Desire by Design (2 page)

“City Council decided they want to hire a professional. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “the final blueprints would need to be stamped by a licensed architect anyway.”

Eve’s pretty brow furrowed in a way that didn’t bode well. Matt made a mental note to thank his uncle for giving him the job of messenger, since it was apparent no one at Sullivan Construction had spoken to her about him yet. He hated being the bearer of bad news, and he was fairly confident that Eve would consider this very bad news, indeed. Even though he was doing it as a favor to his uncle, he couldn’t work for free, and his price tag was going to be a lot higher than some local draftsman’s. That meant she was going to have to redo much of the cost analyses and budget. And the look on her face already indicated her feelings on the matter.

This truly was third grade all over again—except the wad of gum was a set of blueprints, Missy Parsons was an angry project manager, and somehow, Matt doubted that offering to share his granola bar at recess would make an adequate peace offering.

Uncle Bob might want to launch the city into the twenty-first century, but right now Eve Doucette looked ready to launch Matt a little farther.

His words might have been delivered in a foreign language for all the good they did Eve.

She’d spent weeks working on a budget for Sullivan Construction’s proposal, and her plan didn’t allow for hiring someone like Matt Brison. She’d wanted so much to do the design herself. It had been offered to her, even if unofficially. While she understood that preliminary designs were only meant to provide cost estimates on a design/build project, and that the final design often ended up being much different from what was submitted, the one she’d drawn up had been well received. So what on earth was Connor Sullivan thinking, agreeing to this?

It was like hiring Van Gogh to paint a garage, Henry Ford to design a go-cart, or Veronica Tennant to choreograph an elementary school dance recital.

“But I thought…” She tried not to sound hostile. “There must be some mistake. Surely you can see you’re all wrong for this project.”

“Oh?” He edged forward in his chair, suddenly intent, and the tiny trailer got even smaller. “Why do you say that?”

He had very blue eyes that never wavered from hers, as if he were reading her thoughts, which was distracting.

Because her thoughts veered off in an unsettling direction she hadn’t expected…and didn’t want him to know.

That, coupled with deep disappointment, made her speak with even less tact than usual. “Your work is very modern. Abstract, in fact. You use a lot of glass and round edges. While your designs may have their place, I don’t think the downtown district of Halifax is quite ready for them.”

Let him chew on that. Eve hated most of his work, although she acknowledged it wasn’t without merit. The modernist project he’d designed in Brussels had been an excellent example of practicality. She could appreciate practical.

She just didn’t like modernist.

“And what do you think might be the appropriate style for this particular project?” he asked.

The neutrality of his tone, combined with his unwavering attention, set off an alarm in the back of her head. She wasn’t sure if he was genuinely interested in her opinion or giving her just enough leeway to showcase her ignorance. Did he assume she didn’t know what she was talking about simply because she didn’t have a few extra letters after her name?

She counted to ten. More than once she’d been accused of being overly sensitive about her lack of a degree. She had an ex-husband with a PhD in Biology who used to make fun of her lower level of education to thank for that particular insecurity. It was one of the reasons he was now an ex. But this was not the time for her to get defensive or back down. She had done the research and was comfortable with her facts. Plus, there was nothing wrong with her design for the new City Hall. Her hackles started to rise, though she tried to tamp them down.

They want to hire a professional,
indeed. Arrogant ass. She
was
a professional. And a darn good one.

She caught his eye and held his gaze, which turned out to be a mistake. He had a thick fringe of black lashes around those amazing blue eyes.

He was waiting for her to say something. She searched for her tongue.

“Second Empire,” she stated. “Monumental, but not too flashy. Maybe with Georgian columns and simple arches, similar to what we’ve used on this site.” She gestured toward the door and the building under construction outside. Then she shifted in her chair and tapped her fingertips on its wooden armrest. “That’s what I did on the preliminaries, and it was exactly what the city wanted.” She paused a minute to let it sink in, but his expression didn’t shift. “Mr. Brison, did you even look at the preliminary plans? Have you even bothered to visit the city’s Historic Properties district?”

“Yes to both. And please, call me Matt.”

That good-natured,
GQ
smile of his made it harder for her to pull two thoughts together. He was smooth, she’d give him that, but some lessons were learned the hard way, and she knew better than to trust any man at the top of his field. Especially one who was being so nice.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice….

She cleared her throat. “Well, Matt. Do you agree with me or not? Do you really think your work will suit the style of the district?”

A fleeting expression she couldn’t identify crossed his face and was gone, and the easy smile was back in place fast. He would make a good poker player.

“I think my work will make a statement.”

Eve couldn’t resist. “It’ll say, ‘Help. I don’t belong here. Find me a Starbucks.’”

