Chapter Five
When Marissa stepped into the lobby at Alberto’s, she wasn’t expecting to be met by the owner himself or to be personally escorted back to the table where Andrew was waiting for her. He came to his feet as she walked up and held out his hand. She took it, then slid into the chair Alberto pulled out for her.
“Tonight, you will try my special, yes? Tender chicken with rosemary on a bed of delicate pasta, paired with an arugula salad. Very summer, very nice. I’ll send the waiter in a moment. Enjoy.” He beamed at each of them before disappearing.
“I’m sorry about that,” Andrew said, looking a little sheepish. “He does that whenever I come in, but you seem like the kind of girl who prefers to fly under the radar.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Marissa replied. “He seems like a really nice guy, though. How’d you get on his special list?”
“He was a friend of my father’s.” Andrew nodded toward the menu. “You don’t have to get the special—order whatever sounds good to you.”
“No, the special sounds great.” Marissa smiled up at the girl who brought them water, then turned back to Andrew. “I have a confession to make. As soon as I got back home and had decent Internet, I Googled you. I feel really stupid for not knowing who you are before now.”
“What do you mean? You’ve always known I’m Andrew Brody.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know you’re Andrew Brody.” She emphasized each word. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Oh, come on. Multi-millionaire investment banker, philanthropist, supporter of the arts, collector of fine spoons . . .”
He laughed. “You made that up.”
“Okay, I made up the spoons, but not the rest of it. Why didn’t you tell me you’re a stinkin’ celebrity?”
He leaned forward. “Because I’m not a stinkin’ celebrity. I’m just a guy with a lot of cash who decided to spend it on things I like. Spoons don’t happen to be one of them. I’m more of a fork guy.”
“And you don’t think I should be weirded out by this new information?”
“No. Why should you be? I’m the same guy you met on Friday.”
“Not really. Honestly, I’m not even sure what to do with myself. I feel awkward and gangly and all sorts of gauche now.” Saying it made her feel even more gauche, but it was important to her that he knew how she felt.
“I see.” He looked down at the table, then back up. “This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it? I didn’t mean this to . . . be a thing.”
Marissa shrugged. “I’ll get used to it, I guess—and maybe it’s better that I didn’t know at first. I might have been too nervous to show you my ideas.”
“I’m glad you did show me.”
The waiter came around and took their orders, then Andrew said, “I just didn’t peg you as being so . . .”
“So what?”
“Well, snobby.”
She sat back and looked at him with surprise. “Snobby? Snobby? What are you talking about? I’m probably the least snobby person you know.”
“Are you sure? What do you consider to be the definition of snobby?”
“Someone who thinks they’re better than someone else. Who focuses on money all the time and can’t see past it.”
Andrew lifted his glass in a mock toast.
“But . . .”
“You’re the one who brought up the money, and you’re the one creating this divide between us. Not me.”
She blinked a couple of times, then opened and closed her mouth. “Touche,” she said at last. “You really know how to get to the heart of a matter, don’t you?”
He grinned. “Life’s too short for anything else. I tell you what. Let’s go back to before—when you knew I was Andrew Brody, but you didn’t know I was Andrew Brody. I think it was easier back then.”
“It definitely was, but I’m not sure it’s possible.”
“Then we’ll just have to get you used to hobnobbing with rich people. That’s the only solution.”
“Rich people hire me to redecorate their houses and then spend every minute making my life miserable.”
“All rich people?”
“Most rich people.”
“I see.” He shook his head. “We’ve definitely got to reeducate you, Miss Clark. Yes, some rich people are that way, but then again, so are some not-so-rich people. I think it has less to do with how much money you have and more to do with how entitled you feel. You can feel very entitled with no money at all—it’s a state of mind. A decision to be grateful, or a decision to be dissatisfied. It afflicts every walk of life.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t leap to conclusions.” Why had she been so prepared to be judgmental? He hadn’t said or done anything to make her think he was elitist.
“But for that matter, I know several rich people who are real pieces of work, so there’s that.”
