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Work was not happening.

  Ten minutes later, Kim returns, closing the door behind her with panic on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s early,” she says.

  “What?”

  “He’s here!”

  I look at my clock and start to panic. “Shit. I’m not ready! We’re not even close to ready.” I start to gather papers into some sort of order. “He’s not early, he’s like a half day early.”

  I had hours still. Damn it.

  Kim heads over and starts to assemble a folder. “I’ll do the presentation documents. Can you stall him?”

  “I can try.”

  “Oh, Nic, he’s hot too.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s like a hundred! He’s not hot.”

  “Well, he’s ridiculously hot for being a hundred.”

  Jesus.

  “This is irrelevant, and you have issues.” I huff as I grab one of the designs that was sitting on the floor. I may have to go with this one, and I hate it.

  God, why do people show up this early? Now I look like an asshole, and I’ll probably lose the damn project.

  I have one chance to show Martin Dovetail that I can do this. I will not fuck it up. I can’t.

  “What else do you need?” Kim asks.

  “Grab those and go put him in the conference room. Tell them I’m on a call with another appointment,” I instruct.

  “I’ll try to stall as much as I can.”

  “Good, get me at least ten minutes. Go!” I order her out the door.

  This economy is scary as hell for real estate, and for designers, it’s even worse. Some months, we’re so slammed we can’t keep up, and then others, I’m twiddling my thumbs. It’s truly feast or famine, but I’m praying this one lands us a series of jobs.

  Dovetail is new to Tampa, but they’ve been in Florida the last few years. From what I can tell, they’re a Georgia based company and have been branching out into other markets. I met with Martin a few months ago, but then I hadn’t heard anything, so I figured he’d forgotten about me. Two weeks ago, I got a call that he would be in town and wanted a meeting.

  I was faxed over the details of what he was looking for in a bid on and almost died. This would be everything for my company.

  I grab the rest of the papers and pray that what I have will be impressive enough for a second meeting.

  Kim comes back in, helps a little, and grabs my arm as we walk out. “Listen, you’re going to do great. Even on your worst day, you’re better than any other designer. Call me when you’re done. If I don’t answer, it’s because I’ve died from this head cold. Go be bad ass, and seriously, prepare yourself for a really hot guy.”

  I groan. “Kim, shut up. He’s not hot the guy is freaking old!”

  “Whatever you say. I got twenty bucks that says you’re dropping your panties before the end of the meeting.”

  Not only am I slightly disturbed that she thinks the old guy is hot, but she knows this is my one rule in this business. I don’t sleep with clients. Ever. I did it once, and it was a freaking disaster after. I ended up walking off the job and away from money I definitely needed at the time.

  “Okay, do I have anything in my teeth?” I ask as I show her my grill.

  “Nope. Perk your breasts.”

  I give the girls a little fluff, shake my hair back, square my shoulders and saunter out of the room.

  In my mind, I go over the designs, pitches, options for changes, and wish I had called one of my typical hookups so I could’ve worked off some of this nervous energy, but no, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Because I’m an idiot and having some sort of mid-life crisis.

  I push open the conference room door with a smile that dies as soon as my eyes find the man sitting in the chair. “Mr . . . Callum?”

  He stands with a wide grin and his hand extended. “Hello, Ms. Dupree. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Right, but . . .” I’m so confused. I met Martin. I had dinner with the man, and he didn’t have a sexy British accent, big, strong shoulders, or a body like a god. He was small, irritating, but loaded, and was going to give me two plus years’ worth of work. “Is someone else coming? I mean, you’re not . . . I’m supposed to be meeting . . .”

  “Martin Dovetail? No. I’m not him. I’m his bastard son who now owns this company.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Callum brushes his hair back and then takes a seat. “Martin Dovetail died. Now you have to impress me if you want the job.”

  And the floor drops out from under me.

  I’m so fucked—and not in the good way.

  Chapter Six

  Callum

  All I can think is: Thanks, Father. Over and over in my mind. This is the only nice thing the bastard ever did for me. It didn’t click the other day when I heard her name. Honestly, I’d just spent three hours listening to employees cry about what a great man Martin was.

  Such bollocks.

  He was a ruthless prick who treated everyone with the same amount of hate—myself included. Sure, he brought me to the States for holiday and part of summer break, but he only did that because he was forced to. He also insisted I call him Martin or Father, not Dad, because he wanted to ensure I wasn’t confused since Mum was remarried. It was never a typical father-son relationship. He didn’t teach me how to drive or throw a ball. The only thing he taught me was how to read stocks.

  I really never liked him, and while his death was somewhat unexpected, it’s been more of a burden than anything.

  The only good thing to come out of this is that I now own one hundred percent of Dovetail Enterprises in both the States and London. I can sell it off, keep it, grow it, or watch it burn to the ground.

  However, the only thing I want to do is deal with Nicole.

  She sits in the chair next to me, fidgeting with her papers. “First, I want to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing sad about it.”

  Her lips part, and she nods. “Okay, I have a father, and I guess you could say I’d be like you are right now, but I’m still sorry.”