A dark eyebrow went up. “Or it might say, ‘Look at me. I’m a trendsetter, and in a class all my own.’”

“The poor thing will be lonely. We wouldn’t want that.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was hardly his fault. He’d been asked to come here. She doubted very much that he’d begged for the opportunity. “I can straighten this out with a few phone calls. That way we won’t be wasting any more of our time.” She reached for the telephone. “Who hired you?”

“Bob Anderson approached me.”

Of course. The mayor. Eve’s assassination plot was looking more and more attractive by the second.

“That would explain it,” she said. “The mayor is a moron.”

Matt’s easy expression never changed. “Maybe so. But that moron is my uncle.”

Heat scorched her cheeks. She needed to learn to think first before she flipped the operating switch on her mouth.

“Perhaps ‘moron’ is too strong a word,” she amended, nearly choking on the retraction.

A flash of humor curled the corners of his firm, full mouth. “He speaks highly of you, too.”

Eve could well imagine. She recalled her last two conversations with the mayor without fondness. Bob considered himself a visionary. Eve thought his opinion of himself was overrated, unless by
visionary
, he meant
delusional
. He wanted City Hall to look like a giant sail. She’d like to know how that said
twenty-first century
.

As her hand hovered over the telephone, she found herself in a quandary. City Council was going to back the mayor’s orders. And Eve knew Connor Sullivan was probably salivating over the prospect of having someone of Matt Brison’s caliber handling the final design on behalf of his company. Eve sighed. She also understood family. Matt Brison was trying to make his uncle happy.

Therefore, Eve knew she had only two real choices at this point—she could either be a gracious loser, or a poor one.

She settled on a combination of the two as her hand dropped onto the desk. She’d counted on this project to help her earn bigger design roles. Instead, she’d be fighting to keep the budget from getting out of control. She’d do it, though. Eve’s reputation as a project manager was every bit as important to her as Matt Brison’s was to him.

“I guess I should be welcoming you on board, then,” she said. “I’ll be happy to share some of my ideas with you.”

Eve made the offer with no real hope of it being accepted. She shuddered to think what expenses Matt Brison would incur. Architects considered themselves answerable only to God and always ran projects way over budget, leaving Eve holding the bag. Or, rather, a handful of invoices she would then have to justify.

Between the over-qualified architect and his moron uncle, Eve’s migraine medication would need to be taken at a double dose.

Chapter Two

Eve unclenched her fingers and took a deep breath. At least she controlled the purse-strings, and therefore, much of the project. That thought raised her flagging spirits. She could make an architect stick to a budget; she’d done it before. This architect was no different than any other she’d worked with.

Except this one was famous. And the mayor’s nephew.

She rubbed her aching temple.

“I’d love to see your ideas,” Matt said, his words catching her by surprise. “May I?”

Before she had time to recover, he’d flicked on a desk lamp and was standing in front of her drafting table, gazing down at house plans she’d finished a few nights ago for a private client. She’d picked them up from the printer on her way to work that morning so she could give them one last proof before dropping them off.

The irony of the situation did not escape her. She had just been criticizing one of the country’s finest young architects, yet his first sample of her own work—other than the plans he claimed to have reviewed—was to be the house plans for a client who could give Bob Anderson a run for his money.

She forced herself to move in a calm and assured manner when what she really wanted to do was dive across her desk and throw her body over those plans to hide them from sight. “Those are for a client who is very particular about what he wants.”

Matt stared at the plans, his expression noncommittal. The expensive Italian suit made her self-conscious about her own worn-out, shiny-kneed jeans, and she couldn’t remember if she’d put on any makeup that morning. When she worked on site, regulations required her to wear steel-toed boots and a hard hat. They said nothing about lipstick. She wished they were having this conversation in her office at Sullivan Construction, and she were wearing her high heels.

Chewing on her naked lower lip, Eve tried not to notice how very tall he was or how very blue those eyes were when he looked at her. She tried not to notice the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw or that he had a slight cleft at the curve of his mouth. She also tried not to notice how her breath quickened when his arm brushed against her shoulder.

She was unsuccessful on all counts.

He ran a hand through his short-cropped black hair and glanced down at her. His eyes twinkled with a glimmer of sympathy. Pure, physical attraction struck her, hard.

“I’ve had difficult clients, too. Tell you what,” he continued. “Why don’t we schedule a meeting to share our ideas? That will give me time to get some sketches together to show you.”

Time to prepare would be good, although she was was too rattled to make a firm commitment. “I have a lot of work on the go right now, but I should be available early next week.”

They were still in front of the drafting table, standing too close together. Matt was making no signs of leaving, just watching her face, and Eve wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“I wouldn’t mind having a quick tour of this site,” he hinted, his incredible eyes crinkling at the corners.