She looked up and saw a sparkle in his eye. “You’re just going to keep giving me a hard time, aren’t you?”
“I think I am. It’s kind of fun.”
“Well, I tell you what. I’ll stop being prejudiced, and you can stop baiting me. How’s that?”
He seemed to consider it. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been this entertained for a long time.”
“Then I’ll . . . I’ll take you to the circus the next time it’s in town.”
“Sadly, I believe the circus is no more.” He paused, then laughed. “I’m sorry, Marissa. I shouldn’t be so rotten. I was just enjoying seeing all the different emotions on your face. You’re quite expressive.”
“You liked watching me be expressive? That’s what this was all about?” She stuck her tongue out. “How’s that for expressive?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Perfect.”
The waiter brought their food, and they began to eat. After they’d taken a couple of bites, Andrew said, “Truce?”
“Hmm.” She had to ponder that for a minute. “I’ll think about it. A tentative one, at any rate. Unless you get any more bright ideas to torture me.”
“I’ll give you a couple of days off. So, I’m curious. How did you get into interior decorating?”
She pulled a face. “I thought you were giving me a few days off.”
“Is that a bad question for me to ask?”
“No, just an embarrassing one.” She took a sip of her water. “It all started with my Barbie Dream House.”
Andrew leaned forward a little. “I’m sorry—your what?”
“You must not have sisters.”
“Nope—I’m an only child.”
Marissa smiled. This wasn’t embarrassing—not at all. “A Barbie Dream House is a pink plastic doll house that’s supposed to be just right for your Barbie, except that it wasn’t. It didn’t have the right curtains or bedspreads or rugs, so I started making my own. Every room had a theme and was decorated for each season in that theme. I even made tiny little kitchen towels for the various holidays. And I’m going to shut up now because I sound really stupid.”
“I actually find this quite fascinating.” He grinned. “So, just how tiny were these kitchen towels?”
She held up her thumb and forefinger. “About an inch. You’ve got to keep in mind, Barbies aren’t very big.”
“True.” He took another bite, then said, “So, is the hotel going to get matching kitchen towels for every season?”
“Well, maybe it will. Would that be so bad?”
“Not a bit.”
She settled back in her chair and looked at him. He seemed to be enjoying himself, completely relaxed, not stressed out about the hotel like he’d been earlier that day. “How did things go with Griffin?”
Andrew exhaled. “Well, he says he thinks it can be done, but he’s got to get the right team to do it. His usual guys said no.” He paused. “I notice that you call him Griffin.”
“Yeah—that’s his name.”
“His first name.”
She nodded. “Yep, I call him by his first name. We’ve known each other for a long time.”
“He mentioned you, too. Said you’re one of the best.”
Again, her cheeks went warm. “That’s kind of him to say.”
“He also mentioned that you used to date.”
“Yes, we did.” She shifted position in her chair. “I’m not sure how this is relevant.”
“Sorry.” Andrew held up a hand. “I just wondered if it was going to be awkward for the two of you to be on the same project. I can bring in another architect if it’s going to cause a problem.”
“Oh. Um, no, it’s fine. He and I are both professionals. We’ll handle it well.”
“So, it will be awkward, but you’ll handle it? Are you sure you don’t want me to find someone else?”
Marissa was getting uncomfortable. “Andrew, can I be honest? I feel like you’re giving me the third degree. In fact, this whole date . . . I think maybe I should leave. Sometimes it’s not a good idea for coworkers to hang out together away from the office. Know what I mean?”
He shook his head. “Did I say something . . .?”
She scooted her chair back. “No. It’s fine. I’ll see you at the hotel tomorrow, all right? I’ll be taking measurements of all the rooms, so I’ll be there most of the day.” Grabbing her purse from the table, she stood up and turned, walking toward the exit as quickly as she could. She was finding it a little hard to breathe for some reason, and when she got outside, she paused and closed her eyes. She couldn’t explain why she feeling so agitated, but it was an overwhelming feeling, like she was trapped. Funny—she hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Not since she dated Griffin, in fact.
