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4
After the lumber yard, I decide to grab me a little breakfast and drive around the Quarters looking at the architecture. Kara’s right. Everything in this area tells a story about the city. Who better to design a new nightclub than someone who knows about the richness of the location? I pull up to her house and marvel at its beauty. It’s an older home built in the early sixties possibly, but with modern upgrades. I walk up the large stairs that lead to the entrance and ring the bell. She comes to the door dressed in a tight white button-down shirt and a flouncy black skirt and heels. I swallow the extra saliva when my gaze lands on her perky and full breasts that seem like they’re about to burst out of her top.
“Mr. Phillips. Nice to see you again, please come in.” She steps aside, closing the door behind me. Her home is amazing. Beautiful wood floors, high ceilings, and an open space allowing the energy to flow from room to room.
“Ms. Brown. It’s a pleasure,” I say, extending my hand out to her.
“Please, call me Kara,” she replies.
Her soft hands envelope mine, and the way she holds on to them gives me a feeling she has an attraction to me. My mind flashes back to the impure thoughts I had of her last night. She takes position in front of me, and I follow.
“So this is my home/office. We will be meeting here in the formal dining which I converted to my showing room. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Uh, no. I’m good, but thank you. Your home has some good bones. Strong. Are these the natural wood floors?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to strike up a conversation.
“Mmm-hmm. I mean, yes. I took some money I inherited and remodeled the place from top to basement. I needed to be sure I had ample space for what I wanted to do but keep the remnants of home.”
I wander around while she gathers things for our meeting. The pictures of her family hanging on the walls express how happy they all appear.
“Did you always want to go in to designing?”
“Yes! I love it in all forms. It’s been a passion of mine since I was a little girl. I would get in trouble for cutting my mom’s sheets to make clothes for me and my sister’s dolls. She was always the accomplice.” She averts her eyes at her memory.
I recall one of the articles I read mentioned her parents dying in a car crash. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, so I steer the conversation to why we are here.
“Let’s see those designs,” I say, trying to keep her memory from fading into a painful one.
She pulls out from her tattered leather portfolio case a few designs she has put together. I glance over the color schemes and fabric samples she has attached, and I’m amazed.
“Wow. These are fantastic. You were able to get all of these samples put together within a day?”
“Mr. Phillips, working under high-pressure situations is a plus for me. I tend to focus more on my designs.” She takes a few more examples and places them on the table. “Oops, how did this get in there?” She laughs at herself as she puts the design back into her portfolio.
“Wait, let me see that?”
“Oh, this wasn’t one I had for you. I’m sorry.”
“I’d still like to see it. Looks great.”
She puts the design back on the table, and it sucks me in. I can visualize the layout for this particular spot. The owner wanted something swanky yet inviting. Ella thought his design needed to be more modern, hint our creative differences. This has what he wants with a bit of a bite. The bar is offset with a red glowing light, and the dance floor has a deep purple ambience. The seating sections are made of white tufted leather with faux-diamond accents. Kara’s design looks exactly like he envisioned.
“Wow, I love how the colors play off of each other, and there’s the lighted backdrop for the premium alcohol. Where are your fabric samples?”
“Oh. Well, since this wasn’t a design I worked up for you, I didn’t attach them. But they’re in my basement. I can run down and get them if you want.” Her eyes widen, and her eagerness exudes from her bright smile.
I find myself getting hot under the collar at the sight of her breasts cautiously on display under that white button-down shirt she’s wearing.
“I’d love to see them. I’ll go down with you. If that’s okay.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. It’s dusty and full of boxes, fabrics, swatches.”
“I don’t mind getting dirty,” I say with a slight grin.
She picks up on my unintended, but true innuendo and bites her bottom lip in a smile.
“My assistant will be back soon, if you want to wait? She can grab those things for you.”
I sense she doesn’t want me to see her basement, and this only makes me more intrigued.
