Blind Date (10 page)

It’s foolproof. Like kids’ medicine bottles, which I still can’t get into at twenty-six. Also note that Charley’s five year old niece can break into them like a pro, so foolproof is apparently only for people who can think for themselves.

Basically, I don’t think it’ll work. I think it’s fucking stupid, but I can’t have the man kissing me like that all the time. It’s like… Gah. Ugh. Fuck my life. Grr. Roar. Fuck! Yeah… that sums the craziness up, doesn’t it?

It just has to work this way.

“You don’t honestly think this is going to work, do you?” Charley asks me, one eyebrow raised so high it’s practically disappeared beneath her bangs.

“I’m trying to keep a positive outlook on the situation,” I tell her. “I only have to spend seven days around him with minimal contact, and then I can go back to having my life the way it was before.” Just with a lot less sex. I’d hate for this to happen for a second time, after all…

Charley stares at me. “Sweetie, you’re deluded.”

“I know.” I sigh heavily and drop forward on my desk. “The hell am I supposed to do, Charley? I had to say yes. I couldn’t not. He made that perfectly clear.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” She smacks her lips together. “Just so you’re aware, I’m making this disclaimer: As your best friend, I’ve told you that you’re a fucking idiot and that I don’t agree with this, even in the name of business, but I will be here when it all comes falling down with a card that says ‘I told you so, douchedick.’ Are we clear?”

“Perfectly. Now fuck off. I have to work.”

In the past seven days, I’ve ordered everything I need to overlook the renovation of the restaurant. I’ve spent endless hours on the phone to suppliers and companies and artists. Turns out Carter Hughes has a pretty bottomless wallet and wanted to commission a number of original images for the walls opposed to me buying generic ones from a store.

Apparently he likes to be unique.

Anyway, that’s accumulated in four different images from the same artist, triple his usual price, and I’m to collect them on the final day of the redecorating. I agreed simply because I had no other choice.

I have a feeling the artist, Kevin Peters, won’t be sleeping very much.

Now I’m on my way to the restaurant and hoping that everything will be removed and I’ll be walking into what is essentially a blank canvas. That’s what Carter promised me on the phone yesterday at the very least.

I’m hoping he was telling me the truth.

I’m also hoping the flooring guys are there, ready to rip up the old linoleum floor. I don’t have the time to wait for them. I’m about to go into crazy bitch mode like I always do. Thankfully the guys I work with on a regular basis are more than aware of this and tend not to judge me. Most of the time at least.

I sigh as I step out of the cab. Thankfully there are vans parked up outside the restaurant, and instantly, my anxiety eases. Someone’s here at least. I can deal with that. Someone’s better than no one, after all.

I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face. The main door to the restaurant is open, and I clutch both my purse and my file to my chest tightly as I take a step through. All the furniture has been removed, except the host’s counter and the bar. I’m almost certain they’re coming out after the flooring though, so I’m not too worried on that.

“Bee!” Dave Baxter, one of my usual builders and life-long friend, comes up to me covered in dust.

I take a step back. “Don’t even think about hugging me, you dusty bastard,” I laugh, holding my hands up.

He stops, a grin stretching across his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

I drop my purse and file on the bar after sidestepping a tool box or two. Or three. “Talk me through the plan once again.”

He wipes his forehead with his hand and launches into it. I listen as he goes from floors to walls to bars to tables and everything else in between. “After that, it’s down to your decorators, darlin’. Mr. Hughes only designated four days to us so we’re workin’ on a tight schedule.”

“Got it. Do you have enough time to do everything?”

“Sure we do. When have I ever let you down, Bee?”

I pat his arm, then when I step back, I look at my hand. Yep. Dusty. Ugh. I flap it around until it looks like it’s clean of the pesky dirt. “I know, I know. Never. This is just a big contract and I want to make sure it’s all done correctly.”

Dave grins widely as I turn to my folder and flip the front cover open. “That all, huh?”

Raising one eyebrow, I flick my gaze back to him. “What else would it be?”

“Rumor has it the boss is handsome and rich.”

“Let me guess… You’ve been speaking to Charley.”

He holds his hands up. “Maybe, but everyone knows who Carter Hughes is, Bee. He’s no Superman.”

