Tanner inwardly cringed, because he knew what she said wasn’t actually correct. She was one of three on the list. And the least qualified. When Ferris Hampton had called Tanner yesterday, begging for the name of a local designer who could work with his mother and didn’t scare easily, Tanner had immediately thought of Abby. She was tough, talented, and would deliver—regardless of what Babs Hampton, whose indecisiveness and complete 180s in vision for her premiere wine and cheese shop had managed to scare off the last six designers, threw at her. Babs’s flightiness was something that drove her son, Ferris, to distraction. A distracted Ferris meant trouble for Tanner and his business partner, who were trying to land a major deal with the Hampton Group.
“Look, I know how the Hamptons work. They are particular and demanding, especially Babs, and I know what she is looking for in a presentation,” he explained. “With her it’s about the way you present your ideas.”
“And let me guess,” she laughed. This time at him. “You want to come with me to lunch and hold my hand so I don’t screw this up?”
“I was talking about lunch, with me, to prep. And darling,” he tucked one of her curls behind her ear, pleased when she gave a little gasp, “your designs speak for themselves. If they pass, it’s their loss, not yours.”
She looked shocked at his comment, then immediately suspicious. “If you think I have this in the bag, then why should I have lunch with you?”
“This is a Hampton project, and there is no way that you are the only candidate. The other firms are big, flashy, and they have a solid foundation behind them. What they don’t have is insight into the customer. I do. And I think that with what I know about the project, you can fine-tune your pitch and create a customized proposal to match their expectations.”
Her eyes were big and dreamy, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Only instead he said, “And Abby, I’ve wanted to hold your hand in public since the day I met you.”
“Hey, Tanner,” Libby Alistair hollered from her front porch. Libby was blonde, stacked, smoking hot, and always up for a fun time. She also had a horrible sense of timing, and was apparently Abby’s neighbor. “Niners’ preseason starts Sunday. You think they’ll take it all the way this time?”
And even from across the street, no one could miss the way her expression lit up in blatant invitation. An invitation that a few days ago Tanner would have gladly accepted. But now that Abby was back in play, there was only one invitation he was interested in gaining. Too bad her expression was dialed to eat shit and choke on it.
“Funny,” Abby said, not an ounce of funny to her tone. “I promised never to give you the time of day when you broke my heart.” Right. That. “And unlike you, DeLucas never go back on their word.”
“So is that a no on lunch then?”
Without answering him, she tugged her robe tightly around her and brushed right past him into her house, those ridiculous slippers of hers growling with every step. The best part was that her hips were moving at such a velocity that the bottom of her robe kicked up, flashing him a hint of peach silk that went a long way toward making his morning even brighter.
“Was it the ‘who pays’ part?” he hollered after her. “Because I’m okay with going dutch.”
The door slammed in response. Followed by the dead bolt clicking loudly, and Tanner had to smile. Abby was running, which was fine with him. He’d known her long enough to understand she only ran when she was scared. And she was scared, all right.
Scared she wanted to go back on her word.
CHAPTER 2
Abby needed this job. Badly, she thought, scooting to the far end of Babs Hampton’s couch, the moleskin cushions shedding on her black skirt.
After spending the past four years designing grand wineries for her family and not-so-grand closets for everyone else, she needed a break. That one person who would believe in her designs enough to take a chance on a newcomer.
She had the vision, the drive, and the talent. What she didn’t have was a stellar portfolio with clients whose last names were not DeLuca.
Minus the recent string of nurseries she’d designed for the Wine Valley’s Mommy Troop and the men’s station at Stan’s Soup and Service Station, there wasn’t a single job in Abby’s portfolio that wasn’t a direct result of her smothering brothers or family name. Which was why she had to land the Hampton job.
Her family was friendly with the Hamptons, but they didn’t have a long history with them. Which meant it was all up to her. Something that felt exhilarating and liberating and a little bit foreign.