His By Design (3 page)

“Want to help me take the measurements?”

“Absolutely. Just so you understand, I plan to be hands-on throughout this entire project. You have the knowledge and expertise but there will be plenty of grunt work I can do.” She took one end of the tape measure and walked toward the far wall. “Besides, demolition is my specialty.”

We’ll see about that, Ms. Silvercreek. There’s a lot of back-breaking work to be done here and I’m thinking you’ll bail after one day in the trenches.

By the time their inspection was done it was just past noon.
Let’s see if I can break through the no-nonsense attitude she has kept firmly in place all morning and begin to become friends outside of the job
. “How about letting me buy you some lunch?”

She was instantly on the defensive, starting to shake her head no before he even finished his invitation.

“Thank you for the offer, but no. I have calls to make and Marjorie will have lunch waiting for me.”

Pleasant but firm. It was obvious her intention was to maintain the employer-employee relationship between the two of them, first name basis notwithstanding. Well, that was fine for now. He’d have plenty of time to work on converting her to a less formal relationship in the coming weeks.

“Okay, I can have these estimates, one for your space and one for the gallery, ready by the day after tomorrow. Should I drop them off here or at the B and B?”

“Here will be good. I’ll be doing the primer on these walls.” She shuddered slightly at the bright colors she had to cover. “If I paint before we rip up this vinyl I won’t have to worry about getting any splatters on the hardwood.”

He had to give her points for intending to do some of the reno work herself. More than one boss he’d worked for in the past stuck to the principle that the head honcho gave the orders and the worker bees confined their remarks to ‘yes, sir.’ Not that he would let her do anything he didn’t think she could handle. She was such a lightweight that strenuous work was out of the question. He wouldn’t want to see her put any more nicks on those lovely hands. Female bosses were fine, but there was only so much his upbringing would allow him to tolerate where heavy labor was involved.

Chapter 3

Back at his studio, Jeff cleared a space on his workbench and began the process of converting his rough sketches into a detailed blueprint.

He wanted this job. Needed this job. And he’d get it, no matter what it cost him. There would be no mark-up on materials and he’d damn near work for free if that was what it took to secure a place for Jen’s paintings when the gallery opened. Surely he could convince Zoe to display his sister’s paintings in the three months he expected the remodeling to take. Not that she’d know they were Bug’s. He’d sworn to keep his sister’s secret. Hopefully hard work and beautiful results would be enough to win Zoe over, but he wasn’t above using some wooing to achieve his goal. In fact, it would be difficult to keep his hands off her. Especially if her usual work attire was a skimpy tank top and skin-tight jeans.

He had to admit his opinion of the luscious Ms. Silvercreek had gone up several notches since their first encounter. She hung in there like a trooper, helping him take measurements and not shying away from dirty corners or cob-webbed rafters.

As the day warmed up a fine sheen developed on all that sun-kissed skin. She’d wound the beautiful skein of dark hair into a knot and secured it with a clip, but by noon tendrils of hair had escaped to curl damply against her neck. Watching her lithe body bend and stretch as the thin top clung to her curves had been its own reward. He shifted on the stool to adjust his own now slightly too-snug pants.
Concentrate
, he ordered himself.
This is too important to waste any time exercising your libido.

“How’d it go?”

Jen’s question jerked him back to reality. Even though she needed a cane to get around, she could still move quietly enough to sneak up on him. He hadn’t heard the door to her room open, possibly because he was too engrossed in the mental picture of Zoe, a smudge of dirt on one cheek, smiling in triumph as they finished the last measurement.

He swiveled around to find his sister perched on the stool in front of her own easel, one of his old T-shirts covering her to her knees, her undamaged profile reminding him how beautiful she’d been. He shouldn’t be surprised. This was usually the time when she painted, while he was out and about doing odd jobs for George.

“I think I’m a shoe-in, as long as I get this estimate pared down to fit into Ms. Silvercreek’s budget.” It would be a tight fit, too, even with his considerable discounts. He’d have to be pretty creative with materials upstairs to make her space livable, while reserving the bulk of the budget for the gallery space.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea, Jeff. I don’t like the idea of you lying to anyone for me.”

“Don’t sweat it, Bug. It’s just a bit of misdirection and a temporary one at that. Once we get you those operations, I’ll confess and you can take your rightful place in the spotlight.”

She looked doubtful but he pushed on. “It’ll be fine. Trust me. This opportunity is too good to pass up.” He hoped that when the time came for truth or consequences Zoe wouldn’t have him arrested for fraud. He shoved that worry to the back of his mind.

