Authors: Wylie Kinson
“How horrible,” sympathized Ellis. “But it was an accident, right? It had nothing to do with Cynthia…”
“Aha,” he said, finding the staple gun he’d been rummaging for. “I haven’t told you the interesting part yet.
“According to my sources, the mirror wasn’t installed correctly. Cynthia wanted a bigger mirror than the one originally planned for in the design—you know her, bigger is always better—but the supports weren’t strong enough. She was on a pretty tight deadline, not to mention budget, so she bribed some poor immigrant worker, who has since been deported, to install the bigger,
much heavier
mirror.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ellis interjected. “They couldn’t prove who was at fault so nothing happened.”
“That, and Cynthia’s a force to be reckoned with in this town, so no one dared point the finger at her. There was also rumor of a payoff, but who knows.”
“But Cynthia’s company is still in business and although it makes me choke to say it, she’s a talented designer, so it doesn’t explain your prediction that Cynthia’s going to be especially difficult on this project.” Ellis dropped her completed mood boards and moved to help Remi with the toolkits.
“She needs the money, girl—and she needs to win this competition. You’d never know it from her extravagant habits and her never-ending entourage of interns, but business at Afflairs has hit the skids since the incident last summer. She’s barely hanging on, despite maintaining a good façade. Her bank account is nearly empty.”
They finished sorting through the toolkits in silence, lost in thought, each trying to gather their focus for the task at hand.
Chapter Two
Simon Callon had been over the moon when his construction firm won the coveted contract for the Oak Ridges Development. Had he known what a full-scale pain in the ass the show-house competition was going to be, he would have sold Callon & Son Construction and opened a donut shop. How could ten talented designers make his life such a living hell? Barely a week into the project and some of his men were on the verge of walking off the job, thanks in part to two especially difficult design divas.
Simon had worked with Cynthia Travers before. She was an icon in the design world and at fifty-something, still looked hot. Her coiffed red hair, classic face and diminutive figure belied her feisty, difficult personality. The few times they’d worked together, Cynthia shamelessly flirted with Simon despite their vast age difference.
“Call me Cyn, darling. It’s my nature,” she purred on their first meeting. He always graciously avoided her come-ons because, quite frankly, she scared the shit out of him.
Cynthia Travers was a very demanding woman. Wherever she went, she was followed by a group of interns who buzzed around her like a swarm of bees on a flower cart. They worked very long hours for very little pay and it was well known that Cynthia enjoyed reducing them to tears with her scathing comments. It was amazing what these fledglings would put up with just to have Afflairs on their résumés. As soon as Simon saw her name on the Oak Ridges roster, he knew he’d have to make the largest crew available to the obdurate Ms. Travers, if only to save himself a few migraines.
Meanwhile, one week into the job and some newcomer named Ellis Strathmore had his best foreman swigging directly from a bottle of pink antacid. Unflappable Marco, who’d worked with Simon for years, kept mumbling about the wacky lady who kept phoning him—he had no idea how she’d gotten his cell number—questioning the experience of his crew, telling him how to do his job. No, Marco assured Simon, she didn’t yell or make demands like the Travers woman, always said “please”, “thank you” and “sorry to bother you”, but how was he supposed to get his work done with her constantly phoning?
“And now,” Marco moaned, “she called to say there is something wrong with the floor! We just finished the floor to her exact specifications! What can this woman possibly want?”
Simon had never met, nor heard of, Ellis Strathmore, but promised Marco he would have a word with her.
“Leave it with me, Marco. As soon as I’m done installing these in Cynthia’s closet, I’ll go have a word with Miss Strathmore.”
“Thank you,” Marco said gratefully. “I’ve never before worked with a woman who makes me so dizzy!”
“No problem,” Simon said, hauling a box of cedar panels onto his shoulder for the trip up the stairs. “Oh Marco, one more thing. We seem to have an inventory problem. Let’s meet later this afternoon to go over the onsite supplies.”
Simon couldn’t understand why his crews were experiencing shortages on everything from lumber to tiles. They’d built this house on time, on spec and under budget but this past week saw his paperwork go from organized to exasperating. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Simon trusted his workers, trusted their skill and integrity, so the problems must stem from human error. Hopefully Marco would have some answers.
The issue of the inventory was all but forgotten as he fit the brownish-red tongue-and-groove panels together against the rear wall of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. He drank in the rich woodsy smell. It reminded him of the cedar chest his mother kept in her bedroom. She opened it twice per year to exchange the heavy winter bedding with the lighter blankets. As a special treat when he was a child, Mom let him fall asleep in their bed so he would be surrounded by the spicy, earthy smell, before his father’s strong arms ferried him back to his own bedroom.
Simon sighed as he headed in Ellis’ direction. He hated confrontation but he needed to nip this situation in the bud before it got out of hand. Marco always did fine—no,
excellent
work, and Simon was eager to see the exotic Brazilian cherry floor that Miss Strathmore apparently had issues with. Even as he approached the office door he could see the glow of golden luster beneath the reddish brown wood.
Gorgeous.
So warm you wanted to reach out and stroke it.
He crossed the threshold mentally prepared for a face-to-face confrontation with a raving harridan. Instead, Simon found a perfectly shaped denim-covered bottom poking up into the air.
“Ahem,” Simon cleared his throat loudly.
