Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
He looks at my hand with a raised brow. Then, after a beat, he takes it. “Ford Devon,” he says.
Ah. He just used his last name over email. Interesting.
“So it’s not just Devon?” I ask. “Do you prefer Devon?”
“Ford will do,” he says, then blows out a breath. His forehead is all bunched up. This man is so intense. “I…wasn’t expecting you.”
“And I wasn’t expecting you,” I say lightly. “Are you moving out of the house next door to me and into this one?”
He tilts his head, looking thoroughly confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we…”
Oh. Shit.
He doesn’t realize I live next door to him. He doesn’t know I spied on him from my brother’s catio this morning and must not have seen where I marched away to this morning. And he definitely didn’t see me this afternoon when I peeked on him from the front door.
Oh, god. Could this get any worse?
I have to tap dance my way through this. I swallow and power through. “I live on Franklin Street in Hayes Valley. My brother mentioned some of his neighbors before I moved in a month and a half ago.”
There. When all else fails, blame thy brother.
My potential client’s handsome face goes entirely blank. Ice blue eyes glazed. Lips parted.
Shock, thy name is Ford Devon. “You’re my neighbor?” he chokes out. “My next-door neighbor.”
Some luck, huh? But I smile. Fake it till you make it. “Yes, I am.”
Too bad I don’t have those shishito peppers right now. I could use an apology gift. But then again, do I really want to start a business meeting with an apology? Actually, maybe I should. I was probably too amused by Simon, and then too annoyed by Ford. I can’t just gloss over the…illicit encounter.
“And I’m sorry again about this morning,” I say, shifting into full-on professional mode. “But I already have some amazing design ideas for your house based on the info you sent over earlier.”
“This house is for my parents, actually.”
“Great, well I think your vision—integrating the natural charm of Sausalito while still keeping a modern, recycled aesthetic—is very doable.” I gesture toward my bag with my tablet in it. “Would you like me to show you what I have in mind?”
He blinks, then collects himself. “Sure.”
You’ve got this, Skylar Haven. You’re a badass babe.
I click open my portfolio, and as he takes me from room to room, I pull up a range of design ideas that could work—reclaimed wood, bamboo furniture, secondhand furniture that’s as good as new, and a house filled with just the right amount of greenery.
“My mom does love plants,” he says, almost begrudgingly.
Bingo.
“And I know all the best places to shop,” I add, my confidence surging. “From San Francisco to Cozy Valley and down to Palo Alto—there are so many great options for sustainable materials and decor.” I scan the walls in the living room. They’re sage green, easy on the eyes. Most of the others are a soft shade of eggshell, a relaxing, warm hue. “I see you’ve already painted. That’s great.”
Ford lets out a low huff of amusement. “My mom hated the painter. Loved the colors though.”
Hmm. She sounds hard to please, but I love a challenge. “What did she dislike about the painter?”
“The timing. She wants everything done yesterday.”
Ah, that’s easy. I don’t like to fuck around either. “I like her already.”
He shoots me a skeptical but curious look. “Next, you’ll tell me you can find a mid-century chair for her home office. She’s been looking for one for a while.”
Please. “Of course I can.”
His gaze sharpens. “That so?”
“Absolutely.”
He seems to mull that over, then says, “Listen, Skylar…”
I hear it. The tone.
The one that says he’s about to let me down.
My heart sinks.
I wanted this job. I truly did. A coveted chance as a solo designer to tackle the whole house, not just a single room. And a house like this, with that stunning view of the water? It’s a huge opportunity. I can’t believe I’m about to lose it because my dog humped his dog.
Or, really, because I laughed at the scene.
Fine, I laughed uncontrollably.
God, I am uncouth.
Trevyn’s voice rings in my head: “Look, if someone’s Yorkie tried to get it on with Barbara-dor, I would cut them with my sharp wit.”
I lift a hand before Ford can continue. I need to apologize like I mean it. Not like I’m trying to win a deal. “I’m sorry about Simon.”
He blinks. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that.
“He’s…very excitable,” I add, with a self-deprecating smile. “But I completely understand that your little cutie girl wasn’t into it. You had every right to be annoyed with Simon and with me. And I definitely shouldn’t have laughed.”
Ford tilts his head, saying nothing at first. Then, finally, he asks, “Cutie girl?”
I nod. “She’s adorable. She’s part Corgi, part German Shepherd, right?”