Rusty Nailed (7 page)

Babe.

Sorry. OK, text me the address and I’ll meet you out there. 7?

Perfect.

Dammit Simon, now all I can think about is a quick something.

Aaand we’re back. See you at 7.

•  •  •

I
walked around the property, checking sight lines and viewpoints, noticing where the late afternoon light hit the buildings. I saw windows where they weren’t, walls where they could be moved to exploit the natural landscape, and pocket gardens that could be renovated to bring a sense of green to a modern shell.

I was getting excited to bid on this job.

A Range Rover’s honk broke me from my reverie. I turned from the front walkway to see Simon pulling up in front. Not quite done with what I was doing, I lifted a finger to indicate that I needed another minute. He parked and walked to where I was.

“So this is the place, huh?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me as I gazed up at the structure.

“Yep, what do you think?”

“I think my girl’s gonna kick some ass on this project,” he replied, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“It’s a beautiful location, isn’t it?”

“What, Sausalito? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you kidding? Look at that view!” I pointed back over the bay at the city. San Francisco twinkled in the twilight, the cars going back and forth over the bridge. Coit Tower. Transamerica building. Lovely.

Then I did a 180 and looked back at Sausalito. It wasn’t just a great place to gaze at San Francisco. The houses were glowing against the mountain, streetlights just coming on, sailboats dotting the marina, people walking along the waterfront on their way to dinner or shopping or going home.

“The restaurant isn’t far from here. Let’s walk,” I said, tugging him toward the main drag.

He twined his fingers through mine and as we walked, we talked. About my design ideas, about the upcoming wedding, about his next trip. He was leaving again in two days, this time for South Africa. He was going out on a shark boat, getting shots of the great whites feeding. I couldn’t really think about it without shuddering.

Shudder
.

“So Jillian told me today they added France and Switzerland to their honeymoon. Looks like they’re going to be gone awhile,” I said as we headed toward the pier with the restaurant.

“Oh, yeah? Good for them. I know Benjamin has always wanted to travel more.”

“Jillian too, but she was building a business. Hard to leave a business like that—unless you have Super Caroline back home, running the show.” I laughed, making a show of my muscles, which he squeezed appreciatively. “But I admit, I’m surprised they don’t seem to have more of a plan.”

“Sounds like they just want to wander around.”

“Sure, sure. Except wandering without a plan is not like Jillian.”

Simon shrugged. “It’s their honeymoon, babe. And it’s not like they can’t afford it.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of Benjamin’s giant assets,” I replied, getting a swat on the bum for that one. Simon indulged my crush on Benjamin, but he still reminded me whose assets I needed to be concerned with. “I’m just . . . a bit nervous, I guess. This is a lot to take on.”

“Did you talk to Jillian about it?”

“Not since this hotel proposal came up. She’s so busy with the wedding right now and everything else she’s got going on, I’ve barely seen her.”

“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. She wouldn’t leave if she didn’t know you could handle it, right?”

“That’s what she said,” I told him, thinking of how much I was really biting off here. “And she did say she’d bring in an intern for me, so that’ll help.”

“Nice! Moving on up,” he exclaimed, humming the tune from
The Jeffersons
.

“Yeah, the president of the design firm is bopping around Europe for who knows how long, but I’ve got a twenty-year-old intern to help me make copies, so it’ll be fine,” I snapped, reaching for the door to the restaurant. A strong hand reached over mine, stalling the door.

“Hey, it’ll work out. Don’t worry so much,” he said, gently nudging my chin up with his fingers to meet his eyes. My frustration that had flared so suddenly melted away when those sapphire eyes starting spinning their voodoo.

“You’re probably right.” I sighed, letting him open the door for me and guide me inside, one hand on the small of my back.

“Of course I’m right,” he teased.

Once we were seated, I pulled out my calendar.

“Okay, you get back two days before the wedding, right? I want to make sure you have time to settle in before the festivities start.”

“Yep, I’ll be back in time and ready for all best-man duties.”

“Cutting it pretty close, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking when I said I’d do this shoot, but it’ll be fine. I can sleep during the vows, right? They don’t need me for that,” he joked.

I turned his palm up on the table, tracing the lines with my fingertips. I glanced up at him, noticing his gaze had turned dark under his lashes. “You can’t sleep during the ceremony, babe. Besides, there’ll be a bridesmaid across from you thinking the dirtiest thoughts imaginable.”

“Dirty, huh?”

“Oh my, yes; I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself. You? In a tux? Deadly,” I purred, raising his hand to press a quick kiss to his fingers.

As the waiter came over to get our drink order I winked, dropped his hand, and mouthed “later.”

While Simon looked over the wine list, I looked out the large picture window at San Francisco. The sun had finally set, and the light from the city bounced back across the water. I smiled, considering myself one of the very lucky to call my favorite city home.

chapter four

I sat across from Max Camden, my designs tacked up on boards around the room and my formal presentation in my hand. On a disk. And in a folder. And backed up to a thumb drive in my purse. And a thumb drive in Jillian’s purse. And after a midnight run to Sophia’s apartment, a thumb drive in her jewelry box.

I had thumbs all over town. But would I get the thumbs-up from Camden?

Nerves gave Backbone a high five for punning in the face of life-changing moments.

I had circled the room for an hour, laying out my ideas, bolstered by pictures, charts, and more graphs than high school geometry. Jillian had interjected occasionally, but she let me take the lead. The vision I had conceptualized for the Claremont was clean and simple, with a nod to the boutique hotels that used to line the California coast.