Ellis was on her hands and knees in the corner, her eyes level to the floor as if lining up a perfect putt. “There’s a dent here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the floor. “Did Marco send you to fix it?”
“No, I came to—”
“Here! Come and see.” Ellis didn’t want to hear his excuses, she wanted the spot acknowledged and fixed.
Reluctantly, Simon lowered himself to the hardwood floor until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ellis.
“Where?”
“There, see?” she asked, running her finger over a small nick in the wood. “It’s got to be fixed.”
“Uh…lady? Aren’t you putting built-ins across this wall?”
Ellis met his gaze, only inches away. For a split second, she was distracted by the depth of the gray-green eyes framed in sooty black lashes. Good Lord, what man-planet did he come from? He smelled of sweat and cedar—not a bad combination. She gave her head a small shake before continuing. “It still has to be fixed.”
“Why?”
“The room is uncomfortable with it. It’s embarrassed.”
Simon lifted his brows in disbelief. “It’s
embarrassed
? It’s a room! It doesn’t
have
feelings.
It’s a fucking room
!”
Ellis was momentarily taken aback. She would have to speak to Marco about this rude worker.
“Fix it. Please,” she said, and sauntered out of the room.
Simon shook his head and watched her leave. Marco had warned him that Ellis was a whack-job but he failed to mention her saucy figure. He failed to mention that Ellis Strathmore, with the golden shards in her brown eyes, tanned complexion and shiny brown hair, looked like she’d been dipped in honey.
* * * * *
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ellis sighed, running her hand along the smooth grain. “Just wait until they affix the cherry accents and apply the finish coat. It’ll positively glow!”
Ellis and Remi were inspecting the wood and pre-made supports for the built-ins at the Callon & Son workshop. It’s not that she didn’t trust Marco, but she really needed to see and feel the material they were going to use for the piece that would become the focus of the room.
“Yes, this will do nicely,” Ellis agreed, responding to Remi’s wolf whistle.
“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m admiring,” Remi replied.
Ellis followed his gaze past the open double doors to see Marco’s insolent workman striding toward them from the other side of the yard.
“Who, him?” Ellis asked.
“Yes, girl! Just look at the way his tool belt hangs all low on his hips, like he’s Gary Cooper going to fight the bad dudes at high noon. You’ve got to admit he’s hot.”
“Okay, I’ll give you hot, but Remi you know me. I don’t go for muscle heads and this guy is practically dripping testosterone.” Ellis had two good eyes. She could see and appreciate the guy’s finely honed physique, but men like that weren’t her type. She preferred someone like her father, a worldly intellectual who could carry on a conversation. Some of her earliest teenage crushes landed squarely on her father’s young protégés and other professors from the university at which he taught music.
Ellis admired men who had a well-developed mind, who could discuss a good book, enjoy an art show and know which fork to use for salad. Men who were in touch with their emotional and sensitive sides. She suspected the he-man bearing toward them exhibited none of these qualities, as demonstrated by his language and attitude. His idea of fine dining was likely the big value meal at Burger Heaven. Ellis was sure this dude could build a nice brick wall, but could he hold a conversation over dinner? Probably not.
“Oh yeah, Simon is all Mister Man…mmm, mmmm!”
“His name is Simon? Remi, let me tell you a little secret. Despite appearances, he’s a bad guy. The Simon character in books and movies always turns out to be the villain.”
“For example?”
“For example, Simon Legree in
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
. Hello? Evil slave master! And in the romance novel I just finished, Simon kidnapped the winsome bride of the Duke of Carberry and raped her. On her wedding night! E-V-I-L! It’s a really good read, by the way. I’ll lend it to you if you want. And don’t forget Simon Cowell from
Idol
. He’s rude and nasty.”
“I counterpoint with Simon Templar, aka, ‘The Saint’.”
“Then there’s Simon Says, who’s really bossy, and Simple Simon who’s just plain stupid.”
“You’re stretching.”
“Yeah, but this Simon is a rude pig. Do you know how he spoke to me?” Ellis said in an undertone as Simon strutted to within hearing range.
“Well, I guess he can speak to you anyway he likes ’cause he’s—”
“Shhhh,” Ellis hissed as Simon came within earshot, sure that Remi was going to say something inappropriate about his extraordinary physique. As she watched his approach, Ellis had to admit that he had a natural air about him that shouted confidence. He really was a fine specimen, with his tousled black hair and shoulders an acre wide. His jeans, faded to a soft grayish blue, hugged his hips and muscular thighs. She wished she could get a view from the rear.
“May I help you, Miss Strathmore?” Simon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We’ve come to see your boss. Is he around?”
“My what? My boss?”
“Yes, Marco. Is he here?”
“I’m afraid he’s not,” Simon smirked, looking down as if something on the ground caught his attention. He managed to compose himself before meeting her eye. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I don’t think so Mister, um… I’m sorry. I don’t believe I got your name.”
“Callon, ma’am. Simon Callon.”
* * * * *
“How could you not tell me he owned the company?” Ellis wailed to Remi as they drove away from the Callon & Son yard. “I’ve never been so embarrassed!”
“I thought you knew! How could you
not
know? He’s been at the house everyday for the past week! All the designers have been ‘oh-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’ over his butt! Where have you been girl?”