“Good,” Todd said finally. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding, brushing back the hair from my face. “I have.”
“Carry on then.” He turned to leave and I remembered the problem I’d been thinking about before he walked up. Well, one of the problems, anyway.
“Wait,” I called, rising to my feet. I pointed to the ceramic on the furthest corner of the blueprint. “I want to use this tile for the kitchen. What do you think?”
Todd glanced at it, but didn’t move back to the table. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Bentley,” he said. “It’s not my place to decide.”
I scowled. “Mr. Bentley’s been locked up in his study all day.” As he has been every day since I started, pretty much. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate me barging in.”
In truth, I was scared of him. Scared of what he would do. Scared of what he wouldn’t do. I had it in my head that we’d experienced something special together, but ever since he’d been acting as if he barely even remembered me. It hurt.
“Wait until tomorrow then,” Todd suggested. “By the looks of things, it’ll be awhile until you lay any flooring down.”
My scowl deepened into a grimace. I didn’t have the energy to wipe my expressions for the sake of propriety.
“They’re special order and I’m getting a great deal on them,” I replied. “But Harry needs my decision today.”
“Harry?”
“You know Big Al’s Hardware in town?”
Todd nodded.
“Harry is little Al. He’s a friend.”
“Ah. How nice.” He pressed his lips together. “Well I’m afraid you’ll still need to ask Mr. Bentley. He might want to use his creative veto.”
Ah, yes. Oliver’s creative veto. I found it annoying that he’d apparently made a big deal about having the ability to say no to anything he wanted, but couldn’t be bothered to come look at the design himself, nor had he made himself available to ask questions.
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to assert myself.”
Todd nodded approvingly. “Remember what I said, Ms. Paulson.” He turned and exited the kitchen, his words trailing after him. “He’s a difficult man and requires a certain touch.”
A shiver ran through me as I recalled exactly what kind of touch he liked.
I arrived at the study door a few minutes later, after stopping off in the bathroom to readjust my hair and wipe the makeup from under my eyes. The door was still closed, as expected, but I wasn’t leaving until I had a decision one way or the other.
I knocked on the heavy oak awkwardly with my left hand, as my right was holding two sample tiles and swatches for potential matching countertop and paint. I had no idea when I’d next get a chance to talk to him, so I was prepared.
Professionally, anyway.
If I didn’t know he was in there, I might have thought the study was empty. There were no sounds of movement and he didn’t call out in response. But he’d been in there all day.
Great. So not only he is he pretending nothing had ever happened between us, but now he was hiding from me as well?
Somehow that made it hurt even more.
Still, I soldiered on, knocking again.
And again, silence.
“Mr. Bentley?” I called out.
I winced at the formal appellation. Only a week ago we’d been on very familiar terms.
Frustrated, I knocked again. “Mr. Bentley!”
Stomping footsteps approached the door. I took a step back, wondering if maybe I’d overstepped. But no, if he wanted creative control, he needed to be available to me.
The door swung open and Oliver towered above me, eyebrows knitted in consternation. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Are you trying to sell me cookies or something?”
His ruffled hair and rolled up sleeves gave the impression he’d been at work on something. But what? I learned about as much about Oliver while working for him than I’d learned by having sex with him, which was just about nothing.
There were oval shaped marks on the bridge of his nose. Did he wear glasses?
“I have to put my tile order in by six,” I said, ignoring his snarky comment. I thrust my samples toward him. “Should we sit down so I can show you what this is going to look like?”
Oliver looked at me blankly. “Are you serious?”
I nodded slowly. Was he serious? I couldn’t reconcile the memory of the man I’d met at Repeat with this asshole. He’d steadfastly ignored me since I got here, and now he was being downright rude.
I squared my shoulders. “Of course I’m serious,” I said. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
He rolled his eyes and closed the door in my face.
My mouth dropped open in an outraged gasp. I knocked again, harder this time. “Mr. Bentley!”
His muffled response filtered through the door. “Go away, woman! I’m clearly busy!”
I gritted my teeth. If my life were a cartoon, there would be steam bursting out my ears. The nerve of him! The disrespect! I turned on my heel and stomped back to the kitchen. I was tempted to throw the samples down on the table, but it wasn’t their fault he was a huge dick.
Why was he being like this? The only thing that made sense was that he was always like this, and it was the Oliver I’d met at the club that had been the act. One designed simply to get into my pants.
How many times had that worked? How many women had he closed down the VIP room for before me? The memory was now completely ruined, and I mentally screwed it up into a ball and tossed it into the furthest depths of my mind.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes but I blinked them back. He wasn’t worth tears. He had all the money in the world, but he wasn’t worth anything. It was time I got my head around the fact that this was just a job. I needed to just get it done and move on. If Oliver wanted to forget about me then fine, as soon as this job was done I would forget about him. Maybe sooner. I was basically working for Todd now anyway.
Still, the tile choice was risky. I’d chosen a bold color and it would be an expensive fix if I laid it and Oliver ended up hating it. The safer option would be to put down a neutral stone or a stone-finished ceramic, but in my heart that didn’t feel right.
As much of a jerk as my boss was being, I was already way too invested in this project. I actually really liked this house and I had big plans for it. I didn’t want to make concessions because Oliver was being difficult. Todd had told me I would need to stand my ground against him, and I was going to stand my goddamn ground.
I called up Harry and spent the first couple thousand dollars of my budget. And it felt good.
8
Oliver
Bzzt bzzt!
Bzzt bzzt!
Bzzzzzt!
I removed my glasses and tossed them across the desk. They skittered to the edge and toppled off. I cursed.
When would this godawful racket end? Less than two weeks ago I’d had a kitchen. Now I had endless, droning noise.
With a heavy sigh, I rose from my chair and headed out into the hall. Without the barrier of my closed study door, the noises were even louder. People talking, hammering, drilling… It was incessant. It was annoying. And it was all her fault.