He gestured to the paperwork covering his bench. “Sorry to crowd you. I wanted to get this done as soon as possible.” He wasn’t about to let this job get stolen out from under him by anyone else. The quicker he got the estimate to Zoe the better his chances of sealing the deal. He snagged a bottle of water from the cooler under his bench and offered one to Jen, who refused it with a shake of her head.

Though they shared the studio, they rarely worked at the same time, each preferring solitude to create. Jen liked the daylight coming in through the skylights for her painting and since she was an early riser, she did most of her work during the day. Jeff, who made no excuses for being a night-owl, usually slept in, then did whatever outside work was on his agenda. He seldom used the studio until after dinner, often working till one or two in the morning.

She hunched her shoulders and shot him a quick glance. “I was wondering if you could take me out to that inlet we found last spring? I’d like to get some photos at sunset and do a couple of quick sketches . . .”

He covered his surprise at her request with a genuine smile. “No problem, Bug. We can go this evening after dinner. I don’t have any plans.”

Even if he had plans he would have canceled them. Jen rarely went outside and he longed to change her hermit-like existence. This past spring before the hordes of tourists arrived he’d talked her into a ride on the back of his bike to visit one of the hundreds of inlets along the bay. Even with a helmet and huge sunglasses she kept her face buried against his back for the entire trip, but once she was sure no one else was around she loosened up and explored the shoreline, taking photos of anything that caught her fancy.

“You’re sure? I thought you were all hot and heavy with that waitress at Ed’s Diner.”

He could only see half of her little sister smirk as she continued.

“I wouldn’t want to interfere. God knows, you need to get laid.”

He choked on the water. “Are you nuts? There’s nothing going on between me and Christy.” He realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. There really wasn’t anything going on with Christy, but certainly not for lack of her trying. Simply naming her reinforced Jen’s suspicions. Christy had made her interest perfectly clear and never missed a chance to touch his arm or show off her ample cleavage when she served him. He tried to deflect her overtures as gently as possible but she never seemed to get the hint.

Jen put a fresh canvas on her easel and with an air of nonchalance prepared to apply a thin layer of gesso to its surface. “Oh, so her name is Christy, hmm? How is she in the sack?”

Luckily that remark didn’t catch him with a mouthful of water or he’d have sprayed it all over his paperwork. How did Jen even know about Christy? She had no friends, she never went out. And what in God’s name made her think he was having sex with the woman?

“I have no idea how she is in the sack, since I’ve never been there with her. And if I had I certainly wouldn’t be discussing it with you. Where do you come up with these ideas?” He took another cautious swallow, almost afraid to hear what would come out of her mouth next.

“I do the laundry, remember? Every time you come back from Ed’s Diner your shirts have the same perfume all over them.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You have to get pretty close to have it rub off on your clothes.”

“Okay, Nancy Drew, you can just forget whatever ideas you may have concerning a relationship between me and Christy. Hasn’t ever happened. Never gonna happen. She’s not my type. Save all those fantasies for . . .” He snapped his mouth closed. Shit.

“. . . myself. Yeah, I’ll need them,” she mumbled, nodding, her lighthearted teasing instantly squashed.

“Ah, Bug, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”

“. . . to imply that I’ll never have a real love life? I know you didn’t. But let’s face it, chances are pretty slim.”

“No, they’re not. This plan is going to work. You are going to sell a boatload of paintings, have your surgery and return to the land of the living. Before you can say ‘lightning bug,’ guys will be lining up to catch your glow.”

“Maybe.” She sighed, her attention focused on the canvas as she applied the white wash. “But I can’t help feeling something’s going to go wrong.”

Zoe tore a five-foot strip from the huge roll of white
paper that would eventually be used to wrap purchases. She carefully printed COMING SOON! in bold red letters across it, then taped it to the window to the left of the entrance. On the right side the banner read ARTISTS INTERESTED IN DISPLAYING THEIR WORKS, APPLY WITHIN.

It was never too soon to begin acquiring pieces and she wanted to see if there was any local talent worthy of her gallery. Meanwhile, she would begin to transform the walls from their blinding primary colors to pristine white. She’d patched and sanded all the holes left from the toy store’s shelving. She got out the primer the salesperson at the hardware store swore would cover even the darkest colors and unpacked the telescoping handle for the roller. The darn walls were ten feet high and she knew she’d be suffering tonight, but anything she could do herself she’d do.

She had to stretch the money she’d wheedled out of Fredrick, because if she couldn’t pay him back in one year he’d become sole owner of the gallery—and the painting he had been trying to buy from her for the past three years. Probably the best work she had ever done, the large canvas showed a secluded pool surrounded by tropical foliage and fed by a small waterfall. The dappled sunlight shimmered on the water and created a faint rainbow in the mist where the falls struck an outcropping of rock. Barely visible in the mist was the silhouette of a woman with long dark hair, a plumeria blossom tucked behind one ear. She had painted it for her mother and there was no way she would ever sell it. So, taking a leaf from “The Secret,” she’d concentrate on visualizing herself as a successful gallery owner.

