His By Design (4 page)

“Cooking for two is no harder than cooking for one. Easier, in fact. And I know you are pinching your pennies these days, so don’t argue with me over a few extra meals,” she’d declared.

So Zoe didn’t argue and accepted Marjorie’s generosity, planning to repay her in the future for her kindness. Tonight, she was exceptionally grateful as there was no way she was going out to eat. She lay back in the steaming tub and reviewed the week’s challenges.

Her most important decision was whether to hire Jeff Petrosky. She hoped she wouldn’t go wrong there. He seemed to know his stuff and both Marjorie and Ed, who ran the diner on Main Street, had given her glowing reports. When they’d done the walk-through, she hadn’t seen a trace of the cocky, smart-mouthed hustler she met that first day.

As long as he could do the work she needed him to do, at a price she could afford, she’d not complain. And as eye candy? He was a Godiva store wrapped in jeans instead of gold foil. Those hands. That mouth. She just knew under that T-shirt she’d find washboard abs. She’d love to have him pose for her but that would be way too dangerous. Nope, she was not going there.

Besides, employers did not mess around with the hired help. They weren’t supposed to, anyway. She’d certainly had more than her fill of bosses who came on to her. She would not turn into one of them. She’d sent the do-not-cross-the-line signals loud and clear. Jeff appeared to have gotten her message. But she had her doubts.

Mr. Hyde lurked in there somewhere.

Chapter 4

Jeff rolled up the blueprints, his estimates, and copies of his licenses. He borrowed one of Jen’s fluorescent orange cylinders which he could strap across his back on his ride to the gallery. He was up early. Hopefully that would become the norm once Ms. Silvercreek hired him. The mornings were much cooler now that fall was here in earnest so he slipped on his worn black leather jacket against the chill. Ten minutes to eight. He’d like to get to the gallery before his future boss and make a good impression.

He brought bear claws this time, but was disappointed to see Zoe had already unlocked the door and stirred a can of primer in preparation for . . . a second coat? She already had the first coat on, which meant she’d done it all in one day. Damn. He may have to rethink his first opinion of the feisty brunette.

The tinkling of the bell on the door got her attention and the surprise on her face quickly morphed into a pleased smile.

“Good morning, Jeff. I have to admit, I didn’t expect you this early. Come on back and have a cup of coffee. I brought an extra mug from Marjorie’s.”

He offered the brown paper sack which made her smile turn into a grin. “I thought you might like to sample another of Olivia’s specialties.”

“You’re not playing fair, Jeff. You’ve already discovered my weakness for sweets and I don’t know any of your flaws to even the scales.”

And that’s the way I plan to keep it.
“Well, you know I like to sleep late, yet here I am at eight A. M. to convince you I can do your renovation, ergo, you know I need money.”
Or have a hidden agenda and a weakness for beautiful brunettes.

“Ergo? Who says ergo nowadays? What are you, a time-traveler from the Renaissance?” she said with a laugh.

“There, you’ve guessed my secret already. I was an apprentice to Michelangelo. Now we’re back on an even playing field.” He slid the strap over his head and set the case next to her desk, willing to put off his presentation until coffee and sweet rolls softened her up. Playing fair was not in his game plan. Landing this job was his primary objective. He took a sip of hot coffee, then bit into a bear claw. Zoe followed suit and they ate in contented silence.

Finished, he wiped his hands and reached for the case, unlatching the top, then sliding the contents out onto her desk. He used Zoe’s mug to anchor one corner of the blueprint for the upstairs apartment and the Thermos for the opposite one.

“Here’s my plan for your digs, Zoe. I kept it simple, functional, and low-budget, although there are plenty of areas you can upgrade in the future, once the gallery takes off and you’re a wealthy woman.”

He let her look it over for a few minutes without interruption and hid his anxiety behind gulps of his coffee.

“The plan looks fine, Jeff. Do you have the materials estimate?”

He sorted through his paperwork and placed a sheet on top. “Here you go. I’ve used all ready-made cabinetry. Nothing custom-built which would have increased the cost. The floor is laminate in the bedroom and your sitting area, tile in the bathroom, kitchen, and your studio. The appliances and fixtures are mid-grade. Nothing fancy except for the skylights in your studio area. I felt that was the one area worth splurging on. I’ll clean the brick on one wall of your bedroom and seal it as an accent wall, the rest will be painted drywall.”

“This is a bit more than I expected.”

