teeth a quick, furtive buff with her thumb just to be safe. Nope. No lipstick. He thought she was crazy.
She didn’t blame him. She wanted to get this evening over with as quickly as possible. She wasn’t in the mood for dodging budget questions on a design that didn’t exist, and diplomacy wasn’t one of her strengths. Neither did she care for this type of function. She didn’t golf, she didn’t sail, and she didn’t have a million dollars to give away to some worthy cause.
But Matt looked all male-model gorgeous in a charcoal-gray suit that had to have been custom-made for him. He fit right in. This was his world, not hers.
He gestured for her to precede him through the doorway, and when she took a step forward, he placed a hand on the small of her back. His thumb subtly skimmed the swell of her hip. Eve wrestled a spontaneous, bone-melting desire to arch against his touch like a cat at a scratching post, then almost had a panic attack. She edged away from his lingering hand, aware she was overreacting to what amounted to nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture.
Matt grabbed them a glass of wine from a passing waiter as a smiling middle-aged woman in her forties, with artificial blond hair and an ill-fitting dress, jiggled her matronly body in their direction. Eve, glad for the diversion, scanned her memory, trying to come up with a name. Marion Something-or-other. Provincial Government, Department of Tourism and Culture.
Her stomach let out a little flutter of excitement. Eve had been trying for months to get work with these people. They had a few restoration projects that she’d love to be involved in.
The older woman extended a heavily ringed hand. “Hello, Ms. Doucette. I was hoping I might see you here this evening. We’ve never been formally introduced. I’m Marion Balcom.” Her gaze swept over to include Matt. “And you must be Matt Brison,” she said, shaking hands with him, too, before zeroing back in on Eve. “It’s amazing how fast Bob made all this happen, isn’t it? There hasn’t been much press coverage on this whole project, yet already Culture and Tourism has been fielding calls from the Historical Society regarding what will happen to the current City Hall building.”
“I’m the project manager,” Eve explained, her head still foggy from the touch of Matt’s hand. She took a sip of her drink. “I’m in charge of the expenditures and cost analyses, so that’s not really my area, but it’s my understanding that the old Hall has been slated for decommission.”
“Then the old Hall isn’t worth saving?”
Eve was no good at figuring out what information people were really trying to get from her, and it was obvious Marion wanted something. For Eve’s part, she wanted to make a good impression.
“That depends on how much money you’re willing to spend on it,” she replied carefully. “According to the engineer’s report the answer is yes, it can be saved, but if the building is to be decommissioned, then my guess would be the city can’t afford the expense of renovating. Sometimes it’s cheaper to start from scratch.”
“Hmm.” Marion’s eyes again rested on Matt, who’d been quietly listening. “Mr. Brison, I thought your designs tended to be much more sophisticated than anything our quiet little city would require. Hadn’t other plans already been approved?”
Again, Eve wondered where Marion was headed with her questioning. She was on the prowl for something, though.
“This is a design/build project,” Matt explained. “The preliminary blueprints are used as a guideline so the general contractor can provide cost estimates and a timeline for completion. I’ll be the one making sure the client gets what they really want for the final design.”
His eyes went to Eve on that last comment, as if he were trying to get her concurrence. Well, he wasn’t going to get it. Clearly, he needed a reminder that technically, in this instance, he worked for the general contractor and not the client—and there was a difference between what the client might want and what the client could afford. Architects tended to forget funny little details like that.
She opened her mouth to speak as their host wove his way through the crowd toward them. Tall, with a thick shock of silver hair and blue eyes much the same color as his nephew’s, Bob’s face was a wreath of smiles.
Eve clenched her teeth. The last time he’d smiled at her like that, she’d found herself working pro bono.