Jeff Petrosky obviously thought she was a weak, fragile flower who would faint dead away when faced with actual work. She could tell by the look on his face when she said her specialty was demolition. Humpf. Little did he know, she had demolished her whole life several times in the past five years. Gutting this building would be a piece of cake compared to that.

An hour later, the old-fashioned bell over the front door jingled, a cheerful announcement of her first visitor.

Please, God, let it be a fabulous artist.

Zoe sized up the woman as she went toward the door. Definitely not an artist. Too neat, too well-dressed, too . . . clean. Maybe she was interested in becoming a model for a painter. Tall, slender, long blond hair, wide-set gray eyes, yeah, she must be a model. Oh well.

“Hi.” Zoe held out her hand, then snatched it back when she saw the paint on it. “Sorry. I’m Zoe Silvercreek, the new owner. Can I help you?”

“Well, actually, I’m hoping I might be able to help you.” The woman fished in her purse and retrieved a business card. “My name is Amanda Adams. I’m new to Blue Point Cove too. I’m an accountant, trying to build a client base here and I thought since you’re new too, you may not have hired anyone to take care of your books yet.”

“Ah, well, you’re correct in assuming I haven’t hired a bookkeeper. Since there’s only outgo and no income, I figured I could put that particular expense off for a bit.”

“Oh, but you shouldn’t put it off. The expenses of starting a new business are all tax-deductible and you need to keep track of every penny. You wouldn’t want Uncle Sam taking more than his fair share, would you?”

“If I had my way, he wouldn’t take any. Personally I think new businesses should get a one year moratorium on paying income taxes. I appreciate your offer but my budget is stretched tighter than Melissa McCarthy’s girdle. I really don’t have the funds to pay you, I’m sorry. Maybe after I open . . .”

Amanda Adams laughed. “Believe me, I understand your situation. I’m in the same boat, bailing for all I’m worth just to stay afloat.” She bit her bottom lip, then shrugged like a gambler going ‘all in’ on his full house. “Look, we’re both young women starting businesses. It’s a tough road for women, getting financing from banks usually run by men, always having to prove we’re twice as capable as a guy doing the same job.”

Zoe agreed with a nod. The banks had turned her down cold, which was why she’d had to make a deal with her own devil to get this far.

“So here’s my proposal.” Amanda smiled like a co-conspirator, lowering her voice as though a competitor were in the next room listening. “I’ll do your books for free until you open for business if at that point you sign a one-year contract with me. What do you say?”

Zoe was starting to like this woman who, like her, struggled to make a go of her business and was willing to be creative to gain a new client. Besides, that glimmer of mischief lurking behind the professional façade called to her wilder side.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Zoe stuck her hand out again and this time Amanda shook it before she had a chance to pull it back. “Oh no, there’s paint . . .”

“No problem.” Amanda’s polite smile widened into a grin. “They used to seal contracts with blood. This is less painful, and more sanitary too.”

Zoe chuckled. “Here, let me get you a rag and some turpentine.” She went to the wall she had been painting and brought back a paper towel dampened with the solvent. “I’d love to sit and chat but I’ve got to finish this first coat. I guess we should set up an appointment to get you familiar with my, um, bookkeeping practices.”

“So you have some method in place already? Good for you.”

Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Well no. Not exactly. I, uh, have, uh . . .”

“A cardboard box with a few receipts in it?”

“How did you know?”

“That is the most typical method used by new small business owners. They are often clueless about financial stuff.” Amanda grinned and handed the paper towel back. “Don’t be offended. After all, I know nothing about painting or sculpture and would never dream of trying to start my own gallery. That’s why it’s best to have a professional take care of the financial side while you concentrate on your creative endeavors. So, you have my number. Call when it’s convenient for you to spend about an hour with me.”

“I will. And when we’re done with the hard stuff, let’s go get a drink. I’m sure I’ll need one by then.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you get back to your work. It was a pleasure to meet you, Zoe.”

“Likewise. I’ll call you soon.” She tucked the business card in her pocket and picked up the roller. Amanda might just turn out to be her very first friend in Blue Point Cove.

By five o’clock Zoe’s arms were ready to fall off and the muscles across her shoulders screamed for mercy, but all four walls had their first coat of primer. She cleaned and locked up then trudged across the square to The Blue Point Inn.

Marjorie took one look and sent her upstairs with orders to have a long, hot soak in the tub while she heated up the leftovers from last night’s dinner. Since Zoe was now the only guest at the bed and breakfast, Marjorie provided more than the traditional breakfast fare.