He hadn’t planned on hiring a designer until Landon pushed him, but Blake kept that part to himself.
“Have you worked with a designer before?”
“For the bars, yeah, but those were pretty high level. My team took care of the details. Since this is my home, I intend to be very hands-on.” Blake’s dimples beamed. “Expect to see a lot of me over the next few months.”
Farrah looked as thrilled as a mouse in a snake’s cage. “In that case, I’ll go over the different phases of the project, so you know what to expect. First, we’ll start with the planning phase, which is what we’re doing now. This is where I get to know you and your tastes, budget, and lifestyle needs.”
I need you.
Blake swallowed his reply. First, because it was cheesy as hell, and second, because he didn’t want to scare her off. They’d just gotten reacquainted, and Farrah wasn’t the type to let her guard down that easily. It’d taken months before she opened up to him in Shanghai, and given how they’d ended things…well, he was pretty sure an apology card and box of chocolates wouldn’t cut it for a reconciliation.
Farrah continued, oblivious to his internal strategizing. “After planning is the design phase. I’ll put together a few sketches and design boards for you to choose from. Once we finalize the design, I’ll hire the contractors, order the furnishings, and source the materials. That takes the longest time, given contractor schedules, shipping delays, and unforeseen circumstances. I’ll minimize those as best I can, but they pop up in any project. Finally, we execute. The contractors do their thing, we hang the art, arrange the furniture, and so on until your dream home is complete. Any questions?”
What Blake heard was, this was going to take a while. Excellent. “Nope. Sounds good to me.”
They entered his bedroom, and he tried. He really did. But Blake couldn’t stop his mind’s autoplay of X-rated fantasies at the sight of Farrah next to his bed.
Him shoving her tight gray skirt up and feasting until she screamed his name; her riding him while he sucked her nipples; them sixty-nining and coming all over each other’s faces.
His blood rushed south, turning him to steel, and Blake realized there was a major flaw in his brilliant win-Farrah-back plan: until he actually won her back, he was going to suffer from a serious case of blue balls.
“What is that?” Farrah’s tight voice interrupted his arousal-slash-horror.
“Hmm?” Blake hoped she wasn’t talking about the erection straining against the confines of his jeans because that would be super awkward.
“That.” She tilted her chin toward his nightstand.
Blake followed her gaze to where a little elephant figurine sat next to his alarm clock. It’d been his loyal companion all these years, traveling with him to London, Peru, Australia, and everywhere in between. It was the first thing he packed when he had a trip.
“Blake Jr.” His mouth tilted up when he remembered the night Farrah gifted him the souvenir from Thailand. That was the night of their first dinner together off-campus, just the two of them. He’d fallen a little in love with her then, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. “Handsome and ageless, just like his owner.”
Farrah rolled her eyes. “Poor thing, still stuck with a vanity name.” A strange expression crossed her face. “Why’d you keep it for so long? It’s a cheap souvenir, and it doesn’t exactly fit with your new life.” She gestured at their sparsely decorated but well-appointed surroundings.
Because it reminds me of you.
“Because it’s important to me.”
His response soaked into the air and charged it with electricity. He could feel the shift on his skin and in the pulsing of his veins.
Farrah’s cheeks tinted pink. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head and replied in a professional tone that didn’t match the sparks crackling between them. “I think I have everything I need.” She tucked her notebook into her bag, and Blake detected a slight tremble in her hands. “I’ll work on the sketches and call if I have any further questions. In the meantime—”
“Farrah—”
“Send me photos of any interiors you like,” she rushed. “You can email them, or I can create a shared Pinterest board. The Pinterest board is easiest.”
“It’s great seeing you again.”
You could hear a pin drop in the silence.
Farrah hoisted her bag on her shoulder, her face hard. “This is a professional relationship.”
“Never said it wasn’t.”
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you—” She stopped. “Just don’t. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you try to cross the line between client and consultant, I will walk off this project no matter how much you’re paying me. ‘Either party may terminate this agreement for any reason with ten business days’ notice.’ That’s in the termination clause of our contract. Am I clear?”