Lydia
“IT’S MARCUS!” I shout into the phone.
“Wait, what?” Charlotte asks.
“My new client is Marcus.” I pull into the parking lot of the local coffee shop to get a much needed caffeine fix. Truth be told, I could go for a glass of wine.
“Hold on a second. I’m confused.”
“Christopher Riley. My new client with the nice house. It’s Marcus!” I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the impending headache that’s building. All I hear is laughter on the other end of the line. “This isn’t funny Charlotte,” I deadpan.
“I’m sorry.” She’s definitely not. “But you have to admire the guy’s persistence. Most guys would’ve moved on by now.”
“I know,” I mumble. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m terrified he’ll keep pushing until I cave and I’m just not ready for that. I can’t put myself out there and risk getting hurt, at least not yet.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Charlotte says, breaking me out of my own thoughts. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”
I let out a sigh. “I’m no—”
“Look,” she interrupts, “I know I give you a hard time about being so guarded, but I get it. Really, I do. I just want you to be happy and you’ll never find that special someone if you constantly keep yourself closed off. I’m just asking you to try. It doesn’t have to be with Marcus, but quit shutting down every guy that shows interest.” There’s a small pause before she continues, “And for God’s sake, throw out that fake ring.”
That makes me smile a little. “I hear what you’re saying, and I know you’re right. It’s just easier said than done, you know?”
“I know, but I have faith in you. So,” she says, changing direction. “When’s the next time you’ll see Marcus?”
“I don’t know. I have to sketch up some designs for him first and then we’ll go from there. I just left his place about fifteen minutes ago, so I haven’t even started.”
“Okay, but keep me posted.”
“I will.”
We say our goodbyes then hang up before I get out of my car to order my magic in a cup.
I stare at a blank paper for God knows how long. I’m old school in that I like to make my initial sketches on paper before putting them into the computer and making them clean and pretty. Right now, I haven’t even drawn the dimensions of the space.
After seeing Marcus yesterday, I decide the faster I get to work, the faster he’ll be out of my hair. With that said, I have no idea what to do. It’s like all creativity has been zapped from my body and I just can’t think. I spent the better part of this morning flipping through magazines and searching for the latest trends, but nothing spoke to me. Everything I looked at didn’t seem to fit Marcus.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone and send him a text.
Me: You were quite vague with your likes and dislikes. Any particular color scheme you like or one that I should stay away from?
I thump my pencil against my desk waiting for his reply. About five minutes later, it comes through.
Stalker: No pinks. I guess I want it to be manly. No frilly shit.
Me: Okay. Camo. Guns and antlers mounted to walls. Got it.
I catch myself smiling and have to stifle it.
Stalker: lol No camo. Just throw a big ass flat screen on the wall and you can call it a day.
Me: That’s basically what you have now.
Stalker: See? That’s why I need you.
Need me.
I haven’t felt needed in quite some time. I’m not sure why I get caught up on those two words, but I like the way it sounds—or reads—coming from him.
Me: I’ll text you when sketches are ready and we can coordinate a time to go over them.
Stalker: Sounds good.
Stalker: And thanks.
I sent Marcus a text letting him know the initial plans were ready for him to look over. I’m surprised I was able to pull them together in two days given the major block I was having early on. Now, I’m a nervous wreck since he said he’ll stop by the office on his lunch break to look them over. I’m not sure if the nerves are surfacing because he’ll be critiquing my work, or because we’ll be confined to a room alone together and I’ll have to pretend the mere sight of him doesn’t make me weak in the knees. In the meantime to help distract myself, I check in with the staging team to make sure all the plans for William Smith’s office are executed properly. It’s a relatively straightforward design, so I trust they’ll set it up the way I envisioned, leaving me to do a final walk through at the end to ensure everything is perfect.
The intercom on my phone buzzes, startling me. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s already a quarter past twelve and Margaret is probably letting me know Marcus is here. “Yes?” I answer.
“Mr. Riley is here for you.”
“Okay, send him on in please. Thank you.” I don’t want to analyze the racing of my heart or the way my palms get sweaty knowing who’s about to be on the other side of the door. I’m going to put all my fears and anxieties on the backburner and do my best to relax.
Getting up, I smooth my hands down my black dress slacks and take a calming breath before approaching the door. When I open it, he’s standing there in uniform with his hand raised like he was about to knock, and my mouth goes dry.
With a flash of white teeth and warm, hazel eyes, I’m reduced to a gaping fish. But it’s the way his muscular arms cross over his chest that I haven’t stopped thinking about since I saw him shirtless that awakens parts of me that have been dormant for far too long.
