All or Nothing at All
Page 11
She finished her wine and shook her head to clear her thoughts. She’d just have to live with her lingering feelings and bury the attraction. Stick to business. Be polite but distant. Eventually she’d find a nice man to date and fall in love and leave Tristan Pierce and all her memories behind for good.
Because he could never know.
chapter four
Sydney looked at the long trail of abandoned houses lining Bakery Street and wondered if she’d been an idiot to take on such a project. It was bad. Real bad.
“What do you think?”
She practically felt the challenge tingeing his tone, as if he was looking forward to her freak-out. Yes, it was a massive undertaking, but she was of the mantra “Go big or go home.”
She was going big—with or without his support.
“I think we’ll have our difficulties but will deliver. Why? What do you think?”
His gorgeous lip curled up. “I think we’re fucked.”
She shoved down her irritation and spun on her heel, stabbing her pen into the air. “Listen, I don’t need your negative energy on my project. If you don’t think you can get it done, I’ll be happy to grab Dalton or Cal.”
“They can’t handle a flip like this. Dalton will get obsessed with creating the perfect cabinet, and Cal will just want to rebuild everything. You’re stuck with me.”
His smug attitude only pissed her off further. She refused to deal with his snarky comments and his ridiculous polished appearance. She’d donned ripped, old jeans and a purple flannel shirt. At least her sneakers were pink with a small wedge heel for some type of femininity. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He’d shown up sporting a designer suit in crisp navy with a pink tie. What man had the guts to wear pink, especially to a job site? He should look metrosexual. Instead, he looked sexy and a touch bored, as if he’d just grabbed the first thing in his closet and thrown it on without care. She wished briefly for her own power suit and heels for some type of armor. She felt like a sixteen-year-old in her outfit, but she bucked up and refused to back down.
“Fine. Then I’d suggest an attitude adjustment. Let’s start with number thirty-two. I want to do a complete walk-through and tweak some of my designs.”
“It’s your party.”
She gnashed her teeth and stalked toward the first house. Her folder bulged with notes, Brady’s plans, and various sketches. She strode over remnants of trash and weeds in the front lawn, avoided the broken second step, and unlocked the front door. The rusty squeak scraped at her nerve endings.
“Ever see that horror movie with the guy who lives in a run-down house on an empty block and snatches women to keep in his basement?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“That’s good. ’Cause you would be freaked out right now.”
She shot him a warning glance and climbed the set of stairs leading to the first level. The raised ranch needed the most work out of all of them. With old shag carpeting, gold fixtures, and cheap countertops, the place screamed help me. They walked down the hallway. Each room seemed squeezed into its own private space, giving off the vibe of claustrophobia. The kitchen was a cube with white-finish appliances, peeling paint, and a vinyl floor.
“We need to open this wall,” she murmured, tapping the main one blocking up the view to the kitchen. “Brady said it’s not load bearing, so it’s a possibility.”
Tristan regarded the setup, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “Yes, but if you remove this wall, the moment you climb the stairs you’re staring into the kitchen. Sure, it gives you open concept, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing, and that’s the first moment you get to impress a visitor.”
She cocked her head, considering. He’d always been brilliant in his vision for what worked well in a house. He respected each one for its individuality and never tried to force a concept for either ease or stubbornness.
It was so much easier to fight an attraction when the man didn’t have a brain.
She never got tired of learning about the give-and-take of redesigning a home. It was endlessly challenging and creative, with no black-and-white answers. It was strictly a personal preference, yet when flipping, the design needed to appeal to the general consumer. In this case, she needed to have Adam’s goal in mind, yet keep to cost while offering Realtors something unique to sell.
“What would you suggest, then?”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the same wall they discussed, and cocked his head. “What do you think?”
She clenched her fists under her clipboard. It was obvious he didn’t think she could handle this job and was testing her. He wanted to play games? Fine. Maybe it was time to show him what she’d learned while he was away all those years.
Sydney spoke in cold, clipped tones. “I’d suggest removing not only this wall here but this one separating out the living room. We’d do a built-in wall cabinet here so they don’t lose organization space.” Her pink Skechers made no noise as she walked farther into the kitchen. “We keep the appliances on the right wall, upgraded to stainless steel, but on the far wall, we add a small back deck with glass sliding doors. The view is gorgeous with all the trees in the background. Then when you climb the stairs, your first impression is of the deck.”
He kept his face expressionless, but the gleam of interest in his amber eyes gave him away. He followed her in and peeked out the small window hiding the glory of the backyard, now shrouded in overgrowth. “A deck and glass doors is another expense for Adam. It may be well over budget.”
“Not if we keep it average size with basic materials. We keep the luxury items to the finishes in the kitchen and bath. Dalton can build the deck and cabinetry quickly enough, with an incremental increase. It’ll be worth it.”
“Are you going to be the one to tell Dalton he needs to build an average deck and cabinet without getting creative?”
It was hard keeping the small smile from her lips. Dalton was known as the Wood Whisperer, and his projects compared to works of fine art. He had a bit of an artistic temperament and despised cookie-cutter projects that didn’t add to the visual appeal of a home.
