an old classic black and white film with him and that grin of his? Where she’d make him laugh, chase away his ghosts, and…

  “Professional, Madison. Keep it professional.”

  The elevator dinged, signaling his floor, and she smoothed her favorite knee-length, camel-colored skirt with a shaky hand, forcing herself past the sliding doors and into the bright lobby.

  All concerns vanished in the floor-to-ceiling windows and antiqued black walnut furnishings. Large canvas prints of what she assumed were photos of his developments lined one wall. Beneath her feet, in a simple grid pattern, was dark stone tile. Love wasn’t a strong enough verb. The mogul’s story wasn’t exactly unique, but it awed her how someone so young could turn one property investment into the multi-million-dollar holdings he claimed today.

  “May I help you?”

  Madison smiled at the regal woman behind the large desk. “This is a great space.” She held out her hand. “Sorry. I'm Madison Blakeley. I have some designs to drop off to Mr. Cutter.”

  “Oh, yes. I'm Penny. We've spoken on the phone. It's so nice to finally meet you.” She stood and accepted her handshake. “Jase has nothing but great things to say about your work.”

  She hadn’t put much thought into Jase’s assistant, but somehow Penny seemed completely perfect for the post. Maybe it was her friendly voice, or gentle features…but the woman radiated calm. Something she suspected Jase could use in huge doses. “Thank you.”

  “So, tell me, how did you like the ranch?”

  “Amazing. I warned Mr. Cutter about letting people visit, because once they see a sunrise or sunset from his wraparound porch, they'll never want to leave.”

  The woman’s eyes actually twinkled with nothing but happy light.

  “Is he available?” Madison fidgeted with the handles of her bag as his assistant studied her, determined not to check her attire again. “I should have made an appointment, but I was in this part of town and thought I’d surprise him.”

  “Very available. Why don't you go ahead and walk right in.”

  She glanced at the solid wood door with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He won't mind at all. He’ll be pleased to see you have the design ready.”

  Walking over, a rush of excitement jolted through her as she twisted the handle and took a tentative step inside his office, confident Jase would love the way the design had come together. But when the door shut behind her, the loud noise of that one little click filled the room like a shotgun, and some of those assurances drained away. He was staring when she looked up, surprise reflected on his face where he stood behind his desk.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed, realizing he was on his phone. Her face flamed coal hot, and she gestured she'd wait outside, but he held up a finger.

  Backing up to the wall, she kept still, except for the brief glance she gave the room. It had the same open and light feel as the lobby, but there was something different about his space. One she couldn't put her finger on.

  “Yes. I agree,” he said to the person on the phone. To her, he pointed at one of the leather chairs.

  She obeyed, trying not to make any noise as he switched his phone to the other ear and nodded at something being said. His dark waves were slightly mussed, and his sleeves pushed up his forearms, something else she noticed he did a lot. The look took her back to when they were in Idaho, a trip down memory lane she’d taken more than once since being back.

  A few minutes later, the rancher-slash-entrepreneur set his phone on the desk and grinned. “Miss Blakeley.”

  “Mr. Cutter.” She fought the heady effect of his smile but loved the endearments they’d created for each other. “I should have texted about stopping by, but I finished these and was impatient to show you.” The edge of the seat supported her as she scooted forward and placed the designs on his desk. A small crop of doubt pushed through her carefully constructed confidence. “These are rough, of course. You know the drill.”

  Instead of sitting in the chair behind his desk, he took the one next to hers. “The wraparound turned out great. You're right, it will be the perfect outdoor spot.” Smoothing out the corner of the top page, he studied it. “Okay, so we haven’t discussed this, but I’ve been thinking about a balcony off the loft. Can we put it in without it interfering here?” He pointed to the exterior section of the rough draft.

  She reached underneath the top sheet to pull out another draft. “Like this?” Delight rushed her, physically teasing her skin as he shifted his attention from the drawings to stare into her eyes.

  “I knew I liked you.”

  The thrill melted to a yummy warmth, and she almost lost her train of thought. “I added two chimney stacks here.” She pointed them out. “Of course, we can keep or throw out any of these additions. Or swap them…whatever you want.”

  “Perfect.” He nodded, giving emphasis to his agreement before returning his focus to the papers.

  They spent the next several minutes dissecting the interior, and her confidence reconstructed itself every time he praised her ideas—which, to her excitement, was often.

  “This is really good.” But he shook his head. “No, that's not the right word. It's right.”

  With a wave of her hand, she brushed the compliment away. “Just doing my job.”

  He straightened the papers on the desk and shifted in his seat, his knees brushing hers. “Your skills are meant for more than meager houses.” His voice sobered. “I appreciate you taking this job. My mom would have loved this.”

  Her throat tightened around several emotions, hearing him speak of his mother and witnessing the heartbreak in his voice. “I’m happy to do it. And I’m sure your mother simply loves that you’re rebuilding.” Then she took a chance on something weighing on her. “I hope you don’t wait too long to go back. Really go back.”

  He placed his forearms on his knees, lowering his head over clasped fingers. “I want to go back. I do. But.” A hollowness settled over his office. “All the memories and expectations… And the stories and speculation all over again…”

  Warmth enveloped Madison’s hand where she touched his arm, and she hoped he felt it, too. “If you’re talking about the media, they can’t report on what they don’t know, right? We’ll be careful. And you don’t need to build until you’re ready. When you are, I’ll have the designs available.”

  An incredibly perfect smile played on his lips. “Right.”

  She gave him a three-finger salute, to which he raised an eyebrow.

  “What, am I not doing it right?” She lowered her hand, studying the sign. “I swear this is how my dad did it.”

  His laughter filled the room. “So. What’s this here?” He pointed to handwriting in the far right-hand corner of the design.

  Her reminder. She’d almost forgotten. “There were these stones I saw up at the ranch. I made myself a note so I wouldn’t forget to ask you about them.”

  A crease appeared on his forehead. “What do you want to know?”

  The sturdy and obviously hand-placed stones had drawn her attention from that first moment on his ranch. The colors were bold and beautiful,
and she’d imagined them surrounding a large cut of mahogany to hold his future family photos—a true hearth. “I wondered if you’d consider them here, to surround the mantel, in the new great room.”

  He pierced her with an unreadable look. “Why those stones?”

  “When we were up on your land, I was struck with how rural and raw it is. Also, loved. You can tell by those hidden paths and tree fort. By simply stepping on the dirt and soil. I imagine your old home with handmade window coverings and quilts, a worn and well-used table and chairs. I know you don’t want an exact replica, but those stones were obviously set aside by careful hands, and I think they’d be stunning and memorable in the new one…” She trailed off when the thought struck her that she might be trespassing again. Emotion squeezed her throat for the second time, but she was encouraged by the light mirrored in his expression.

  “This. This is why I need you on the restoration.”

  She smiled but rubbed her charm. “What if you’re putting too much trust in me?” There. She’d said it. She’d voiced her deepest concern. One tugging at her since hearing his story.

  “Not a chance. And your idea for the stones is perfect. My dad gathered those for years. Mom gave him a hard time, but he told her that one day he was going to do something special with them. So, see? I definitely have not put too much trust in anything.”

  The tight squeeze on her heart lessened as his words soaked in. He was pensive, then cleared his throat and stood, his chair creaking as it lurched back with the movement.

  “Before we go any further, there’s some business we should get out of the way.”

  She watched him move around his desk and open a drawer with file folders. He pulled out some papers, and she joined him as he smoothed them flat, the letterhead familiar even from beneath his fingers—the contract she’d sent him the week before.

  “Unless you’d rather me not make it official?”