Crave (His Second Chance with Heiress Bryn Christmas Duet #1) - Z.L. Arkadie Page 0,5

spent living in the guesthouse. That job led to another and then another, each as enjoyable as the last. When I became certain I wanted to make interior design a career, I went to see Jasper at the CFI—Christmas Family Industries—office in Lower Manhattan to seek his assistance for coming up with a solid business plan. Jasper listened to me attentively, asked questions about my goals, and wanted to know about the challenges I’d faced during some of my past projects. His expression remained stern as I gave my answers. After a final brisk nod, he typed feverishly on his keyboard. Seconds later, his secretary entered his office with a complete business plan. He went over it with me. It was amazing how he could come up with a solid blueprint in a matter of minutes.

“Then you want to implement it?” he asked.

“For sure,” I said, and Mindful Interior Notable Design—MIND by Bryn Christmas, for short—had been added to the CFI portfolio for the small-business sector.

That meant my employees were privy to a complete benefit package, which included all the bells and whistles. Their salaries were extremely competitive too. I had seven employees—one project assessor, three craftsmen, and three associate designers. Four of my employees lived in LA, and they were finishing up two projects in the county. I was on my way to start a third job. My associate designer Alana and the builder, Alex, who lived in New York City, were scheduled to fly into Vail, Colorado, the next afternoon. I liked to spend the first day on the job alone with my client to get a better feel for the house with the person inside it. After that, I would figure out how to bring our theme to life.

In the case of Eden Newell, she couldn’t think of a theme. I’d promised to help her come up with one. Manuel, my assessor, had traveled to her vacation home in October of last year, two weeks after Eden and I met in person. He’d taken pictures of each interior and exterior space and uploaded them into a design app that CFI’s technological team had made for me—another perk of being in the conglomerate. The app allowed me to shop catalogs and virtually insert products into the spaces. It made my job a whole lot easier.

I was working on preliminaries of the first-floor spaces when the stewardess returned to take my coffee cup and ask if I wanted another cappuccino. Remembering that once the airplane landed, I had a long drive ahead of me, I said yes. Then dinner was served. Absorbed by my work, I had no space in my head to think about my surprise encounter with Jamison Cox. He was out of sight and out of mind, forever forgotten, and that was exactly how I preferred it.

“You don’t need the receipt, Miss Christmas. I have your reservation in the system,” the guy behind the counter said.

I was standing at the car-rental counter, rifling through my purse. My cell phone had to be in there somewhere. I hated when I misplaced my things, especially my cell phone. I froze, trying to remember the last time I’d seen my device.

Then I sighed. Shit, I left it on top of the bar at the airport in Providence. “Thank you,” I said wearily.

It had been a mentally taxing day, so I had no energy to kick myself for losing my phone. I had just enough left in me to make it to the finish line, which was the two-hour drive to Vail.

We finished our transaction at the counter, and once I was in the large SUV, I shuffled through pop music stations on satellite radio and took a quick listen to the songs that were being played. I knew how my mind worked. I would obsess over losing my phone and running into Jamison if I didn’t keep my thoughts occupied by something like music I knew and could sing along with.

None of the songs were doing the trick, so I took my iPad out of my briefcase and used Bluetooth to hook it up to the car stereo. Ding! My iPad rang, letting me know I had messages. Gripped by relief, I remembered that I could lock my lost phone from my iPad. But first I saw that I had one message from J. Cox: I have your phone. When can I return it?

I flopped back in my seat, palm pressed over my overly beating heart. “What the hell?”