“With a plate of brownies, I convinced Brady to deliver plans in twenty-four hours.”
Amusement laced his words. “Brady was always an easy target. Dalton is more temperamental.”
Because he could never know.
chapter four
Sydney looked at the long trail of abandoned houses lining Bakery Street and wondered if she’d been an idiot to take on such a project. It was bad. Real bad.
“What do you think?”
She practically felt the challenge tingeing his tone, as if he was looking forward to her freak-out. Yes, it was a massive undertaking, but she was of the mantra “Go big or go home.”
She was going big—with or without his support.
“I think we’ll have our difficulties but will deliver. Why? What do you think?”
His gorgeous lip curled up. “I think we’re fucked.”
She shoved down her irritation and spun on her heel, stabbing her pen into the air. “Listen, I don’t need your negative energy on my project. If you don’t think you can get it done, I’ll be happy to grab Dalton or Cal.”
“They can’t handle a flip like this. Dalton will get obsessed with creating the perfect cabinet, and Cal will just want to rebuild everything. You’re stuck with me.”
His smug attitude only pissed her off further. She refused to deal with his snarky comments and his ridiculous polished appearance. She’d donned ripped, old jeans and a purple flannel shirt. At least her sneakers were pink with a small wedge heel for some type of femininity. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He’d shown up sporting a designer suit in crisp navy with a pink tie. What man had the guts to wear pink, especially to a job site? He should look metrosexual. Instead, he looked sexy and a touch bored, as if he’d just grabbed the first thing in his closet and thrown it on without care. She wished briefly for her own power suit and heels for some type of armor. She felt like a sixteen-year-old in her outfit, but she bucked up and refused to back down.
“Fine. Then I’d suggest an attitude adjustment. Let’s start with number thirty-two. I want to do a complete walk-through and tweak some of my designs.”
“It’s your party.”
She gnashed her teeth and stalked toward the first house. Her folder bulged with notes, Brady’s plans, and various sketches. She strode over remnants of trash and weeds in the front lawn, avoided the broken second step, and unlocked the front door. The rusty squeak scraped at her nerve endings.
“Ever see that horror movie with the guy who lives in a run-down house on an empty block and snatches women to keep in his basement?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“That’s good. ’Cause you would be freaked out right now.”
She shot him a warning glance and climbed the set of stairs leading to the first level. The raised ranch needed the most work out of all of them. With old shag carpeting, gold fixtures, and cheap countertops, the place screamed help me. They walked down the hallway. Each room seemed squeezed into its own private space, giving off the vibe of claustrophobia. The kitchen was a cube with white-finish appliances, peeling paint, and a vinyl floor.
“We need to open this wall,” she murmured, tapping the main one blocking up the view to the kitchen. “Brady said it’s not load bearing, so it’s a possibility.”
Tristan regarded the setup, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “Yes, but if you remove this wall, the moment you climb the stairs you’re staring into the kitchen. Sure, it gives you open concept, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing, and that’s the first moment you get to impress a visitor.”
She cocked her head, considering. He’d always been brilliant in his vision for what worked well in a house. He respected each one for its individuality and never tried to force a concept for either ease or stubbornness.
It was so much easier to fight an attraction when the man didn’t have a brain.
She never got tired of learning about the give-and-take of redesigning a home. It was endlessly challenging and creative, with no black-and-white answers. It was strictly a personal preference, yet when flipping, the design needed to appeal to the general consumer. In this case, she needed to have Adam’s goal in mind, yet keep to cost while offering Realtors something unique to sell.
“What would you suggest, then?”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the same wall they discussed, and cocked his head. “What do you think?”
She clenched her fists under her clipboard. It was obvious he didn’t think she could handle this job and was testing her. He wanted to play games? Fine. Maybe it was time to show him what she’d learned while he was away all those years.
Sydney spoke in cold, clipped tones. “I’d suggest removing not only this wall here but this one separating out the living room. We’d do a built-in wall cabinet here so they don’t lose organization space.” Her pink Skechers made no noise as she walked farther into the kitchen. “We keep the appliances on the right wall, upgraded to stainless steel, but on the far wall, we add a small back deck with glass sliding doors. The view is gorgeous with all the trees in the background. Then when you climb the stairs, your first impression is of the deck.”
He kept his face expressionless, but the gleam of interest in his amber eyes gave him away. He followed her in and peeked out the small window hiding the glory of the backyard, now shrouded in overgrowth. “A deck and glass doors is another expense for Adam. It may be well over budget.”
“Not if we keep it average size with basic materials. We keep the luxury items to the finishes in the kitchen and bath. Dalton can build the deck and cabinetry quickly enough, with an incremental increase. It’ll be worth it.”
“Are you going to be the one to tell Dalton he needs to build an average deck and cabinet without getting creative?”
It was hard keeping the small smile from her lips. Dalton was known as the Wood Whisperer, and his projects compared to works of fine art. He had a bit of an artistic temperament and despised cookie-cutter projects that didn’t add to the visual appeal of a home.
“With a plate of brownies, I convinced Brady to deliver plans in twenty-four hours.”
Amusement laced his words. “Brady was always an easy target. Dalton is more temperamental.”