***
Andrew couldn’t sleep that night. He finally got up and pulled on some jogging shoes, letting himself out the side door where the security system had fewer alarms for him to accidentally trigger. As he ran, he replayed everything that had happened at dinner, trying to figure out where he and Marissa had gone wrong.
First off, he probably shouldn’t have gotten on her case about not liking rich people. She’d obviously had some experiences that made her feel that way, and he should have respected that. But as he turned the corner onto the next street, he changed his mind. She’d made some sweeping generalities and harsh judgments, and that wasn’t fair. He was rich, and he wasn’t that way—her prejudices weren’t warranted in his case, and he had the right to defend himself against them.
But then he kept teasing her, and he probably shouldn’t have done that. He should have backed off. Then again, though, he didn’t feel as though she understood his feelings, and he was reacting out of hurt. Yes, he could admit it—he’d been a little hurt, and he’d hoped for more of an apology, which he didn’t get.
But did he really need one? Wasn’t it up to him to decide how he felt? He could choose to be happy regardless of what she said or did—his happiness didn’t depend on her. But on the other hand, without a sincere apology, how would he know that she understood? And it was important to him that she understand who he was and what he stood for, and that he wasn’t like the rich people who had hurt her in the past.
He rounded the block and passed the playground. His brain felt just like the merry-go-round, swirling in circles, unsure what to think. He definitely shouldn’t have interrogated her about Griffin. When she said she was leaving, he realized that’s exactly what he’d been doing, and he’d had no right. He’d thought he was being funny, but no—he was invading her privacy, and he was doing that out of jealousy because he really, really liked her.
But if he really liked her, why was he treating her the way he had?
By the time he got back to the house, it was dawn, and he was drenched with sweat. He’d tried to reason out who was right and who was wrong, or maybe, who was mostly right and who was mostly wrong, but he couldn’t make sense of it. All he knew was that he felt bad for his part in it. He’d behaved badly, and he needed to apologize for it whether she accepted it or not, and definitely whether or not she responded in kind.
He hit the shower, then dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He planned to be at the hotel most of the day, and while he hadn’t seen any spiders the day before, he didn’t trust that they were gone, and sneakers were his running-away-from-spiders shoes of choice.
Florence was in the kitchen when he went down, which surprised him. “A little early for you, isn’t it?” he asked her as he came in the room.
“It’s a little early for you too,” she replied. “I saw your light from my wing of the house and decided you must need breakfast.”
“I do, thanks.” He sat down at the counter and watched her scramble some eggs. “How long have you known me, Florence?”
“What sort of trick question is that?” She sprinkled some salt into the frying pan. “I’ve been here since the year before your mother died.”
“Would you say that I’m a stuck-up rich person?”
She turned and gave him a quizzical look. “I’d have to say you’re one of the least stuck-up rich people I know.”
“Would you say that rich people in general are stuck up?”
She sighed and took the pan off the heat. “What’s gotten you so wound up this morning? Is it that interior designer you went to dinner with last night?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Andrew took a banana out of the fruit bowl on the counter, but didn’t peel it. “She’s had some bad experiences with rich clients and doesn’t think too kindly of the wealthy in general. She told me so, and then I got defensive, and it just wasn’t a very good experience.”
Florence gave him a benevolent look. “Well, it’s about time.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“Look how worked up you are. I’ve been waiting for this for years—you’ve finally met her.”
“Met who?”
She sighed again. “The one who can get under your skin and make you question yourself. The one who will change the way you see life. Your future wife.”
Andrew dropped the banana and held up both hands. “Oh, no. No. I don’t think so. I mean, she’s really pretty, and she’s smart, and she’s talented, but . . . my wife? I’m not even sure marriage is for me, Florence. My parents didn’t do so well at it, and I’d probably mess it up too because I don’t know what it’s supposed to look like.”
“That’s something you figure out as you go, and you figure it out together,” she told him. “Your parents never did try to work together. That was their downfall.”
“How do you know? They were divorced long before I hired you.”