  “Is your father a selfish bastard who broke your mother’s heart and then spoke ill of her constantly?”

  I don’t know why I’m asking her this, but I can’t help but want to know more. Nicole has intrigued me from the moment I met her. Her little running away after dinner the other night only made me more curious.

  “In fact, he is. My parents hate each other more than yours ever could of.”

  “Doubtful, but it seems we have quite a bit in common.”

  She smiles but drops her head in the way a teacher would when indulging a student but still on to their game. “Right.”

  “Anyway, I’m here in his place.”

  “So, do you want to postpone the meeting?” Nicole asks.

  Absolutely not. I want to stay here, force her to be near me, find out what in the bloody hell caused her to rub my cock and then run away without a word. No, this meeting is happening now.

  “That’s not an option. I’m returning to London in a few days, and my schedule has no room for anything else. Unless, you’re not ready . . .”

  Nicole shifts in her seat. “I’m ready. Has the project changed?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Martin had a lot of deals on the table, so I’m gathering the information this week before I decide what stays and what goes. Why don’t you tell me what you understood of this meeting.”

  She fills me in on what he explained. It’s not a bad idea, and it’s very similar to what I’m doing in London. Real estate space is limited for me, and to combat that, I’m going up with my buildings. I can sell hundreds of luxury units in a desirable area for a lot more money than building ten homes. It’s rather interesting that my father was taking a similar approach here.

  “I don’t want to waste either of our time, Cal—” She catches herself. “Mr.?”

  “Huxley.”
/>   “But you said . . .”

  “I took my stepfather’s last name. He was my dad in every way.”

  She gives a small smile. “I get it.”

  Feeling slightly uncomfortable, which is always what happens when I speak of my father, I shift the meeting back to the designs. “Show me another mock-up. I’d like to see what else you were thinking.”

  We go through the meeting, staying focused on her vision for the industrial-style condos. I’ll admit, I’m much more traditional in my tastes for designs, but Nicole has a very good eye. Plus, she’s American and knows what is selling here versus what is popular in England.

  “Do you like this one?”

  It’s far more modern than I would’ve chosen. “It’s a bit . . . stark.”

  She nods. “I can see that. It’s really more masculine than I think would appeal to your average buyer. I have some others.”

  I try to keep my eyes from drifting to her face, but I can’t seem to stop myself. She’s truly one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Her eyes are a mix of blue and green, changing whenever the light hits them. Her golden hair is in loose curls, brushing over her tits. I can’t even allow myself a moment of looking there or I’ll never get through this meeting without my fucking cock standing straight up.

  It’s bad enough I’m semi-hard now.

  “Do you like these better?” Nicole asks with her head tilted to the side.

  “I like it very much.”

  Only I’m not talking about the drawings.

  I like her, and even though we barely know anything about each other, I know that I want to find out everything there is. I’ve always believed that people who say they knew something was there the minute they met someone were lying. It’s seemed quite ridiculous, but here I am, thinking the same way.

  “Good. I can have—”

  “You’re hired,” I say without thinking.

  “What?”

  There’s no going back now. “You’re hired.”

  She squints a little. “Yeah, I’m not sure this is going to be a good project for Dupree Designs.”

  “And why not?”

  There is a lot of money in this project, as well as future condos I plan to put up if this goes well. For all the things Martin was, rash was not it. He must’ve smelled money to even take this meeting.

  Nicole clears her throat and starts to put her papers in order. “You know, it’s just never a good idea for people to get involved when there’s some kind of . . . whatever between them.”

  “What is this whatever that’s between us?”

  She huffs. “This weirdness.”

  “There’s nothing weird about what is going on here. I like you. I would’ve taken you back to my room, we would’ve fucked until the sun came up, and then we’d be sitting here now, talking about designs.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, that’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn’t be sitting here because I don’t sleep with clients. Had I known you were my meeting today, there never would’ve been any flirting at the club.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you chickened out,” I tell her with a smirk.

  “Excuse me?” She gets to her feet. “I didn’t chicken out! I was in the bathroom, when I came out, you were gone.”

  She’s bloody full of it. I saw her, and I know she saw me. Then she ran.

  I lean back in my chair. “If that’s what you believe is true, then who am I to argue?”

  “That’s right.” She slaps the folder down. “You’re no one to argue about that because I know what happened. You stand me up and then call me a chicken, please.”

  Absolutely adorable, that’s what this woman is.

  “So you mean, if you had known we were going to be sitting here today, you wouldn’t have rubbed your hand on my cock and then ran off?”

  Nicole’s lips purse. “Maybe I realized your cock wasn’t worth touching again. If it was a bit bigger . . .”

  I chuckle. This girl is unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. Most women would be horrified at the insinuation, but she actually insulted me back. “We both know my cock is plenty big enough, darling. I saw your eyes widen . . . and that was just a semi.”

  Her lips part, and I see her breath catch. “Wow, conceited much?”

  “Not at all. I just know you’re lying about the other night, to me and yourself. I saw the way you were looking at me all night.”

  “Like you’re a pompous asshole?”

