Everywhere and Every Way - Jennifer Probst Page 0,14
the best. A simple contractor wouldn’t get in her way.
“You have mud on your skirt.”
She never lost a beat. “I encountered the two Cujos in your foyer and realized they wanted to kill me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. We wrestled, and I won.”
“Never heard Balin and Gandalf called Cujos before. You’d be in more danger of being licked to death.”
“Tolkien fan, huh? Nice. Still, I wouldn’t term them a great welcome committee for new clients.”
“I don’t want any new clients, so they work great for me.”
“You won’t need any other clients after you take the Rosenthal job. You’ll be able to pick and choose to your liking.”
“I’m in a bad mood, princess. Sure you want to take me on now?”
She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully. “Why don’t you try me, Charming?”
His gaze narrowed. Oh, yeah, that got his attention. She tried not to get sucked into the depths of those amazing eyes, but she was fascinated at how quickly they could turn from smoke to cold steel. She wondered briefly what they’d look like when he was buried deep inside a woman. Whoa, what was that thought? Was she insane?
“What did you just call me?”
Morgan smiled at his slightly shocked tone. “Charming. If I’m playing the passive princess, you can play the part of the stud with brawn but no brains. Personally, I think the horses were the most interesting part of those stories.”
He shook his head. “Who the hell are you again?”
Morgan decided this was a great time to grab the chair opposite his desk and sit down. Both of her feet wept in relief. “Morgan Raines. I’m a personal interior design artist hired by the Rosenthals. In case you haven’t seen a movie in the past five years, let me remind you they’re the darlings of Hollywood, and Slate was nominated for an Academy Award last year. His wife is the face of Glimmer makeup. Maybe you’ve seen her in half a dozen commercials while you’re watching the Kardashians?”
Was that the grinding of his teeth or just her imagination? Oh, she hoped it wasn’t her imagination. “I’ve heard of them. Why is a design artist trying to hire me to build a house?”
Morgan went to cross her legs, felt his gaze drop to the exposed skin of her thighs, and remained still. She clasped her hands on her dirty white skirt and gave her spiel. “I’m much more than an interior designer, Mr. Pierce. My clients hire me to be their voice and vision and oversee the entire project of their dream home. I work with the contractors while the house is built and am the only one they deal with during the construction. I’m the one involved with every tiny detail, from the faucets and tile all the way to what type of doorknobs I want installed. I’m present every day and work closely with the builder on all aspects to completion.”
He fell back into the chair and let out a humorless laugh. “You gotta be kidding me. Basically, your job is to babysit all the spoiled, wealthy clients so they can show up to a completed house built to spec.”
It was so much more than that, but Morgan knew he wouldn’t understand until they began their project. Better not to mention he wouldn’t be able to breathe without her knowing. “Close enough.”
“You pick out their throw pillows, too? What happens if they’re the wrong color?”
The jab didn’t bother her. Morgan was used to the critics, but with a long trail of success stories and a book full of celebrity clients, she could afford to be gracious. “Yes, I pick out the throw pillows. And I never make a wrong decision.”
“Never?”
She calmly met his gaze and refused to veer off course, even though that strange breathlessness was seizing her lungs again. The man was so very . . . vital. “Never.”
“Must be nice.” He remained silent for a while, but she waited him out, her face smoothed out in a mask of endless patience. Morgan noticed he seemed to have no twitchy habits. She’d studied men in countless confrontation situations, and most of them slipped up, giving her a sign of how they dealt with emotion. Some paced. Others tapped an object or finger. Some shifted in their seats or crossed a leg over an ankle or beat a foot against the floor.
Caleb Pierce never moved. Didn’t blink. Just kept a stillness of thought and body that both fascinated and impressed her.