Trust by Design (Colorado Trust Series--2) Read online

  The tension in his shoulders deflated. “Sonofabitch.”

  “Yeah.” Mike drained his bottle and thumped it on the bar hard enough to be heard over the music. “What do you want to do now?”

  He sighed and considered their options. “Catching them red-handed was probably a long-shot anyway. I guess we go home and get back to work so we can make sure we beat Brady to the finish line this time.”

  “We means you, buddy. Until you finish the programming, I can’t do much from the sidelines other than offer moral support.”

  “Fine, then I’ll go home and get to work. You go do…” He waved a hand. “Whatever it is you want to do.”

  Mike signaled for another beer. “I think I’ll hang around and see if I can score my own kiss.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  He shrugged. “If it can happen to you, it can happen to me.”

  “I was being sincere. I hope you meet the love of your life tonight.”

  “Heck, these days, I’d settle for a one night stand.”

  Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to leave.

  “Hey. Don’t forget your slipper.”

  He turned back around and got a face full of heavenly-scented sweater. An instinctive grab kept it from falling to the ground before he walked away from Mike’s laugh.

  Halfway to his vehicle, his phone rang. At nine-thirty at night, he was only mildly surprised by the ringtone, and he smiled as he answered. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Hello, my dear son. How have you been?”

  “Good.” He kept his smile in place, even as his stomach clenched at the thought that his stepdad may have revealed his current precarious position. He prayed Wesley had kept his promise not to worry his mother. “What do you want?”

  “Can’t I just be calling to see how you are?”

  Her false offense made his smile feel more genuine. “Not when you call me dear son. It’s a dead giveaway.”

  “I’ll have to remember that in the future.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, what can I do for you, dear mother?”

  She laughed. “I am calling to ask a favor. Do you by chance remember Maria Clark?”

  Tension subsided a tiny bit at her question. He searched his memory as he dug his keys from his pocket and thumbed the button to unlock his SUV. “The name vaguely rings a bell.”

  “We worked for the same cleaning company before she got a permanent position as a live-in. Just before I met Wesley. Remember, I used to talk about her all the time.”

  “This was back when we lived in Detroit.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which was twenty years ago, Mom.” He tossed the maroon sweater into the passenger seat, then got into his vehicle and shut the door against the spring night air raising goose bumps on his bare arms. “Anyway, what about her?”

  “Well, we’ve stayed in touch, and her daughter is—”

  He leaned his head back, groaning loud enough to drown out her words. “Nope. No more set-ups, Mom. You can nag me for grandchildren when I’m single and forty-eight, not twenty-eight.”

  “That’s not what this is,” she protested.

  “Right. So tell me, what is her daughter? Beautiful? Smart? Funny?”

  “Serena is all those things, but—”

  “I knew it! Anytime you mention someone’s daughter—”

  “She’s also married with two children.”

  That took the wind out of his righteous indignation. “Oh.”

  “Oh is right. May I speak without you interrupting now?”

  Dean sighed away his resistance. After twenty-eight years, he knew it was easier to just let her say her piece. And on the bright side, she didn’t seem to have a clue about his current business concerns. “Go ahead.”

  “Serena is friends with Maria’s employer’s daughter, and both of them happen to live out here in Boulder.”

  He tensed all over again, his gut screaming they were heading back into matchmaker territory. He didn’t have time for his mother to be meddling in his life right now.

  “Good for them. What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Maria remembered me mentioning that you just built a new house, and she wondered if you’d consider hiring Gina as your interior decorator.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s good. All we’re asking is for you to meet with the girl and see if you like her work.”

  “How does Maria know my house isn’t decorated yet?”

  “Because I told her.”

  Of course she did. And now he was one hundred percent certain his stepdad hadn’t broken his confidence. If he had, his mother wouldn’t be asking him to spend money he didn’t have right now. “I’m in the middle of a program design, Mom. I really don’t have time to worry about whether or not I’ve got pictures hanging on my walls.”

  “Interior design is so much more than pictures, Dean. You need to do something to make that house into a home, otherwise it’s just a pile of logs and empty rooms.”

  Here’s where she’d break out her consuming desire for grandkids. With his two step-sisters still in college, it all fell on his shoulders. His fingers tightened on the phone as he waited for the usual spiel. Easier to endure that than tell her the truth.

  “It will be painless, I assure you. Serena has her first art showing tomorrow night at the Barclay Gallery downtown, and I’m sure Gina will be there. You might even find some artwork you like.”

  Classic set up. The girl probably couldn’t design her way out of a wet paper bag. “I told you, I don’t have time right now,” he repeated. “I’ve got at least a week or two of twenty hour days ahead of me.”

  “You can’t spare one hour to stop by her office?”

  “No.”

  “Fine, then I’ll have her come to the house,” his mother offered. “Just tell me a time that works for you.”

  He wasn’t stupid. There was more to this than she was currently saying, so he repeated his earlier question with enough inflection to let her know only the whole story would get her what she wanted. “Why?”

  After a moment of hesitation, she admitted, “The girl has run into a bit of financial trouble and could use the work. But you cannot let her know you know that.”

