“Thank you!” She sighs and pops two from the foil strip, then takes the glass of water I hand her. “Anyway, long story short, he was apparently only in it to get his snake in my turban and that’s the end of that.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“Oh, you sound real sorry.” She rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I tried!” I protest, sitting on the sofa and crossing my legs in front of me. “That counts for something, right?”

“S’pose,” she mutters, reaching inside the front of her dress and fiddling with her bra. She slides the straps down her arms, just avoids a nip-slip, and sets her bra in her lap.

Welcome to Best Friend Ville. Population: Crazy.

If I didn’t do the same thing to her, I’d be real pissed.

“I don’t know why you keep trying so hard. This is New York. There are thousands of guys that actually deserve your time. All you’re doing by going on these endless, useless, fucking shit dates is hurting yourself. Cinderella didn’t go to her fairytale, and neither did Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. Their fairytales came to them.”

“Meanwhile, Rapunzel whacked hers over the head with a frying pan,” she replies dryly.

“And I am so Rapunzel,” I answer. “But the point is Flynn Rider still came to her, did he not?”

“I guess.” She’s just grumbling now. “I already tried that though, remember?”

“Charley, you went two weeks without going on a date. That’s like waiting for the flowers in your window to bloom.” I roll my eyes. “Wait for them to die and come back. If it doesn’t work then, then go back searching. The only dates you’re finding are rotten and moldy.”

“Mmm. I’ll think about it. Anyway, how’s the issue at work?” She rolls her face to me. “You didn’t call yesterday so it can’t have been bad.”

I shrug and pick at a loose thread on my sock. “Yesterday was… odd, but okay. Today was the best. I didn’t see him even once. Didn’t even call or anything. It was like heaven.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick.”

“Pretty thick is exactly how I feel.”

“You were alone with him yesterday, weren’t you?”

Best friends. Knowing what you don’t say since the dawn of time.

I tell her everything about the first day, from the trip to the artist’s studio to lunch to the two minute phone call as I updated him. I was super glad not to see him today because, honestly, I don’t know how much of him I can take. I think my Carter Hughes meter is getting pretty full.

I might need a vacation after this job is done. Or halfway. Whatever.

“Didn’t you guys agree not to be alone?” Charley questions.

“Yep.”

“And you broke it on the first morning.”

“Yep.”

“You know the chances of you finishing this job without kissing, sucking, or fucking him are incredibly small, don’t you?”

I sigh and cup my chin with my hands. “Yep. But I’m holding onto that little chance. Like when you rush to the store when there’s a sale on for those shoes you want but you know probably won’t be there in your size? They’re never in mine. So sex with Carter is my new coveted shoe that I absolutely won’t get.”

Charley pauses for a moment. “That actually makes perfect sense. Kudos.”

“Thank you.”

She swings her legs around the chair. “Now that’s out of the way—where’s the ice cream?”

***

Another day passes without seeing Carter.

I like it that way—always have, regardless of the client. Some can be overbearing and constantly question the way I do things. The worst one was a socialite whose husband had given her free reign with the whole house. It took months to complete, and in the end, I had to tell her husband very nicely that if he didn’t whisk her off somewhere nice on vacation for the final three weeks of the project, I’d be quitting and billing him for the mental health days I’d surely require.

Thankfully, he laughed, winked, and the next day, they were on their way to Bora Bora.

Nice work if you can get it.

The restaurant is now totally bare. It’s day three and the floors are up, the wallpaper is pretty much all stripped, and the bar has been demolished. There’s nothing but wood, wood, and more wood. Also a bit of brick here and there. Apparently there was some cracked plasterboard beneath the paper, so that’s getting fixed up first thing this morning.

I just want it to stop looking like a building site so I can get in here and go wild with the design. I keep mentally rearranging pictures and décor every time I walk into this room. I’m itching to get stuck in and tear open the boxes of things that are sitting in the storage room waiting for the rest of their friends to join them.

Like… God. I love designing, I do. But I love being in the room and seeing it finished—making it be finished.

I can see it now in this room… How to position the pictures for maximum light from the new fixtures being fitted this afternoon. How to arrange things for privacy between tables. How to lay out the centerpieces. The exact angles of tables…

Yet everything will change when all the furniture has been delivered and assembled. I know I’ll change everything until I’m right back at the original design, and that’s the fun of it. Also frustrating, but fun just sounds way more positive.

Satisfied with how everything is going, I tell Dave to call me if he needs anything and grab a cab outside the restaurant. I settle back into the seat on the way to the office and flick through my planner. Aside from a couple of phone calls and a home visit, the next week is dedicated solely to Carter’s. Unfortunately, I’m a bit of a useless shit in these first few days.

I’m no wallpaper master.

I put my planner back in my purse, pay the driver, and get out of the car. The clouds are gathering in the sky above me, blocking out the sunlight and sending a slight chill through the air. I shiver at the thought of rain and head into the building. My heels click against the floor of the lobby area and I throw one of the security guys a wave before pushing the button for the elevator.

The doors open with a ping, and I get in. I jab the button for Donnelly Designs’ floor and step back. The doors slowly close, and I wriggle my toes inside my shoes just as a hand slips between the doors and forces them to open.

I swallow my groan as my eyes meet the emerald green of Carter Hughes’.

I knew it was too good to be good.

“Ms. Donnelly. Fancy seeing you here,” he comments smoothly, joining me inside the elevator.

“Yes, it must be so shocking, especially given that I work in this very building,” I drawl.

He adjusts his sleeve at his wrist and shoots me a sideways glance, smirking. “So you do. How are things at the restaurant?”

“Looks like a toddler went into it with a bulldozer.”

“Just as expected then.”

I look over at him, my lips twitching. “Absolutely. Are you here for business?”

“Actually,” he says slowly, turning to face me fully. “I’m here to see you.”

Well, this is going to go one of two ways. “You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Thankfully, the doors ping open. I push off the back wall of the elevator, only for Carter to beat me to it and slip out. He flattens a hand against the opened door edge to stop it from closing. “Thank you.”

I swear all I do is thank this man.

“You’re very welcome.” He smiles and follows me.

Carlos is sitting behind his reception desk, slumped forward and looking at what seems to be his Kindle.

I clear my throat.

He looks up, eyes wide. The Kindle quickly disappears. “Bee! You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Obviously. Good book?” I query, walking up to the counter.

“Not bad. Could use a little less kissing and a bit more murder.” He shrugs.

I just about refrain from rolling my eyes. “Do I have any messages?”

“Mrs. Cortez cancelled again and requested you call her back. Your mother said to tell her—”