“I’ve heard you speak of it, and your mother also mentioned things from time to time. I pieced it together. It wasn’t hard.” Florence grabbed a plate and slid the eggs onto it. “You’ll be able to patch things up with this young lady. You’re just feeling edgy because you’re not used to people challenging you. Everyone needs to be challenged from time to time, though—it’s good for you. Keeps you on your toes.”
“I already know I’m going to apologize, but I don’t know if she’ll accept it.”
“The important thing is to try.” Florence patted his hand. “Eat up. We’ll talk more when you get back tonight. I’ll be expecting a full report.”
Chapter Six
“And then I just froze. I didn’t know what to say. I was thinking about Griffin, and it was hard to breathe, and I had to get out of there.”
“I’m really sorry, Marissa.” Tabs gave her a concerned look. “Are you going to be all right today? Griffin might be at the hotel again today, and you know Andrew will be.”
“Yeah, I know. And believe me, I’ve thought a million times about not showing up, but I’m a professional, and I have a job to do.” Marissa turned the car south, then east. “Griffin and I work in the same industry, and we’re going to run into each other from time to time. I’ve got to get used to that.”
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re awesome. You’re taking the upper hand in this situation, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. I wish I felt a little more proud of myself.”
They pulled into the parking lot at the hotel, and Marissa cut the engine. She didn’t immediately move to get out, though. Instead, she looked up at it, not seeing the sagging roof, but instead, what it must have looked like in 1875. “I can’t wait for this place to get repaired,” she said. “Can you imagine it? Ladies with their fancy skirts and men with their tall hats walking through the halls, eating meals off fine china and exchanging love letters in the parlor? Life was so much simpler then.”
“Yes, but I’m sure that to them, it was plenty complicated,” Tabs replied. “Does he really love me, or does he just want me for my father’s horse and buggy? The questions that are basically the same in every generation.”
Marissa laughed. “Well, my father doesn’t have a horse and buggy, so I’m pretty sure that whoever comes calling for me has the purest of intentions.”
They took their bags from the back seat and walked up the porch steps. The front door was unlocked, as Marissa had thought it might be because there was a truck out front. “Hello?” she called out, setting her bag on the floor by the front door. “Is anyone here?”
A man wearing a hardhat emerged from the direction of the dining room. “Morning,” he said. “Me and a couple of guys are here to start rewiring the kitchen.”
“I’m the interior decorator, and she’s my assistant,” Marissa replied. “We’re taking measurements, so we’ll be kind of all over the place, but we’ll try to stay out of the way.”
“Same here,” the man replied with a wink, then disappeared back down the hallway.
Marissa decided she wanted to start in the back bedroom, so they climbed the stairs and walked down the hall.
“Is Andrew planning to put in an elevator?” Tabs asked, sounding a little winded from the climb.
“He’d better if he wants to get up to code. Those things are plenty expensive, though.” Marissa opened the door to the last room down the hallway. “I was thinking the rose wallpaper in here.”
Tabs stepped in and looked around. “It’s not very big,” she commented.
“It’s not, but a double bed will fit.” Marissa pulled out her tape measure and began calling out feet and inches as Tabs wrote everything down. The wallpaper she had in mind was ivory, with bouquets of mauve roses all over it. Cherry would be the perfect wood in here, with mauve throw pillows and valances.
They moved into the next room once she’d measured the corner for a bureau. “You never said how your lunch was yesterday.”
“Lunch? Oh, it was pretty good. Not like our diner, but I could stand to eat there again.”
Marissa turned with her eyebrow raised. “I wasn’t talking about the food.”
“Then what were you talking about? Oh, you mean Tony?” Tabs shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not going down that road.”
“What do you mean?”
Tabs put a hand on her hip. “You’ve got the hots for the new boss, so your best friend has to fall for his best friend? Come on, Marissa. We’re not in high school anymore.”
“Hey now,” Marissa protested. “I don’t have the hots for the boss, and I never said you had to have the hots for Tony. It’s just that he’s a pretty good-looking guy and he asked you to lunch, and I was curious how it went.”