“Uh,” I stammer. “C-come on in.” Averting my eyes, I step to the side to welcome him in and close the door behind us. He walks in slowly, looking around at my office. I chance a look at his face when I walk around him to the other side of my desk to see he looks almost . . . impressed. A small sense of pride washes over me. For me, my office was the single most important room I’d decorated when I first started working. Potential clients would see and judge the space, but also get an idea of my personality and aesthetic.
“How are you?” he asks once we both have a seat across from each other at my desk.
“I’m good. How about yourself?” The formality between us is awkward. It’s tense and I know he feels it too.
“No complaints here,” he says before showing his signature smile.
“Great.” I open up his file on my desktop and turn my monitor so we can both see it to get started. “So, I compiled three different looks to give you a few options. We can pull elements from each if you like something from one and not the other, or we can scrap the whole thing and go in a different direction. This is just our starting point, okay?” He nods, so I open the first one.
“Here, we use a lot of the existing pieces in each room and repurpose them. We’ll reupholster your oversized chair in a very pale gray to bring light into the room and add visual interest with a patterned pillow that will tie into the color of the couches. We’ll do those in a medium-toned gray that will work nicely with the light gray walls and white trim. Your pops of color will come from the decorative wall art that will hang on the side wall along with throw pillows and accent pieces. This look will give you a bright, welcoming area for you and your guests.”
He nods several times. “Nice.”
“So, what do you like?” I ask once I’ve presented all his options.
“Wow, you’re amazing.” It’s hard to miss the awe in his voice, and it makes my cheeks heat with the compliment.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He leans in closer to the monitor, causing his arm to touch mine. It takes everything in me not to show a reaction and to act casual, like this simple touch doesn’t affect me. While he’s studying the designs, I take the opportunity to admire his strong profile. From his straight nose, strong chin, and sharp jawline, this man is sculpted perfection from head to toe. “It’s hard to choose. Which one do you like best?” He turns and locks eyes with me, making me feel like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.
I lick my lips and swallow from the intensity of his stare. “Uh, personally, my favorite is the first one. If masculine is what you’re going for, the color scheme works well, but it’s not in your face with antlers and sports memorabilia everywhere.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, making me follow suit. “Okay, let’s go with the first one then.”
“Perfect.” I squirm in my seat a little. “Next, we need to talk budget. I can use this design and make it fit whatever price point makes you comfortable with little tweaks here and there.”
“How much do your designs usually cost?” he asks.
“It just depends. We can go low-end or high-end with everything in the room. I can do it for as low as one thousand dollars by reusing all of your furniture and using slip covers, or we can go as high as tens of thousands with lush fabrics and custom pieces. It’s really up to you.” Normally, this part of the consultation isn’t uncomfortable for me, but for some reason with Marcus, it is. Maybe it’s because finances are usually a private matter that’s not discussed openly. And here I am basically asking how much can he afford.
“Let’s not go crazy with it, but I think we’ll be okay if you can keep it under ten grand.” Despite my efforts, I can’t hide my shock at the number he just threw out there. “What’s the face for?” he asks, humor in his voice.
“Forgive me for being presumptuous; I just didn’t realize police officers made so much.” To spend ten thousand dollars on redecorating one room isn’t exactly something to turn your nose up at.
He lets out a small chuckle. “We don’t. I won some money a while back and never spent it. I figured investing in my home was a good place to put it.”
Well, that explains it. “Alright, unless you have a specific timeframe in mind, I’ll print this out and have you sign it and I’ll start placing orders so we can get started right away.”
“Works for me.”
This wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it’d be, but he’s keeping to his word. He’s not pushing and he’s backed off like I’ve asked, but why do I feel disappointed? I need to have my head examined.
A few strokes of the pen later, the contract and plans are signed and today’s meeting is over, yet I’m searching my brain for reasons to keep him here.
We both stand and I come around to the other side of my desk. He reaches out to hand me the pen and paper, but the pen falls from his hand and lands on the floor.
“Oops,” I say and bend down to pick it up the same moment he does. Here we are, almost nose to nose, bent over and staring at each other. The air is suffocating and the room must be on fire with as hot as it’s gotten in here suddenly, but neither of us moves an inch. I think my lungs have quit drawing in air as this undeniable connection engulfs me.
You’ll never find that special someone if you constantly keep yourself closed off.
Charlotte’s words from a couple days ago run through my head. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time I let someone who’s interested in me in.
Snapping out of this trance, I pick up the pen and stand up straight, and he does too. Right as I’m about to open my mouth to accept his previous offers to take me out, he says, “Well, I better get going. I’ve got to get back to work, but text me if you need to go over anything else or let me know what the next step is.”
Pressing my lips together, all I can do is nod. I finally worked up the courage to act on this, and I’m shut down before I get the chance.
“Thanks again, Lydia. It really is great.” With a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, he exits my office, leaving me more confused than ever.