If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

She could do this. So what if she’d never tackled a project from start to finish by herself? She’d figure it out. She had the design chops, and that was what mattered the most.

Farrah zeroed in on where Landon sat by himself at the prime table in the corner.

A broad grin stretched across his face when he caught sight of her. “Farrah. Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Zinterhofer.” She shook his hand. With his wavy black hair, deep brown eyes, and bronzed skin—not to mention that tall, muscular body—Landon could pass for a male model. Farrah recognized this, but she didn’t feel one flicker of attraction. Maybe she needed to take her libido to the repair shop. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Please. Call me Landon. And of course. You’re one of the best interior designers I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” Landon winked at her. “Don’t tell Kelly that. She doesn’t like being second.”

He thought she was better than Kelly Burke?

Farrah tightened her grip on her portfolio to prevent herself from screaming like an idiot.

Thank God Landon was a hands-on management type of guy. He hadn’t micro-managed their project, but he’d made it a point to learn everyone’s names and listen to their ideas, no matter how junior they were.

Landon Zinterhofer, you are a thousand blessings in one.

“Are we waiting for your friend?” Farrah smoothed her napkin over her lap. She hoped the friend was as friendly and easygoing as Landon. She’d dealt with nightmare clients before at KBI; sometimes, she still woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat as faded screams of “I said eggshell white, not ecru!” echoed in her head.

“He’s already here. He went to the rest—ah. There he is.” Landon nodded at someone behind her.

Farrah put on her most professional smile and turned, ready to knock her new client’s socks off.

But her greeting died a quick death when she saw the tall, gorgeous blond stridin

g toward them.

No.

Cold tendrils of shock slithered down Farrah’s spine as the temperature plunged to sub-zero levels. She was imagining things. There was no way that was him. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

But there was no denying those ice-blue eyes. The cut-glass cheekbones. The deep dimples that faded as disbelief replaced his smile. He looked as stunned as she felt.

The twist in Farrah’s heart confirmed what her brain refused to acknowledge.

That was him.

The first—and only—man she’d ever loved.

The one who broke her heart.

The one she thought she’d never see again.

Blake Ryan.

Chapter Four

The chatter in the dining room faded as blood roared in his ears. His stomach plunged into free fall…and all Blake could do was stare, stupefied, at the brunette seated across the table from his best friend.

I’m hallucinating.

His brain must have associated “interior designer” with the only interior designer he knew and conjured up the illusion to torture him. The deep chocolate eyes, soft red lips, and faint scent of orange blossoms mixed with vanilla…she seemed so real it was cruel.

How many times had Blake dreamt of her, only to wake up to an empty bed, plagued with regrets over what could’ve been?

A deadly python of emotion constricted his chest and dripped poison into his veins, gluing his feet to the floor. The deafening thump-thump-thump of his heart drowned out every other sound in the restaurant.

I’m going crazy.