“You do too have the hots for the boss, but okay, I’ll answer your question. Tony’s a great guy, and he’s good-looking—that whole Latin-lover vibe. But we didn’t flirt or make other plans to see each other. We ate, we came back here, and that was it.”
“That’s kind of boring,” Marissa commented as she measured the distance from the wall to the window.
“I didn’t realize lunch was supposed to be exciting.” Tabs made a note on her clipboard. “What room is this?”
“I’m seeing hydrangeas in here. The way the light comes through the window will work nicely with purple and blue.”
“You’re the only person I know who can predict what light will look like on colors that aren’t even there yet.”
“Yeah, that’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
“Speaking of that, have you and Andrew gotten down to brass tacks yet? I mean, exactly what is this job paying, anyway?”
Marissa turned and measured the window. “Did you know that ‘getting down to brass tacks’ is actually a phrase that comes from the Old West, and so it’s very fitting to use it here?”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Why would I want to avoid your question? There’s nothing at all uncomfortable about it, and I’m certainly not uncomfortable about bringing up money with one of the richest men in Kansas.”
“I think she’s still a little testy,” Tabs said to no one in particular.
“I’m not testy. I’m just irritated.” Marissa measured the distance from the window to the wall and called it out. “I gave Beverly a general overview of our rates when she called me for the first appointment, so he knows the general ballpark. We’ll discuss it detail later.”
“So, what does it mean?” Tabs asked as they proceeded down the hall.
“This is the honeysuckle room. What does what mean?”
“Getting down to brass tacks.”
“Oh. Twenty-eight inches.” Marissa stepped back from the window. “In the old general stores, on the tables where they’d measure the fabric, they marked off the yards and inches with brass tacks pushed into the wood. When the customer was ready to have their fabric cut, they’d say, ‘Let’s get down to brass tacks,’ meaning, ‘I’m ready to tell you how much I need.’”
“I can’t decide if it’s creepy or cool that you know that.”
“I know lots of creepy and cool things. Forty-two inches.”
When the front door downstairs opened and closed and she heard Andrew’s voice, Marissa’s heart tightened a little bit. She might know a lot of stuff, but she didn’t know how to fix the horrible mess she’d made of things the night before. Best thing to do was keeping busy. “The next room will be daffodils,” she said.
***
“Updates,” Tony said as he walked into the hotel lobby. Andrew looked up from the papers he was studying. “We have a contractor who’s willing to take on the project. The architect is a go, and I believe the electricians are in the kitchen right now.”
“I just met them,” Andrew replied. “Nice guys.”
“You just need to talk to the city about your building permits before you do much more. Rumor has it the mayor is pleased that you’re doing this renovation.”
“I’m kind of surprised that the city hasn’t been more involved before, maybe levying fees or something because it wasn’t being kept up,” Andrew replied.
“I think that says something about the influence your father had over the city council. I’m not sure they would have said anything to him.” Tony paused. “So, we need to hash some things out. I’m more than happy to help you however I can, but you need a business manager. I have a full-time job, you’re tied up with your company, and someone needs to be on site here who can take care of things.”
Andrew nodded. He’d already guessed that he was leaning on Tony too heavily. “All right, I’ll get on that.”
“Preferably someone with experience in business and hospitality,” Tony continued. “You’re also going to need a landscaper. I wouldn’t worry about the rest of the staff just yet, but those are key people you’ve got to have in place—it might take six months just to get the grounds looking decent.”
“Agreed.” Andrew glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and saw Marissa and Tabs coming down. He’d wondered where they were—he’d seen the car outside, but hadn’t caught sight of them yet. His stomach gave a little flip. He needed to talk to Marissa and try to smooth things over, but he had no idea how. Just that she looked beautiful at that moment, with her hair pulled back.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. See you, ladies.” Tony lifted his hand in a wave, then left.
“Morning, Andrew,” Tabs said, glancing back and forth between him and Marissa like she’d been expecting one of them to speak first.
“Morning. How’s it going?”
“We got the measurements for all the bedrooms on the second floor, and we measured for the new hallway flooring as well,” Marissa said, sounding a little more businesslike than she had the previous day. “There’s a staircase to an upper attic, but we wanted to check the home inspection reports before we went up there just to be on the safe side.”
