Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister 1) - Page 15

“I’ll take a sparkling water. No ice.”

I glanced at Gina who nodded and shut the door on her way out.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Attractive women were always nice to see, but I was hoping I was going to like what she had to say even better than I liked looking at her. And I liked looking at her a lot.

“Now I’ve done some research about you so I’m not so much on the back foot,” she said.

If she’d looked me up, she must be interested in whether I could be trusted. And that meant she was definitely interested in making a deal. Now she knew I wasn’t a charlatan or a conman, we could get on with business. “Please, have a seat,” I said, indicating the chair opposite my desk. “And you must tell me what you found out.”

She glanced around my office as she sat. “A lot.” She narrowed her eyes at me as I took a seat opposite her. “Some good things. Some . . .” She blushed, clearly not wanting to tell me what she was thinking, which made me want to know all the more. “Lots of things.”

“Tell me,” I said, and I couldn’t help but grin. Christ, the blush began

to spread down her neck, and I wanted to pull open the buttons of her blouse and trace it down as far as it went.

“Never mind,” she snapped. Her sharp words made my cock twitch, and I cleared my throat, trying to focus my attention on the business she was here to do. “But I do know that you need an introduction to Henry, which I can provide you with.”

“So, I’ll accompany you to the wedding?” My heart knocked on my ribs as if it were trying to get my attention. Was it that easy? “For the entire week,” I added. I had thirty days, and by the time the wedding rolled around, I’d have a week left. I’d need all the time I could get with Henry. It wasn’t just a question of convincing him to do the deal in principle. I needed his signature on the paperwork.

“If you agree to my terms.”

She just had to name them. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to go to this wedding. After that call with Craig, I had no time to lose. It was like I was standing, looking at the summit of Everest just a few steps away, and being told I couldn’t make it. I hadn’t come all this way just to walk away from achieving everything I ever wanted.

“Go on,” I said, trying not to look too eager to hear what she had to say.

“You’ve been holding the Mayfair properties next to Henry’s a while now and it must be costing you a lot of money.”

I wanted her to get to the point. She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know.

“What are your terms, Stella?”

“I’ve had a look at your work.” She paused as if deciding what to say next. “I want to be the designer on the building—kitchens, bathrooms, floors, joinery, finishes, then I’ll decorate and dress an apartment for public viewings.” She crossed her long legs in front of her, and I had to fight to keep focused on what she was saying.

I let her words sink in and tried to reorder them in my brain in a way that made sense. “You’re a recruitment consultant,” I said, trying to think back to the research I’d had done on her. She’d moved to London about six months ago from Manchester and started at the recruitment firm. Had she had a background in design? Surely she didn’t think anyone off the street could become a designer overnight.

“I trained in interior design,” she said. “Had my own business up until six months ago. This kind of project is right up my street.”

Her gaze flitted from my shoulder to my hand and then out of the window. She was lying about something. I just wasn’t sure which bit. I remember that she’d had her own business in a completely unrelated field when she’d been in Manchester. I must have been so fixated on being able to give work to the recruitment consultancy that I’d skimmed over the fact that it was an interior design business. Shit, I was so hungry for a win, I was missing details. “I have someone for that project already.” How serious was she about this? Could I persuade her just to take a check? That would be a lot easier.

She pushed out her chair and went to stand as if the conversation was over, but there was no way I’d let her leave. “Talk to me about your experience. You’re in recruitment now, why do you want to go back?”

“I changed jobs because of a personal situation, but designing is what I want to do,” she said. “I love great design but more than that, I like to create homes that people love to live in—places people can imagine themselves. Places people raise a family, celebrate their successes, and recover from their failures. It’s my passion, my calling if you like, and I’m really good at it.” She cleared her throat as if she were nervous. “You asked me for my terms—I’m telling you what they are.”

At least she was prepared to make a deal. “Do you have a portfolio that I can look at?” Rather than just dismiss her conditions, hopefully I could point out, as charmingly as possible, why her suggestion was ludicrous, and I could get her to accept something else—something I was able to give her.

“This isn’t a job interview. If you don’t want to go to this wedding, then fine.” She stood and had her hand on my office door handle by the time I got to her.

“Stella, come on. Let’s discuss this,” I said, inhaling a strain of rose petals. I brushed up against the silk of her blouse. I was entirely too close to her, and I took a step back. I put my hands in my pockets, stopping myself from pushing her hair off her face so I could see those eyes better. “You can understand that the kind of properties I work on require a designer with a track record working at the cutting edge of design. I’m just trying to protect us both.”

“Sounds to me like you want to have your cake and eat it, too. You asked me to name my terms.”

I needed to think fast. I wasn’t a man who liked being held at gunpoint but that was what Stella was doing. But the alternative was the bank blowing my brains out. I had to get to Henry. I’d do whatever it took. Maybe she could work alongside the designer I already had on board for the project.

“I know this isn’t an interview,” I said. “But humor me.” She held my gaze and didn’t flounce out, so I continued. “Say I agreed to have you work on the Mayfair project. What’s your vision?”

She sighed but began to speak. “I’d say you’re trying to appeal to wealthy people who have their main home in the country and just want a pied-à-terre or childless singles and couples. And you’re selling to an international market—we’d have to consider that. I think the style of your last development in Fitzrovia works well, but potential buyers are going to expect a little more luxury, more exclusivity with the same classic style. I’d suggest we have each unit have something unique about it. That’s not unusual in these high-end developments but most of them go modern—I suggest we go vintage. We could use antique glass in the bedrooms, inset some reclaimed marble into one of the walls in the bathroom with glass shelving in front. A theatre close to my office is being refurbished. We could buy the stage off them, restore it, and use it as the floors in a master bedroom. Or I can source light fixtures from stately homes. We don’t want to overdo anything—just one or two things in each apartment that no one else has that has a history that we can use as part of the story of what’s so appealing about the flat. It’s beautiful. But it’s marketing.”

I liked her ideas. And she understood I was aiming to sell the apartments, not just make them look pretty. I took a deep breath. She had me by the balls. If I said no, I’d say goodbye to my best chance of getting the Dawnay building. “I’ve got to have the right to pull you from the development if things aren’t working out.” Maybe I could get her to take me to the wedding and then renegotiate—give her a one-off flat to design and then use my normal designer on the Mayfair project. Worst-case scenario, I’d just have to gut the place after she was done.

Tags: Louise Bay The Mister Romance
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