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Chapter Nine
Holly
Do not turn and look.
Do not turn and look.
I repeated the words in my head over and over again like they were the chant to a sacred ritual, and I was trying to summon rain in the desert as I felt Reid walk out of the café and down the street.
My eyes bore a hole in the tablet that still sat in my lap, a useless weapon against the force that is this utterly infuriating man and inhaled a deep breath in the hopes that it would slow my racing heart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Reid Chapman since that night he called me and asked me to dinner.
The night that I answered my cell phone and unknowingly asked him to tell me about threesomes and fucking. That’s a mortifying conversation that will forever be burned into my brain. I could feel the blush creep up my neck as the memory of his rough voice sliding through the phone and into my bed began to awaken the unyielding need I seem to have for this man.
“Don’t.” I held up my hand before Beth could even ask the questions that I know sit on the very tip of her tongue, hoping that if I said it firmly enough, she would save me from the embarrassment. It’s bad enough that the girls already think I’m crushing on Reid. I can’t have a full-on conversation about it. I’m not ready to dissect whatever these weird feelings are. I’m not prepared to speak them into existence and give them life. I would rather just avoid them like the bubonic plague I know they are.
Nothing good can come from a man that looks like that in a pair of jeans and makes my hands sweat and my heart race every time we’re in the same room. He’s given me the damn sex flu, is there a vaccine for that? Maybe I should have gone to medical school instead of design school. I’m sure all of womankind would benefit from a vaccine that made you immune to men like Reid Chapman, men that think they are God’s gift to women. What’s worse? The arrogance makes them even sexier. It’s a nasty, unending cycle.
Three deep breaths, a short prayer to the good Lord above, and one quick visit down memory lane, as a reminder of Chet the asshole, and my heart rate slowed back to its normal rhythm.
I have a job to do, and any distraction has the possibility of derailing my timeline. Normally, I’m a bit more flexible, but the signed contract for Anderson House that still sits on my desk at home is ironclad. If I don’t complete this project within the next two weeks, I can kiss putting my stamp on one of the most unique pieces of history in the Carlton area goodbye.
Tapping the screen on my tablet, I brought my design program back to life and pushed out the external factors that threatened to block my ability to really feel the space, mainly Reid and his stupid, sexy glasses.
I felt the warmth from the solid oak wood flooring beneath me. I had to beg and plead, and maybe I offered my first-born child, but I finally found a contractor willing to agree to help me restore and refinish the water damaged floors of the café. These floors hold so much character, they tell much of the story of the bank that once was. It was important to Beth as well as the owners of the café that we attempt to save them. More than that, it was important to me that we protect this vital piece of historical significance.
The sun filtered through the windows and lit the room, allowing me to see a vision of what would be, of the whites and light grays we could use to brighten the space. How the light contrasted with the natural woods and the dark steel of the vault door that once functioned as the heart of this bank played off of each other in a perfect symphony of clean lines and modern details while maintaining the historical properties that make this café so special.
At one time, this bank was the only bank in the city; it was a central meeting point for the business men and women of Carlton. A constant stream of activity flowed through these doors just as it does today. This café represents everything I love about history, breathing life into something that once was the lifeblood of each and every business in this city, the culmination of a structure that built the very foundations of the economy this thriving city is built on.
History lives on in our ability to maintain it, nourish it, and allow it to grow and change with a new generation.
Beth and I spent hours finishing up the design process, taking measurements, and certifying the finalized images before locking down the café for the night. I will go home and draft the designs on paper with ink before I send them off to my team to set all the wheels in motion. We’ve done the legwork, now we just need to see it through to the finish line.
Rush or no rush, I don’t do anything halfway. I put everything I have into each and every property that I touch. I’ve built this business from the ground up, and building my own reputation, a reputation not associated with the Adkins family name, means everything to me.
???
“I don’t have words, Holly. It’s magnificent.” Beth held back tears and crinkled her nose as her eyes darted around the dining space of the café unable to focus on just one of the many changes we made during the remodel and renovation. In just a few short minutes the ribbon will be cut, and the celebration will begin for the official soft re-opening of the café. Ironic that the mayor is here on behalf of the city for the ribbon cutting. It’s a good thing Beth is all up in her feelings or she might get extra ragey with those giant scissors after the hell they put her through to get to this point. I don’t know, now that I think about it, it’s better that they don’t give her over-sized sharp objects.
“I don’t need your words; I just need a check and your stamp of approval. We did a damn good job didn’t we?” Pride swelled inside of me as I stood in a pair of trim, black editor pants and a white silk blouse, tucked in. These pants tie at the waist with a bow, giving what would normally be a masculine pant a more feminine touch. I came straight from the office, but I stripped my jacket off in the car, not needing to be quite as formal, especially since I don’t plan to stay for all of the festivities planned for tonight.
“We? No, this is all you, girl. You killed it. I mean sure, I unlocked the door for you to come in and do your thing, but this was all you.” I looked to Asher as she spoke and he stood behind her gripping her hip possessively, the man hasn’t been able to take his eyes, or his hands for that matter, off of her since we got here. That inkling I had at brunch about the two of them, yeah, I was so obviously right.
“Just let her tell you how wonderful you are. I’ve been trying to sprinkle my praises over her all night, but she isn’t having any of it.” He squeezed her hip and the sly smile in his brown eyes tells me that he’s going to shower Beth with all of his praises later tonight.
Watching the two of them together set off flurries in the base of my stomach. My entire life I watched my parents train wreck of a marriage. Their marriage was purely a facade, for what I don’t even know. Other than the fact that my mother would die before losing the Adkins name and ruining her luxurious lifestyle. God forbid she couldn’t host a damn dinner party for her friends. Then again, without that name she wouldn’t have any friends.
I watched my oldest sister follow in the family footsteps and marry into the land of the elite, followed by Noel who, well, we all know what she does. I hate to say it, but I’ve just never allowed myself to give in to the hype.
True love? The stuff in the fairytales? I never believed in that stuff. Or at least I didn’t until I watched my girlfriends, one by one get picked off. I watched them find true love. What is it Olivia says? The always and forever kind of love. And it’s staring me right in the face as I watch on like a voyeur at the way Asher watches Beth, at his soft touches and protective stance.
It’s kind of like the rare pair of one-off Louboutins I saw on the runway once during fashion week when I was living in New York. I know they exist; I’ve seen them with my own eyes. But those shoes, they aren’t meant for me, never will be. So, I can stare on longingly and dream about them, I might even find a similar pair, but they won’t ever live up to my hopes and dreams because they can’t. You can’t be something you aren’t, no matter how soft your black leather is and how similar your red bottoms look. And, that pair? The one-of-a-kind pair, I can never have them.
Maybe that’s why I finally agreed to let Tilly set me up on a date with one of Kris’s friends. Or maybe it’s because I’m willing to do literally anything at this point to get my mind off of freaking Reid Chapman.
It was a low point for me, really. I was lying in bed earlier in the week and every single time I shut my eyes, he was there. And he couldn’t just be there, sitting at a desk in a suit or something equally boring like a normal insurance adjuster might be doing. Oh no, each and every time I closed my eyes, I saw him in those jeans that fit his lean thighs like the denim was made to mold to his legs. I saw the broad expanse of his shoulders stretch the confines of his polo shirt, and I wondered what his chest might look like underneath. Does he shave his chest or is there hair there? I’m not opposed to either, but dammit if I don’t want to know.
How much time do you have to spend in a gym to get muscles like that? Does he have back dimples? The ones just at the base of his spine, right above his delectable ass that beg to be licked.