“Good idea. I have that in here.” Andrew led the way into the office and picked up the file from the desk. “Yes, they inspected it, and they said it’s safe.”
“Do you have any idea what you want to do with that space?” Marissa asked.
“I don’t. Maybe something will come to us as we’re working on the rest of the building.” Andrew ran his finger along the edge of the desk, trying to find the words for what he really wanted to say. “Marissa, I’m sorry about last night.”
“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she said. “I was blaming you for all my past troubles, and that wasn’t fair.”
“Well, I was being stubborn, and I shouldn’t have been.”
“Yeah? Well, I was overreacting and prideful.”
He crossed his arms. “I was scared. So there.”
They stared each other down. “So, I see how it is,” she said at last. “You’re just going to throw that out there and expect me to surrender.”
“You know you can’t win this argument.”
“Maybe, but that’s never stopped me from trying before.” A smile touched the corners of her lips. “Scared of what?”
“Spiders, mostly.”
She blinked. “Spiders? But there weren’t any spiders at the restaurant last night. At least, none that I saw.”
“It wasn’t spiders I was scared of last night.”
“So what was it?”
“You.”
She blinked again. “Me?”
“Yup.”
“But I’m not a spider.”
“I know. Weird, right?”
She put a hand on her hip. “So, if I’m not a spider, why were you scared of me?”
Andrew looked down at the floor, then back up again. “You know, I thought about that all last night, and it was the most confusing conversation with myself I’ve ever had. But then I had a chat with Florence, my housekeeper, and she helped me out quite a bit.”
“She kills the spiders at your house, I imagine.”
“Actually, Jimmy does. Well, in reality, he catches them and releases them outside. It really doesn’t matter to me as long as they aren’t inside anymore.”
“So you’re very benevolent in your rejection of spiders.”
“Absolutely. I’m benevolent in all my rejections. It just seems like the right way to be.”
“I see.” She nodded. “So, what did Florence say to you that helped you figure out why you’re so scared of me?”
“I can’t tell you that—it’s long and complicated and quite personal, and you shouldn’t pry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. I’ll tell you what I learned from what she said, though, and that’s almost as good. I think I could come to care about you, and that scares me quite a bit.”
Marissa tilted her head to the side. “It scares you that you might care for me?”
“Yup.”
“You must not have very many friends.”
“Mostly just Tony. But he doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”
“Oh? And how is that?”
Crud. She was going to make him spell it out. He should have known that, though, given how she rose to every challenge he presented her. “Like I’m having a panic attack and might need to see a doctor.”
“Oh? That good?”
“That good.”
She gave him a compassionate look. “I’ve heard vitamin B is good for hearts.”
“I’ve never taken it. I’ll have to give it a try.”
“It’s pretty cheap, so you’re not out a lot if it doesn’t work.”
“What if it doesn’t work because it’s you making me feel that way? Should you take the vitamin B?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “You scare me too, you know, and I don’t scare easy.”
“How am I scary?”
“Well, for starters—we’re being totally real here, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay. For starters, you’re possibly the best-looking guy I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something because I’ve designed some sets for a couple of soap operas, and those guys are hot.”
“I accept that compliment in the spirit in which it was offered.”
“Good. And second of all, I have this weird little feeling in my gut whenever I see you, sort of like that time I ate the day-old sushi. You weren’t there, so you don’t remember it, but it wasn’t pleasant.”
“Are you saying I make you want to throw up?”
“I’m saying, I want to throw up, but I don’t actually do it. There’s a difference.”
“Oh, yes. A very marked difference.”
“I think so.”
Andrew reached out and caught her hand, holding it in his. “So, what are we going to do?”
She looked down at their intertwined fingers. “I think we have two choices.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Either we go to the doctor because we’re both dying from some kind of weird disease, or we investigate this and see where it goes.”
“I don’t want to die,” he replied.
“Then let’s see where this goes.”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I think I like that idea.”