While she was cautious of his motives, Eve wasn’t about to pass up a chance to wow him with her accomplishments. She’d seen his work; let him see hers. “I’ll get you a hard hat.”

She grabbed her own, as well as a spare kept on a hook on the wall for visitors. She passed the spare to Matt. As he took it, his fingers caught hers, just their tips brushing the backs of her knuckles, and when she looked up at him, he smiled into her eyes. “Thanks.”

The fine dark shadow on his jaw showed off the perfect whiteness of his teeth. Eve blinked. The man was gorgeous. And he knew how to rock it.

She put more distance between them and settled her hat in place. She reached for the door, but Matt got to it first. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held a door for her out of politeness and not because her hands were full.

He got full marks for manners. The jury was still out on his intentions.

They both stepped from the dingy trailer into the sunshine. Shouting to the site supervisor to let him know where she was going, she led Matt across the torn-up lot to the heavy, steel doors of the new federal building.

Inside, black mirrors greeted them from an otherwise empty foyer. Thick cables crisscrossed the dusty granite floors. The smell of drying paint from the glassed-in office suites tickled her nose, while clouds of Gyprock dust drifted in the air. Hammers thundered in far-off parts of the building.

Eve loved everything about a construction site, including the creative challenge of working within a budget. Here, outer offices were given extra attention while inner offices were designed more for function to save money. Nowhere, however, had corners been cut.

She was proud of this particular project and, as she walked him through, didn’t try to hide it. She’d done this design, too. She knew just where she could cut costs—and those cuts usually involved the little details most architects considered important to their professional identities. What would an architect of Matt’s caliber do when she had to tell him he couldn’t have some of those pricy little details?

“Nice,” he said when they were back in the foyer, his expression warm and unsettling.

Eve tried not to feel insulted by his lack of enthusiasm. It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, granted, but he could at least acknowledge it for what it was: a quality piece of construction.

Then she wondered if it was the building he thought was nice or if he meant something else. She recalled the twinkle in his eye earlier. She knew how to deal with it when men were blatantly interested in her. She could laugh it off and pretend they were joking, and no one was offended. But Matt was subtler than that. More charming.

And Eve was uncomfortable with this kind of attention. She had no idea how to respond.

“What would you have done differently?” she asked.

As Matt looked around, he appeared to be giving the question careful consideration. Then those blue eyes fixed back on her. Twin creases embracing the corners of his mouth made a brief, attention-grabbing appearance. “For starters, I’d have added a Starbucks.”

Eve wanted to laugh, but she wasn’t sure he’d meant to be funny. He was too hard to read, so she left it alone.

He walked with her back to the trailer, and the site supervisor came over to greet them. Eve introduced the two men, then she excused herself with a lame comment about mountains of paperwork to be done.

She dashed back into her office, leaving them to talk outside in the sunshine. Instead of digging into the invoices, however, she peered through a crack in the blinds and waited for Matt to leave.

She didn’t want to find Bob Anderson’s interloping, over-priced nephew reasonable, understanding, or most especially, attractive. She didn’t want to see the sympathy, or the interest, or even the humor, in his eyes. She’d fallen for his type before, and it had been a disaster.

She breathed a little easier once he was gone, then told herself to relax. She was being ridiculous. He was showing professional courtesy, nothing more. As long as he didn’t interfere with her doing her job, there was nothing for her to worry about.

She slumped back in her chair. Who was she trying to kid? She had yet to meet an architect who didn’t interfere with her job.

The phone rang, and Eve wished she could ignore it and stick her head under something dark and heavy. Instead, she answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello, Eve.”

Just what she needed. A phone call from her mother.

A selfish thought lifted her spirits. Maybe her parents’ fortieth anniversary party was about to be canceled.

No such luck.

“I’m planning the menu for the party,” her mother said. “I thought I’d make tourtière, just for you. You
will
be coming, won’t you?”

There it was again—the guilt trip. The anxious little quiver to her mother’s voice, making it sound as if the anniversary would be a disaster if Eve wasn’t there. In fairness, their large, Acadian French family was very close-knit, and they’d all be disappointed if she didn’t show up.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Eve said, smothering her sigh. After all, why wouldn’t she want to hear tired family jokes about her oddball career choice, her failed marriage, and, oh yes, the current lack of a man in her life?

They might be a close family, but that didn’t always translate into understanding and sensitivity.

She made the appropriate noises as her mother outlined the family weekend she’d planned. Then Eve said she had work to do and extricated herself from what would surely be a much longer conversation than she wanted to deal with just then.

The second Eve said good-bye and hung up, however, the phone rang again. She made a face at it. What detail could her mother possibly have forgotten?

“Have you missed me?” whispered a low, husky, male voice.

Eve hadn’t heard that voice in over five years…and had hoped never to hear again.