  Frickin’ wonderful. A charity case.

  He glared out the windshield toward the neon sign of the club. Out here, the music was only faintly audible whenever the door opened to let someone in or out. He should’ve stayed inside with Mike, then he could’ve ignored the call. Problem was, he did have work to get done if he didn’t want Brady to screw him over yet again.

  Why the hell should he have to be inconvenienced in his personal life so his mom could help out the friend of her friend’s daughter who didn’t have enough sense to handle her money right?

  Every instinct told him to say no thanks and hang up the phone, but his mother had always supported him in anything he did. Her steadfast belief had helped build his business, and he knew if she was aware of the issues he faced today, she’d be right at his side again. Which made it that much harder to say no to her.

  Resignation settled in. “You swear this isn’t a set-up?”

  “I promise, sweetheart. I’m just trying to help out a friend. Fifteen minutes is all I’m asking for. Please?”

  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat in defeat. “I won’t hire her if I don’t like her work.”

  “Of course not.”

  Good, now he had an out. “Fine. Tomorrow night. Six o’clock. And she better not be late.”

  Chapter 3

  With the pathetic balance of her checkbook vivid in her mind’s eye, Gina drove deeper into the rugged Rocky Mountains outside Boulder. Failure was not an option. She’d filed an extension on her monumental tax bill that morning, but that didn’t solve her rent issue. After the way work had dried up the past couple months, it was imperative she nailed this client.

  Her silent choice of words brought forth an instant image
of the guy from the club. The excitement of the kiss that had lingered on her lips since last night tingled back to life.

  Darn it—she had to concentrate, and thinking of him was not the way to do it. He’d already intruded on her thoughts way too much today as she recalled how his strong arms had held her so close, and how good he’d smelled, and how his kiss had pretty much swept her into an alternate universe where she lost all sense of time and every single ounce of common sense.

  Britt’s text that he’d chased after her hadn’t helped.

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head to clear her mind of everything but business. All she had to do was impress Mr. Dean Daley and land the job so she could keep her business going. No big deal, right?

  “Right,” she muttered out loud.

  Blowing out a nervous breath, she made the turn from the main road onto a paved driveway that wound through the forest of leafless aspens and ever-green ponderosa pines. A glimpse of the house through the trees did not prepare her for the sight that met her eyes when she rounded the final curve and braked in surprise.

  This was no house; this was a mansion—and a log one at that. From what she could see, her trained eye guesstimated at least seven thousand square feet.

  She eased her car toward a split in the drive. To the left, it curved down toward the side of the house with four garage doors, and the right wound around to a formal entrance at the front of the house. After parking at the front, she reached for her briefcase while peering through the windshield. A tour of the inside wasn’t even needed for her to fall in love with the place.

  Stepping from her vehicle, she smoothed the fabric of her dress with her free hand and then shut the door. With a quick glance at her watch to confirm she was on time, she rang the doorbell and forced herself not to fidget while she waited.

  Movement through the decorative leaded-glass window alongside the door had her stiffening her spine in preparation. The door opened, and she found herself face to face with a pretty red-haired woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties.

  Blue eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, then a polite smile appeared. “Hello?”

  “Hi. I’m Gina Allen.” She extended her hand for a professional greeting, and the woman gingerly accepted with an expression of inquiry.

  “Yes? How may I help you?”

  “I’m…” She lowered her hand again, confused. Apparently this woman was not Vanessa from the morning phone call. “I have an appointment to see Mr. Daley. Are you his wife?”

  The redhead’s smile slipped. “No. And I wasn’t aware he was expecting someone.”

  Must be a girlfriend. Judging by the look in her eye as she swept her chilled blue gaze down Gina’s black evening dress, a jealous one.

  She self-consciously ran her palm over the clingy fabric at her hip and mustered a friendly smile. “I’m an interior designer, and Mr. Daley requested to see my portfolio. I don’t normally dress so formally for a meeting, but I have plans and won’t have time to change.”

  The explanation did nothing to ease the resentment in the woman’s eyes, but she did step aside so Gina could enter. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Three steps inside, she halted in awestruck wonder of the view before her. She barely heard the woman as she said, “Please wait here in the foyer, I’ll be right back.”

  Gina absently nodded as she stared past the entrance to the huge room that opened up before her. It boasted floor to ceiling windows on either side of a large stone fireplace that rose to the top of a magnificent cathedral ceiling. Stepping from the entrance to the center of the large room, which she estimated to be at least a thousand square feet by itself, she admired the way the house had been positioned to overlook the frozen lake in the back and the rocky slope of the mountain that rose up on the other side.

  The woman returned from the kitchen Gina had glimpsed to the left when she’d first stepped through the main door. Seeing the beginning of a frown, she apologized for walking in uninvited. “I just couldn’t help myself. The view is incredible.”

  The redhead gave her another cool smile. “It is, isn’t it?”

  Gina shifted her gaze in search of the man who’d requested to meet with her, but it was still just the two of them.

  “Dean is on a conference call, but he will be with you shortly,” the woman explained. She spun around and walked away before Gina could thank her.

  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.