Damn. He couldn’t imagine how he could lower the cost any more than he’d done already. He could put vinyl on the floors. That idea made him grimace. He could . . . he could . . .

“I didn’t mean that exactly the way it must have sounded,” Zoe apologized. “I’m afraid everything is going to be a bit more than I anticipated. I’m hardly experienced at building renovation and some of my expectations may have been wishful thinking. Let’s see what you’ve got for the gallery space.”

He unrolled that blueprint over hers and waited for Zoe’s criticisms. He’d spent a lot more money in this area, but mostly because it had to include movable interior walls, a floor refinishing that would tolerate heavy traffic, much more lighting, display cases, and pedestals. He’d brought a couple of sketches of the finished interior so she could get a better idea of his vision for the space. He separated them from the stack of papers and laid them next to the blueprint.

She took her time examining the plan, nodding a couple of times, then turned her attention to his sketches. “Are you an artist too, Jeff? These drawings are very skillfully done. Or did you have someone do them for you?”

Now was as good a time as any to lay the groundwork for his goal. “I’ve been drawing since I was a kid and took a few art classes in high school. I do some painting, and a bit of sculpting, too. I loved woodworking in shop and carpentry is my favorite part of any job.”

He didn’t want to sound as though he’d wanted this job as a back-door entry to get his paintings shown when the gallery opened. She’d suspect he was scamming her and automatically cross him off the list for the reno.

“I see.” She studied him for a few seconds. “And the materials estimate for this area?”

He put that sheet on top and figuratively crossed his fingers.

She sighed. “Yes, I see that I’ve been living in fantasy-land as far as costs are concerned.” She shook her head slowly and Jeff’s hopes died. “Let me look the figures over and get back to you, Jeff. I know you put a lot of work into this, so I won’t keep you in suspense. I’ll call you in twenty-four hours with my decision.”

“If there’s anything in particular that you’re not happy with, Zoe, I’m sure we could work some—”

“Jeff.” She held up a hand to cut short his protest. “The design is wonderful. You’ve more than met my expectations. My capital is the limiting factor. I have to run the numbers again before I give you an answer. I’m sorry to keep you waiting but—”

“No problem, Zoe. I do understand. Been there myself.” He stood and put out his hand. When she followed suit and clasped his, he felt a tingle zing up his arm. Seeing her eyes widen, he wondered if she’d felt something, too. Nah. Wishful thinking. He picked up the empty case and slid the strap over his head. He dreaded going home to tell Jen his grand plan might have gone down in flames.

As they walked through the empty room toward the front door, Jeff commented, “I’m impressed, Ms. Silvercreek. You accomplished a lot in the forty-eight hours since I was here last. I bet you’ve got some sore muscles in those arms.”

“They’re absolutely killing me,” she admitted. “But it seems if I’m going to make this dream of mine a reality, there are going to be a lot more sore muscles in my future.” She gazed up at him thoughtfully. “Tell me, Jeff. How much trouble would you have with me working alongside you for the renovation? Are you prejudiced against women doing manual labor?”

“I’m pretty liberal about most things. As long as you wouldn’t insist upon doing something that I felt was truly beyond your abilities, I don’t think I’d have a problem.”

“Okay. Good to know.” She smiled.

“Of course, as far as the actual working arrangement goes, I’d be the boss. Would you have a problem taking orders from me?”

The smile disappeared. “As long as I decide what we’re going to do, I’m willing to let you decide how we’re going to accomplish it. Deal?”

He nodded. “Deal.”

“Good. I’ll get back to you by tomorrow afternoon, Jeff. Thanks for coming in.”

He put on his helmet and started his bike. The next twenty-four hours were going to go by too slowly. Patience was not one of his virtues. But he had no choice except to wait for Zoe Silvercreek’s decision.

“Miss Adams? Zoe Silvercreek. I hope I haven’t caught you
at a bad time?”

“Not at all.” A silvery laugh came over the phone line. “I only wish I could say that I was very busy.”

“Good. I wondered if you might have some free time this afternoon to meet with me. I realize this is very short notice, but I have some decisions to make and need some financial advice. I’d like to take you up on your offer from yesterday.”

“That’s wonderful. I have the entire afternoon free, Zoe, so choose a time that’s best for you, and I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. I have some painting to finish, so will three o’clock work for you?”

“That would be fine. I’ll meet you at the gallery at three, then?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll see you then.”

Zoe undid the plastic wrap from around the paint roller and poured fresh paint into the pan. She sized up the walls the way a fighter did his opponent. The second coat would be a done deal by three.