The clearing of a throat sounds from the door, and we both turn. And standing there, of course, is Carter Hughes, suited and booted in all his manly glory.

Awesome.

“Ah, but I could be Clark Kent.” Carter smirks, stepping into the restaurant. He glances around. “I see you waste no time.”

“No time to be wasted when you’re on a tight schedule,” I respond tightly. “Mr. Hughes, this is Dave Baxter, the lead builder on the project. Dave, this is Carter Hughes.”

The two men shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

“Got a minute to talk me through what you’re doing?” Carter asks him.

“Sure thing. Bee?” Dave looks at me.

“You guys go ahead. I’m gonna check I’ve got everything where it should be.” I smile and wave them off, turning back to my folder, finally.

Really should have asked for them to keep a stool for me. Christ. Standing in four inch heels is no joke. I flick through my designs for the restaurant, now blocked off into areas, and check everything against the schedule.

My mom always says I have a funny way of organizing everything. She’s adamant that the phrase ‘organized chaos’ was created for me and me alone, mostly because my files and folders and indeed, office, make little sense to anyone other than me. I could find a week old pencil sharpening in my office while most people would struggle to find my computer. It’s just how I work.

I like a little craziness. I think everyone should have a little bit of reckless, crazy chaos in their life. It makes things exciting.

I shift my weight from foot to foot as I study everything. Before I know it, I’ve taken the bar over with my sheets and calendars and snapshots.

Damn.
I need one of these bars in my office. Actually, ten. I need like ten. Complete with alcohol and glasses… Actually, scratch that. Alcohol wouldn’t come in bottles if it was meant for glasses. Right?

Right.

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

Okay, Bee. Time to focus on the job at hand.

By the time it takes Dave and Carter to do a walk-through of the restaurant and for Dave to explain all the timings to Carter, there isn’t an inch of the old wooden bar top left visible, and I have my neon Sharpies starring and circling things like I’m a toddler with a blank piece of paper and mommy’s pens.

I get a lot of glee out of my neon Sharpies, okay?

Carter frowns at me, still shifting side to side. “Everything all right?”

“Hmm?” I question, underlining a prospective phone call with a fluorescent yellow line.

“You’re moving like you’re five years old and the teacher won’t let you use the bathroom,” he responds dryly.

Dave snorts.

I throw my Sharpie lid at him, but he catches it, and I realize what I just did. “Oh, shit! I need that!” I take it from his hand and shove it on the end of my pen. I wave it at him. “Thanks, sweetie. Your old baseball catching skills came in real useful here.”

Dave rolls his eyes, and instantly, Carter’s narrow. “You two know each other well?”

“Sure,” I answer, starring something on the sheet. “We went to school together. I’m not allowed to use anyone else for projects or he’ll hunt me down.”

“I didn’t say hunt you down. Besides, you wouldn’t dream of using anyone else.” Dave winks.

I grin. “I know. And since you’ve forgotten, you still owe me dinner from the last project.”

He groans. “I thought
you’d f
orgotten.”

“I’m like an elephant, Dave. You should know that. I never forget anything—unless it’s the price of shoes.”

He drops his eyes to my feet. “Obviously.”

I poke my tongue out and cap my pen. “I pay for that in pain, okay?”

“And that’s why she’s dancing like a kindergartener desperate for a pee,” Dave tells Carter.

A very annoyed Carter. “Are there no stools or chairs left?”

“Nope. All cleared out this morning on her orders.” Dave crooks his thumb toward me.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I didn’t plan to be here all day. I have to swing by Kevin Peters’ studio and check on the progress of his pictures, call the decorators to make sure the wallpaper will be here tomorrow, and then the electricians to see if my light fixtures are in.” I glance at my planner. “Oh, and speak to the tilers about the bathrooms to bring them up to date modernly like we talked about,” I say to Carter with a fleeting look. “And then I was going come back and berate you all for not tearing the floor up quickly enough,” I tease Dave, fighting my smile.

“You really need to hire an assistant,” he mutters.

“Why would I hire an assistant for things I can do myself? You’ve met Carlos. I asked him to order me a bookshelf last week and he had a wine rack delivered.”

“How did he do that?” Carter asks, his shoulders taut.