While Camden’s hotels were known for their modernistic design, there was a reason that he wasn’t going with his usual design team. He was looking for something new, whether he knew it or not. Would he be swayed by what I had to say?

His gray eyes flickered back to me, his gaze narrow and sharp. This guy was intimidating, and he knew it.

As I had presented, he had stopped me only a few times, asking very clear and concise questions that were exactly the right ones. I was ready, though. I was as prepared as I could be with the limited time I’d been given, and I thought I held my own. Now it came down to whom else he was seeing, and whether their vision matched his own.

It was time for me to bring it home.

I slid one more picture across the table toward him, a photocopy from an old
San Francisco Chronicle
article about the town of Sausalito. It was old, nearly eighty years, and the picture showed that the town was much the same as it was now. Picturesque but bustling, quaint but proud. Next to its much grander neighbor of San Francisco, it could have lived for years in its shadow. But Sausalito had a heartbeat that was all its own; its own DNA. It was
family,
in whatever way the modern times defined it.

“So you can see, Mr. Camden, that while other towns around the Bay Area have grown up and out, Sausalito is content to remain in its own little oyster shell, enclosed by the bay that makes it such a unique community. For a new hotel to succeed here, it needs to be unique as well. The existing hotel fails to do that.

“This hotel needs to be appealing to both young and old clientele at the same time, environmentally conscious without appearing to be so, green without being granola, with a design that harkens back to the town’s beginnings but nods toward the future,” I said, then took a breath. Jesus, I hated speaking in motivational.

“A modern hotel will be out of place here, Mr. Camden. This needs to melt into the landscape, but leave such a strong memory that once you stay here, you’ll never think of booking anywhere else.”

I sat back in my seat, putting the cap on my pen.

“And that’s exactly what you’ll get with Jillian Designs,” I finished. Hoping that no one noticed that I’d been struggling under the table to get back into my left shoe. I’d lost it somewhere between harkening back and nodding toward the future. When I was nervous, my feet tended to go pigeon-toed.

The room was quiet.

Camden looked at me for another moment, his eyes indecipherable.

We all sat, waiting for him to say something. Finally, he sighed.

My heart sank. And there went my right shoe.

“Well, Max,” Jillian said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to think about, so we’ll make sure you and your people have everything you need to—”

“You can bring this project in on time, young lady?” he asked me directly as everyone on his side of the table had started to get up.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think you can get this done with the budget you’ve set out here?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, toes frozen in their quest for my shoe. Everyone else hovered in their half-standing poses.

He smiled at me, then stood up . . .

•  •  •

“. . . a
nd then he said, ‘
Okay, you’ve got the job
,’ and walked out! Just like that!” I squealed. “I got the
job
!”

I was recounting the story to Simon, who had called me as soon as his plane landed in Cape Town. The biggest news of my professional career, and I had to share it with him over the phone. Ah, well.

“That’s great! Oh, babe, that’s fantastic! Damn, I wish I was there to take you out to celebrate.”

“I know, I wish you were here too. But you can kiss on me when you get back—we’ll celebrate then.”

“I’ll for sure kiss on you, plus other things.”

“Right now I’d settle for the kissing. Let me fantasize about the other things.” I sighed into the phone. I could hear him exhaling. That was his tell, right before things got out of hand . . .

“Anyway, before things get out of hand—”

“You mean before I
take
things in hand?” he replied in a husky tone.

“Simon, control yourself. Pretty sure you’re still in the airport, aren’t you?” I asked, my face blushing when I thought of him walking through customs with a bone diddy.

“You’re getting off on a technicality. So talk me down. You got the job, what’s next?” he asked, his voice taking on a businesslike tone. I could tell he was struggling to maintain, so I went easy on him.

“What’s next is I won’t come back up for air until the wedding, then go right back into the thick of it. Seriously, I can’t even
begin
to tell you how busy I’m going to be. It’s a good thing this is your busy season, because I will be swamped for the foreseeable future. I’m interviewing final candidates for the new intern tomorrow, I’m simultaneously putting the final touches on several projects that I’d normally deal with one at a time—it’s insane.”

“Insane good, though, right?” he asked, and I grinned broadly.

“Insane good, yes. I’m so glad you understand what it’s like to be wrapped up in your work. You’re kind of the best, Wallbanger.”

“I aim to please.”

“You
do
please; often,” I whispered, my voice taking on a husky tone.

“Getting ready to go through customs now, Caroline.”

“Do you have any idea how much you please me, Simon? Over and over again. Just the thought of you almost makes me want to please myself,” I murmured, and heard him groan.

“Business or pleasure, Mr. Parker?” I could hear an official-sounding voice say.

“Pleasure, please,” I answered naughtily, and Simon hissed.

“Hanging up on you now.” And he did just that.

I fell back into the pillows, flushed and giggly. The things that Wallbanger made me do.

•  •  •

Text from Simon to Caroline fifteen minutes later:

Someone’s in trouble when I get home.

Promise?

Woman, you give me ideas.

Do I, now?

Seriously though, all sexting aside, congratulations. I’m proud of you.

I’m proud of me too. Thanks.

Now then, what are you wearing?

Go chum the water, Wallbanger.

That’s what we’re calling it now?

Sigh. You remember the first time you texted me? From Ireland?

I do.

And you remember when I went across the hall and kicked your door?

There was a short pause. Then:

You just did, didn’t you?

Maybe.

Love you.