While she worked, Jeff’s plans danced before her eyes. They were wonderful. She had to figure out a way to make them a reality. She hoped Amanda Adams could help her with that.

When she’d made the deal with Fredrick, her plan was to use his money for the down payment on the mortgage and the renovations, then, once the gallery was renovated and bringing in some money, she’d go to the bank and get a business loan to pay him back. That would guarantee her sole possession of the gallery, and the painting her mother had loved so much. She’d been unable to secure any other financing for her business, which the banks told her flatly was too risky for their taste.

She worked steadily until noon, gratified to see the primer had obliterated the underlying colors. Painting walls didn’t require a lot of concentration, so her mind was free to think about how nice it might be to work side-by-side with Jeff Petrosky for the next few months. Zoe felt a warm glow when he had complimented her on what she had accomplished so far. She envisioned her mornings starting out with coffee, and pastry brought by the hunky handyman. Not a bad start to any day.

She ate her lunch while going over the plans and estimates again, trying to find ways to lower the cost of the materials for her living space upstairs.

She wasn’t going to touch anything Jeff had proposed for the gallery. She loved the idea of the movable walls that would let her change the displays to suit whatever she wanted to highlight. It was a great idea that offered maximum flexibility for the large open space.

She would be willing to live in a cardboard box if that’s what it took to get the gallery up and running, but she had to admit that Jeff had pared down the cost of materials for her space to the bare minimum. She could see no way to lower the estimates he’d given her.

Finished with painting by two-thirty, Zoe cleaned up her tools and her ha
nds and cleared away the stack of blueprints on her desk. She left the cost estimates out and unlocked the desk drawer where she kept all the receipts, her mortgage papers and the agreement with Fredrick Barker she’d signed last month. Every time she touched that piece of paper, her stomach threatened to empty itself.

Promptly at three o’clock, the jingle of the bell over the front door announced Amanda Adams’ arrival.

“Hi, Ms. Silvercreek.” The woman looked around and nodded appreciatively. “I see you’re making great strides with the place. Paint always makes such a difference, doesn’t it?”

“It does. Please pardon my work clothes. I didn’t have time to go back to my room and change. And I’d rather you just called me Zoe. I’m not a very formal kind of person.”

“Good, then we can both be relaxed. Call me Amanda.” Again she glanced around the room. “You’ve worked so hard today, are you sure you want to go over the financial end of your business now?”

“Absolutely. I have decisions to make and time is my enemy. I’ve got to have this place finished for the soft opening I plan over the Thanksgiving holiday. Come on back to the office and let’s see if you can provide me with a miracle.”

“I’m afraid miracles are out of my league, but I’ll do my best to leverage your assets and stretch your capital as far as I can.”

Zoe seated Amanda at her desk, then angled a folding chair next to her. While the accountant went over her paperwork she tried not to fidget but the strain was too much. She got up and began to pace. Finally, after thirty minutes of study, Amanda straightened and turned toward Zoe.

“Please, come sit down and I’ll tell you what I think so far.” She consulted a legal pad where she had jotted important points and turned it around so that Zoe could follow along.

“The big picture looks doable, but with the financing you currently have, you’ll be running with a very tight margin for error. One unexpected expenditure will put you in a precarious position.”

Zoe slumped in her chair and bit at the ragged edge of a fingernail. She had to make this work. It was her dream. A dream she had been working toward from the first moment she put a brush to canvas. Her mother had encouraged her to follow that dream, had worked two jobs to put her through art school. She had worked so hard, in fact, that she had died of a heart attack when Zoe was one semester shy of graduation.

Zoe put her hand on Amanda’s arm. “There has to be a way I can make this work. There has to be. Whatever it takes . . . I’ll do. I won’t give up, Amanda, no matter what.” She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and struggled to regain her composure. This woman would think she was an emotional basket case and too unstable to be successful. Before she could continue, Amanda covered her hand with her own.

“I can see how important this is to you, Zoe, and I’m not saying you can’t make it work. It’s my responsibility to give you my opinion of your financial situation. In all honesty, my evaluation is only a ball-park estimation. I’m not experienced in the world of art. I can’t judge how good the works are that you are going to sell, and therefore I can’t estimate the income you’ll generate from those sales.”

“Yeah, that’s what the banks said. They need to see a profit and loss statement after I’ve been in business for at least six months before any of them will even consider granting me a business loan.”