O-kay. She frowned at the dismissal and hoped the redhead didn’t have a say in who decorated this house. Speaking of which, she slowly pivoted on her three and a half inch stiletto, taking in the room since up until that point her attention had been primarily focused on the gorgeous view.
The room contained no furniture, but in her mind’s eye, she added rugs, couches, chairs, lamps, and artwork until it was welcoming and warm. With her back to the darkened fireplace, she noted two sets of stairs to the left. One obviously led to a lower level, while the one on the main level stretched up along the wall to a partial open loft. Upstairs, a hallway extended both left and right. Eying the identical hallway to the left on the main floor, she itched to begin exploring.
A few minutes later, having exhausted what she could look at in the large room—twice—she noticed it was already ten after six. Where was this guy?
He was the one who’d specified the time, not her. The woman who’d called to arrange the meeting had cautioned her about being late, but apparently the courtesy didn’t extend both ways. She clenched her jaw slightly, mentally calculating fifteen more minutes was the longest she could afford to wait and still make the art show at seven.
Then she sighed as the truth contradicted her annoyance. She couldn’t afford not to wait, no matter how long the man took. Much as she hated the thought of not being there for Serena’s moment of glory in the spotlight, she knew her friend would understand.
A glance toward the kitchen accompanied her debate to ask the girlfriend to remind Mr. Daley she was here, but Gina decided against it. The woman was already unhappy with her presence; she didn’t want to annoy her further if she could possibly sway the man against her.
With an inward sigh, she crouched down to lay her case on the floor by the wall, then took out her small sketchbook to jot notes for the ideas that had been bombarding her since setting foot inside the door. Even if she didn’t get the job, she could draw up the final designs to add to her portfolio.
A lot of her pre-work could be done on the computer, but something about putting lead to paper always got her creativity flowing. As she became engrossed in her sketches, curiosity took command and she walked down the hallway on the main floor. Three rooms comprised that wing. Two shared a bathroom, but the third contained its own private bath and a separate area that could comfortably hold a couch and chair. If there weren’t so much more of the house she hadn’t seen, she’d assume it was the master suite.
Returning to the great room, she reversed her earlier decision and allowed only a moment of hesitation before striding toward the kitchen. If the girlfriend didn’t like it, tough.
But the kitchen was empty. One sweeping glance and she forgot about her anyway. The room was a chef’s dream, one she’d love to have but could never afford in this lifetime. She trailed her fingers across the cool surface of the marble countertops as she eyed the top of the line appliances, including a stove worthy of a gourmet restaurant. Turning to take the rest in, she noted hardwood floors, tons of windows, and recessed lighting that would illuminate the rich golden color of the log walls even after the sun had set.
The large dining area was located in front of a set of wide French doors that led out to a deck overlooking the lake. Just the other day, she’d spotted a table and chairs in a catalog of custom furniture that would fit perfectly in the space. She’d fallen in love with the piece only to have the twelve thousand dollar price tag jerk her back to reality. Never mind the fact it would never fit in her small, studio apartment.
&nb
sp; After completing a quick sketch of the room and adding the table, she wrote the catalog name, the name of the piece, and the designer who’d crafted it. She also jotted a reminder to call first thing in the morning to see if it was still available.
A closed door on the far wall to the left of the windows drew her closer. Muffled voices on the other side made her gaze narrow. Had to be the elusive, discourteous Dean Daley. She noted the time with another glance at her wrist: six-twenty-seven.
Darn him. If she had a choice, she’d leave right now.
No, she’d knock first, give him a piece of her mind, and then leave.
Turning full circle in the space for the dining table, she swept her gaze over the newly varnished logs, the knotty-pine boards and the second field-stone fireplace there in the dining area. Who was she kidding? Even if she didn’t desperately need the money, she’d kill for the chance to work on this magnificent piece of architecture.
Back in the great room, she thought about texting Britt to apologize to Serena for being late, but remembered she’d left her purse—with her phone—in her car. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too much longer.
She lifted her gaze toward the loft, cast a quick glance toward the kitchen, then decided the hell with it and made her way up to the second floor via the stairway against the wall. Carpeting covered the steps and second level floors, effectively silencing the click of her heels. The hallway to the left promised more guestrooms while a single doorway to the right piqued her curiosity yet again.
The door handle turned beneath her fingers and she stepped inside. This was obviously the master bedroom. Even so, the huge space held only a queen-size bed with no headboard, a single chest of drawers that had seen better days and a mismatched nightstand with an old lamp and an alarm clock. It all looked so out of place in the otherwise empty room, she almost felt bad for the furniture.
Suddenly feeling as if she were intruding, she started to close the door until her attention was caught by the brilliant hues of the sunset through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the frozen lake below.
Of their own accord, her feet carried her across the thick, rich carpet so she could bask in God’s personal watercolor.
Chapter 4
Dean slouched in his desk chair, head back, eyes closed, fingers speared through his hair as a headache throbbed behind his eyes. Two voices streamed from the speaker on his desk phone behind him, fighting for the upper hand in the discussion escalating into an argument.
“Good, God, enough,” he growled. Silence fell, and he sat up while spinning his chair around to face the desk once more. He lowered his arms and palmed his cell phone as he barked out, “Quinn, you keep an eye on Ty. Monitor his computer, his email, his phone calls, just, obviously, don’t let him know you’re doing it. Mike, I want you to get ready for the release as if everything is on schedule. I don’t want anyone to even suspect there could be a problem, got it?”
His private investigator confirmed he’d keep watch on the employee Dean suspected of leaking previous software ideas to Jack, and his VP replied, “Got it. What about a press release or something for Tech Industry News Briefs?”
Dean had been thumbing through his texts as he talked, and stopped when he saw one from Liz. After tossing a frown toward the closed door of his home office, he skimmed his assistant’s message.
I’m leaving now. Your dinner is on a plate in the fridge and some interior decorator is waiting at your front door.
She’d sent the text at five after six. It was now six-thirty-eight. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered under his breath.
“Now what?” Mike asked as Dean shoved to his feet.