I shrug. “God knows. Asking him to do anything is like asking a toddler to do algebra and getting a picture of a monkey with three heads. Anyway. Point is—I don’t need an assistant.” Movement behind Dave has me sitting up straight. “Dave, tell Dan that if I see him screwing around again I’m going to take a piece of this flooring and insert it firmly between his ass cheeks.”

Dave turns and seeing the younger guy messing around, groans. “Dan!” he hollers, walking across the restaurant.

Carter leans around me and grabs my planner.

“Do you mind?” I ask, reaching for it.

He steps back without taking his eyes off the pages. “Not at all.”

I narrow my eyes as he continues to peruse it. “What are you doing?”

“You know Julia can help you with this, don’t you?” He lifts the spotted planner and looks at me. “She can go and check on Kevin Peters and probably check on the wallpaper. Since we’re closed she has a lot less work to do.”

“Again, I don’t need an assistant, so thank you, but no thank you.” I take the book back from him and set it on the bar.

“Don’t you trust her? She organizes me efficiently.”

“And I’m sure she does a great job at that, but I just like to handle things myself.”

“Ahhh,” he says in a low voice, joining me at the bar. He rests his forearms on the top and leans forward, turning his face toward me. “You’re a control freak.”

“I am not a—” I pause when I realize just how close he is to me, “control freak,” I finish. I look away from him and focus on my planner so I don’t accidentally drop my eyes to the way his white shirt is hugging his muscular arms.

“Are you sure?”

“Wanting to stop by and personally check on Kevin Peters and his progress means I’m invested in making sure my client—you—has the best possible quality of work for his business. Calling the electricians and decorators myself simply means that if there’s a problem then I’m already on the phone and don’t have to rearrange my whole day to make extra calls.” I huff out a breath. “None of that makes me a control freak. It makes me dedicated.”

“I didn’t peg you for a control freak,” Carter replies, amused.

“And what does that mean?” I turn back to him.

Stupid Bee. Stupid, stupid Bee.

His eyes flare. “I’d tell you, but I’m not allowed.” He smirks and, with a wink, pushes off of the bar. “When are you planning to see Kevin?”

“Uh…” I shake my head to clear it from the implication of his words. “Right after I’ve checked that Dave has all his ducks in a row. They tend to waddle off.”

“Much like your own.”

“If you were anyone but my client, I’d tell you to fuck yourself,” I say under my breath, slamming my planner shut and walking to Dave.

I spend the next few minutes going over everything with him before he assures me he’s passed on my threat to Dan and insists I go do my thing before I break out in hives.

So I like to keep to my schedule. Just because my office looks like a department store threw up in it doesn’t mean my schedule does.

Carter’s leaning against the bar on his phone when I approach. He looks up, still typing. “Everything all right?”

“As all right as it can be,” I respond. “I’m going to see Kevin now. He said he was free late morning. Did you want to come?”

“Sure.” He presses a button on the side of his phone and slips it into his pants pocket. “You need a hand packing this up?” He waves his hand over the stuff on the bar.

I flap my own dismissively. “Just my planner. They know if they touch it then they’re dead meat.”

“You’re a feisty boss, aren’t you?” He’s clearly fighting a laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. “When you’re a woman surrounded by men in the workplace, being a wilting flower won’t get shit done. They respect me or they don’t work for me. They know that. Thank you,” I add when Carter opens the restaurant door and holds it for me.

I walk to the curb and he grabs my hand. “What are you doing?” he asks me.

“Getting a cab…”

He shakes his head with a wry smile and clasps my upper arms from behind. He directs me a few feet along the sidewalk toward a sleek black Mercedes waiting at the side of the curb. He releases me to open one of the back doors and motion for me to get in.

How the other half live, eh?

Sure, Mom and I make a ton of money, but not personal chauffeur kind of money. Must be nice.

“Thank you,” I say again, getting into the back seat and sliding along it.

Carter settles in on the other side and shuts the door behind him. “Where’s the studio?” he asks me, leaning forward.

I give him the address and he relays it to the driver, and getting an affirmative answer, slides the partition closed. Butterflies start up in my stomach, the stupid little creatures, and I swallow in an attempt to hide my nervousness.

So much for not being alone for more than ten minutes. It’s at least fifteen minutes to the studio and then a further fifteen back.