She tilted her head as if considering. Her white-blond hair brushed her neck and cheek. His fingers itched to briefly reach out and confirm her skin was as soft as it looked. "It is, right? My mother is actually an interior designer, one of the best in Charleston. I grew up learning the right way to set up a room for both aesthetic and spatial purposes. I got in trouble when I was seven years old for trying to redecorate the classroom during my lunch hour. I couldn't concentrate until the bulletin board was perpendicular to the reading charts and we changed the wall colors to purple."
He quirked a brow. "OCD or control freak?"
She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Probably a combination. And too much knowledge of feng shui."
He laughed. "Okay, so you have this need to beautify the world. It's still different from building houses."
Her face lit up. "I think I'm stealing that tagline. Beautifying the world one house at a time. Marketing genius."
"You don't have to pay me royalties."
"Good. I never intended to. I became fascinated not only by structuring the inside but how the frame and design of a house fits with the type of person living in it. It's hard to explain, but I played these games as a kid to try to fit people with their perfect home. Instead of sketching out Barbie dolls or fashion outfits, I sketched mansions or quirky cottages. For graduation, I gave each of my friends a specialized design of the home I thought they'd love, along with furniture, color design, and room setup."
Fascinated, he studied her face. "You began your own business at eighteen years old. Pretty impressive."
She shrugged. "Fitting someone with their dream house is a rush for me. I began studying construction and design, but I never wanted to be the actual architect. I tried to set up a clientele list at home, but my mother had full reign and didn't approve of me trying to change things up. She'd locked up Charleston tight and had firm ideas of how she wanted the business to run. She wanted me to join as her assistant. She's a bit overprotective."
Caleb thought of his father and the way he had run Pierce Brothers with an iron fist. Caleb also remembered the many go-arounds and times he wanted to quit to pave his own way. He loved what he did but wondered many times if his brothers had taken the smart road. They got to carve out their own lives, even though the way it happened was painful. "Yeah, I can relate."
Their gazes locked, and a shimmer of understanding passed between them. Along with a deeper spark of something . . . more. "I bet. I decided to embark on a new type of business that HGTV inspired. I tried to find clients who were stressed about building or renovating their houses, and then be their consultant. We pick out what they want in a house, and I do the work to make their vision come true."
Caleb gave an agonized moan. "Those brothers again? I can't seem to get away from them."
She laughed. "I love Property Brothers! I binge-watched all of the shows, then started taking some local classes and studying up on construction and recognizing specialized materials for high-level jobs. I moved to New York to see if I could start something away from my mother's strict Southern influence. I got lucky when Jenna Forrester-you know the television actress that does all the sitcoms?"
"Yeah."
"She wanted to build a house in Westchester, since she hated traveling back and forth from California. We met, sketched out ideas, I looked at various properties, and she bought it. I was in charge of the entire project from start to finish, and I loved every moment. She moved in, and they wrote this big article in Entertainment Weekly and did a photo shoot in House & Celebrity magazine. Then boom-I exploded. I had no idea my career would take off like it did, or that I'd be the hot new commodity celebrities suddenly wanted. I ran with it and focused on famous clients who had the money and means to hire me, and I never looked back."
"So, you travel a lot."
She nodded. "Yes. My home base is wherever my client sends me."
"You have no need to settle down?"
"No. My career is at its peak, and I have no intention of sacrificing my opportunity at success."
He paused. Considered. "You're very ambitious."
She stiffened, and he got the feeling he'd misspoken. Her voice snapped back to the cool, formal tone he was used to. "Yes. And so are you. I happen to like my life the way it is, and I have no intention of changing it."
"Ouch. Didn't mean it as an insult. Just an observation."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but Caleb knew there was more to her reaction than he realized. There was a pain there, a bruise in her soul she didn't want to poke at. A vulnerability that called to him. He tamped down on the impulse to push a bit more, reminding himself there was no need to know the secrets of his temporary business partner. In six months, they'd never see each other again. Better to set up the rules now.
As if she echoed his thoughts, she smoothed down her cream pants and pulled herself to full height, though it wasn't much. "Sorry. I have a lot on my mind. I'll be at the ground breaking and available anytime on my cell if you need anything."
He hesitated, wanting to say more, but ended up just nodding and driving her back to the office. As she climbed into her sleek white convertible, he noticed the back of her pants was streaked with some kind of black grease. Probably sat on something when she was in his truck. The flaw in her polished, perfect image gave him pause for a second. He wondered why he had the urge to dig deeper and mess around in the muck instead of accept what she wanted to show the world.
Then refused to think about it again.
chapter six
You need to widen that archway. I ordered a stained-glass window, so the dimensions changed."
Cal turned. The look he shot her practically screamed male frustration. Perched up on the ladder, drill at his side, those brows snapped down in a scowl. Too bad he looked smoking hot even when pissed off. Cutoff denim jeans and a black tank top showed off miles of tanned muscles and left little to the imagination. His hair was mussed. Sweat dampened his shirt. Dirt smudged his arms. His tool belt hung low on his hips. Heaven help her, she hated when he was on the ladder. It was much too distracting. The man had some serious muscles and the greatest ass in male history.
"Why the hell would you put a stained-glass window in the kitchen? I already approved these measurements. If you change something, you have to let me know."
"I did. I had to move fast on my order, since it's being shipped direct from Italy. I approved it with Tristan."
The scowl deepened. "I don't have time to check on every damn detail you change. The flood last week put us back a few days. Next time you find a pretty trinket that changes dimensions, you may wanna run it past me."
She treated him to a matching scowl and blew out a breath. Since she knelt in a pile of sawdust, a dusty cloud rose up to block her view. "Next time you start cutting into the frame, you may want to check with your business partners to confirm the status. Maybe a conference call or meeting now and then could be helpful, so when I buy a new trinket, you stay on deadline."
A snicker drifted in the air. Jason gave her a huge grin, awarding her the point in this current round. Heaven knew, they'd both gotten in a few solid jabs these past weeks, but the trophy was still up for grabs. The men seemed to get off on their encounters, picking sides to win and even having a betting pool for the big ones.
As usual, Cal didn't go down easy. "We'll keep our deadline fine as long as you don't keep changing your mind. You signed off on those measurements."
She raised her chin up. Her voice dripped icicles. "And my change was approved by Tristan. And vetted through Brady to make sure it wouldn't affect the weight-bearing beam."
Tension tightened around them. Unfortunately, it also swirled with a strange sensual undertone she was still fighting off. "Anything else I don't know about, princess? Wanna add a pretty skylight in here? French doors? A private terrace?"
She cocked her head and studied him. "Are we cranky today, Charming?" she asked pleasantly. "Tell you what. Let's just stick with the stained-glass window, and if there's anything extra I want to throw in, I'll be sure to tell Tristan or Dalton."
A smothered laugh rang out.
She had to give him credit. Cal could take a jab as well as give one. He muttered something under his breath but backed off. "I need the measurements."
"Which I happen to have right here." She gave a sunny smile as if being hot, dirty, and sore was a daily occurrence. Her back protested when she unfurled herself from the awkward position and walked over. Grabbing her phone, she recited the numbers while Cal marked it off with the tape. He stretched out, and the soft denim stretched and clung to his ass like a gift from the gods.