wouldn’t have called him anyway. He was the one who left her, not the other way around.
At first, she had to admit she’d been a little disappointed when he hadn’t called the next day. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t get her number. He knew the name of her company and could easily search the internet for her website. But she, on the other hand, knew nothing concrete about him. Not his cell number, his place of business, the city or suburb he lived in. Hell, she didn’t even know his last name.
They’d talked about many things that night—their mutual love of travel, sushi, old horror flicks, watching golf on TV though neither of them played, early Aerosmith tunes. He made her laugh and seemed truly interested in her. And then there was Augustus. God, that cat loved him, which was really saying something. Augustus hated everyone.
But whenever she delved into topics about Trace’s work or family, he’d deftly changed the subject. She hadn’t realized what he was doing until she thought about it later. Like a politician, he presented only what he wanted her to know about him. Even though she’d had what was probably the best sex of her life, the man was a mystery.
And yet, there was something so familiar about him, too. Something that she couldn’t quite place. Like a well-worn groove in the road, she seemed to fit comfortably with him without really thinking about it. She’d resigned herself, however, that it had just been a one-night stand and decided to forget about him.
Then, yesterday, he’d called, wanting to hire her to decorate his home for a big party he was throwing.
At first, she’d considered telling him no. Despite Kari’s code of ethics, having had sex with someone wasn’t a good way to start a new client relationship. But when Trace told her again how impressed he’d been with her portfolio, she caved. His flattery had totally stroked her ego. Besides, decorating an estate in Rainier Falls, an exclusive, gated community in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, would look great in her portfolio. She’d be a fool to turn down the opportunity.
She crossed her legs and retied her wool coat, straightening the ends of the fabric belt. Had she remembered to remove the sales tag? A quick check of the sleeves and back collar confirmed that she had. After making the appointment and thinking about what she’d wear, her old coat had seemed a little dated, so she’d splurged on a new one. Surprising what a stylish coat, heels and a good haircut did for one’s image, she thought as the car finally came to a stop.
She was merely concerned with her business image, because the last time Trace had seen her, she’d been naked. Her face heated at the memory, even as her heart quickened at the knowledge that she was about to see him again. Not a very professional image by a long shot, so she had quite a big deficit to overcome.
The door opened and the gloved hand of the driver reached in. She exited the vehicle to see a huge mansion looming in front of her. She took a deep breath, hardly believing she was going to be in charge of decorating such a place. It looked more like an English countryside manor with its ivy-covered stone exterior, gabled roofline and massive wooden door. An unexpected architectural style here in the Pacific Northwest, it was much larger than she had imagined. Not knowing how many floors and wings it had, she estimated the footprint to be at least ten to twelve thousand square feet.
She turned to thank the driver, but he’d already climbed back into the limo.
A flutter of movement drew her attention as she strode toward the door. Glancing up, she saw a darkened second-story window, its draperies settling back together in the middle, as if someone had parted them to look out on her a moment ago. Despite the wool scarf around her neck, a shiver of cold whispered down her spine.
She shook the sensation off as she focused again on the house. She couldn’t wait to see the inside. Did it have a single, grand staircase leading up or two on either side of the foyer, meeting at a second-story landing? An impressive chandelier? An entry table with fresh flowers? Marble flooring or travertine? What kind of artwork was on the walls? Postmodern? Impressionist?
Tucking her hair behind one ear, she took a deep breath and raised the