  I rise, move closer to her, and run my finger from her shoulder to her wrist. “No, like you wanted to know what it felt like to be beneath me all night, and believe me, I wanted to know the same thing.”

  Her eyes flame with passion. I can feel her pulse race beneath my fingertips. The room feels smaller, and then she shakes her head and gets to her feet. “And this, Mr. Huxley, is why Dupree Designs can’t work with you.”

  “So, does that mean you intend to sleep with me?”

  She pulls her hand back and glares. “Not even remotely a possibility.”

  I smile and nod. “Good, then you’ll start Monday on my project.”

  I had planned to finish here, toss my father’s plans out, and get back home, but this is much more interesting.

  Maybe spending some time in the States is exactly what I need . . .

  Chapter Seven

  Nicole

  Why does this man make my blood boil and not in the I’m-so-pissed-off-I-want-to-punch-you kind of way? Why can’t I hate him and not want to strip him and screw him until he can’t walk again?

  It has to be the accent. That’s all.

  “Listen,” I say as I push myself back into professional, business-owner mode. “I’m very sorry for what I just said. I know whatever happened at the club probably upset you, but this company means everything to me, and I work really hard to continue to grow it. I only have one rule in life: do not mix business with pleasure.”

  Callum exhales and moves back a little. “It’s a very good rule to follow.”

  Oh, that was easier than I thought it would be.

  “Thank you.”

  “Since we haven’t mixed anything, you should have no problem taking this job then,” he states.

  “Well . . .”

  “Your one rule hasn’t been broken,” Callum reminds me.

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “And my father’s notes were clear that you were relentless in pursuing him.”

  I try to talk again. “Not exactly how that happened—”

  “That you called and called to get this meeting, and you were willing to meet him anywhere to prove your designs were superior.”

  Jesus. Who takes notes like that? Yes, I was a bit pushy, but it’s because these condos are perfect and the exact style I would fit into. It was for his own good as well.

  “Okay, but what I’m saying is—”

  Callum cuts me off again. “That you want the job.”

  Okay, this guy is pissing me off now. “Mr. Huxley, please allow me to finish my sentence this time.” He moves his hand over his lips like a zipper, and I almost roll my eyes at how cute he looks. That is exactly why I have to walk away from this. I’ll sell my body before I put myself in a bad situation with a man again, especially one capable of completely wrecking me. “Thank you. I wanted this job before, but as I said, my business is a little overwhelmed right now, and I can’t possibly take on a project this large.”

  I said it, and I won’t take it back even though I’m pretty sure I don’t have to sell my body because I just fucked myself over pretty well.

  He stays still, hand over those full lips I want to smash mine against, and doesn’t speak.

  I wait.

  And wait some more.

  Until he finally moves. “I see.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” Callum nods. “You need more money. I haven’t made this enticing enough for you.”

  “Umm, what?”

  That wasn’t what I said. It’s nothing remotely close
to the words that came out of my mouth.

  “Your original bid was definitely low, which leads me to think it was to get the old man here. Then, once you proved you were worth his time, you planned to get him up to a reasonable design fee.” Callum begins to pace. “Brilliant really. I, on the other hand, don’t have time to play hardball, Nicole. I’d much rather we just be honest with one another. So, give me what your new bid would be.”

  I’ve never had a client push to work with me this hard. It doesn’t make sense. Fine. I’ll go ridiculously high, a number that no one in their right mind would ever take, and then we can be done.

  “You won’t like the number I come up with,” I tell him with defiance.

  “Try me.”

  “A million dollars.” I toss the number out, knowing there is not a chance in hell we’ll come close to that.

  “You’re right.” Callum sighs. “That number isn’t what I had in mind.”

  Oh, thank God. Now I can berate myself while I’m moving into a cardboard box, or worse . . . into my mother’s house.

  “That’s what I feel I’m worth. I’m very sorry.”

  Really, I should be apologizing to myself. Sometimes being stubborn—which I’m being at this moment— is a curse. I’m a total idiot, not at all acting in the best interests of my company. I’m being a dumbass and walking away from a job because this stupid man scares me.

  He’s just like Andy.

  God, just thinking his name makes me want to fall to the floor and cry.

  I don’t fucking cry.

  Crying makes you weak, and I’m not now nor will I ever be again.

  His smile does things to my stomach. The way his eyes crinkle in the corner when he’s thinking—like right now.

  “You lowballed me again,” Callum comes back. “That’s why it’s not what I had in mind.”

  Lowballed him? Is he drunk? That wasn’t a lowball bid. There is no way anyone in their right mind would take that.

  “What?”

  “I’m not a man who enjoys games.” He moves closer. “I prefer you come in with your best offer instead of the back and forth, don’t you?” Callum doesn’t give me time to answer. He just starts speaking again. “I think it’s important for businesses to have a sort of trust. If you come in low, and I accept, it creates this animosity, as though your work isn’t valued. I much prefer we never have that issue, especially since it’s clear we both have rather strong feelings for each other. So, I’ll write down the number, and then I’ll see you on Monday.”