age.”
“Is that why you sent him away?”
“No. He’s too young.”
“You just said he was too old.”
Frustration zinged through her. “Too old for you to ogle, too young to build my dream.” And for me to ogle.
Ashley pulled out her phone and thumbed the screen. “Great excuse, Mom.”
Chapter Three
I had my heart set on the man who designed Crystal Springs and French Hills.
Well, you had him, darlin’, right in your silky little paw. Of course if she called Clayton Walker Architecture and Design, she’d get a different answer.
He ran hard, each jolt of packed sand fueling his determination. He wanted this job. He needed this job. And he had to close the deal before she hooked up with the legend who would squeeze out any competition, including his very own son.
Especially his very own son.
Damn it. He wasn’t about to let C-dub near this one. It was a matter of pride. Hell, it was a matter of survival.
And all that stood between him and what he wanted was a closed-minded, uptight, opinionated, voluptuous strawberry blonde. How could he change her mind?
From the minute he’d heard of the hurricane grazing Mimosa Key, he’d known it was the perfect solution. Remote, untouched, and off the competitive radar, he could get the soup-to-nuts job he needed to reinstate himself professionally. Post-disaster rebuilding wasn’t his favorite thing, but people in this situation tended to move fast and not take months to bid out work to competitive firms.
There had to be a way to win her over.
Well, there was the obvious. She had been pretty busy eyeing his personal landscape. While the idea of spending a long, hot summer night convincing her he was the man for the job had definite appeal, using sex to get the job was flat-out cheesy. It was bad enough that she thought he’d stolen the lead from his father—an understandable mistake since his sister refused to take his name off the Walker Architecture and Design Web site contacts. He wasn’t going to try to screw the work out of her, too.
Of course, she’d have the old man on the phone before Clay got back to his truck. The thought made him run faster, hurdling a fallen tree to get to the clearing in the road where he’d parked.
So call him, Strawberry. There’s nothin’ I love more than a challenge.
He opened the door to climb into the truck, glancing in the back cab at the sketches he’d brought. Bet she’d change her mind if she saw his ideas.
But maybe not. She might not have that much imagination if all she wanted to build on that gem of a property was “just a little B and B.” She’d go traditional. Cookie-cutter. Dull as dirt. Come to think of it, Dad would be perfect for her job. Reaching back, he grabbed the sketches.
After his first drive to this beach, he’d raced back to the rental unit to draw page after page of thumbnails. Nothing too detailed, just his gut-level reaction to the pristine, tropical hideaway of Barefoot Bay. It had all come together, too, looking like the success he needed so he could give the finger to his father and take the first step to rebuilding a reputation.
But Lacey Armstrong wanted the legend. The legend who would slap down a four-story stucco box, adorn it with Palladian windows, and pronounce it La Bella Vista at the Sea.
Damn stupid woman with her sexy thighs and preconceived notions.
He slid the rubber band off one sketch and studied what he’d drawn. How the hell could he convince her to look at these? And if he did, would it be enough to stop her from calling his father?
Just as he was about to toss them back, an engine rumbled from around the bend, and a muscular, roofless, high-end Jeep Rubicon accelerated toward him, a woman at the wheel, another next to her, and one in the back. Bass-fueled rock music blared from the speakers.
He was checking out the wild blonde hair, sunglasses, and tanned skin of the driver when one of the others yelled, “Stop, Zoe! Ask that guy!”
Tourists, no doubt. The Jeep came to a screeching stop fifteen feet away from him. The driver threw it into Reverse, fishtailing as she backed up to him.
“Excuse me!” she called, turning down the music. She glanced over her shoulder to say something to the other two as he came around the truck to get closer.
The one in the back didn’t look like a tourist, more lady exec with