From the Moment We Met(8)

“It isn’t polite to stare,” Abby said to the four-legged dust mop whose lips were peeled back, exposing a set of very large, very pointy teeth. She scooted as close to the far edge of Babs’s couch as possible and stated, as calmly and rationally as one could when facing down a growling dog, “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d move back a little, your breath is invading my personal space and your paws are leaving prints on my presentation.”

To her surprise the dog moved—just enough to situate all four feet on her superglossy 8½-by-11 presentation, which she’d spent all day perfecting. Then he sat, making sure to slide his butt and all of his apricot-colored tail over her cover page, crinkling it.

Not willing to let another overbearing male ruin her chance at happiness, Abby reached out to snatch it back.

The dog growled. Low and lethal. His diamond-studded collar flashing in the afternoon sun.

“You may think you’re scary, but you’re not,” Abby whispered, snatching her hand back—right as Babs Hampton peeked her head out from the kitchen doorway.

“How is everything going, dear?”

Abby eyed the dog, who was still showing his teeth, and smoothed her palms over her skirt. “Great.”

“Oh, lovely, I hope The Duke was being a good host,” the older woman said, beaming with delight, her kitten heels clicking the marble floor as she strode across the foyer and into the sitting room.

The woman was notorious for wearing leisure suits with coordinating robes and eye shadow. Today the suit was teal, the robe pooled to the floor, and she had on a stunning diamond choker. With her birdlike face, frail limbs, and halo of out-of-the-bottle apricot curls, she looked just like her dog.

“Did I misunderstand our meeting time?” Abby asked, because she’d been sitting with The Duke for over an hour while Babs busied herself elsewhere.

“Oh. No, dear.” She sent Abby a sly wink and gracefully reclined in the wingback chair next to the dog. “I was preparing lunch. And giving you two some privacy to, you know”—she reached over and patted Abby’s knee—“bond.”

No. Abby didn’t know. But Babs was opening an exciting new shop on Main Street. And Abby wanted to be a part of that moment.

The Pungent Barrel, when complete, was rumored to be set to become wine country’s premiere destination for wine and cheese connoisseurs. The innovative reimagining required to turn a historical bottling plant into a world-class tasting room would allow Abby the chance to showcase her knowledge of wine culture and spatial transformation.

Not to mention being a Hampton project lent it the kind of prestige that would look stellar on her resume and, more importantly, if Abby could create a wine and cheese experience that appealed to all the senses while managing to gain the Babs stamp of approval, which she would, it would be the kind of in she desperately needed—where getting hired for other, more exclusive projects would be a snap.

So if it took bonding with Fang over there to get this deal, then she’d start packing doggie bones laced with mood stabilizers.

“I brought these for you. Just a few samples of my work.” Abby pointed to her portfolio and The Duke snapped his jaws. “Why don’t you take a look, see the range of projects I have designed, and then we can discuss . . .”

Abby stopped because, what was she doing? She wasn’t a hard sales kind of girl. She was a people pleaser and she wanted to please Babs. But she also wanted to be honest. “I know that your last designer left and you are anxious to resume construction, so I want to assure you that I am able to move fast, adapt efficiently, and, if you decide to use my firm, I am ready to begin work immediately.”

“Oh, that’s just lovely,” Babs said excitedly.

Lovely.

Abby felt her lips curl up into a triumphant smile. She was going to land this job without Tanner’s referral, without her family’s influence, and without the glossy sales pitch Tanner had gone on about. She was going to land this job on her portfolio, talent, heart, and good old-fashioned communication—and she couldn’t wait to rub it in Tanner’s face.

Confidence bubbling, Abby went on. “I have to admit, I called around and discovered that you use Valley Textiles, and they were nice enough to send me some samples of what you had already picked out. Very elegant and modern. I was impressed.”

“Thank you.” The older woman preened at the compliment, and Abby had meant it. For a woman who usually favored over-the-top, the color scheme was sleek and innovative.

“Since you are looking for a historical rehab with a modern twist, I think you’ll love what I did with the master suite at the villa in Italy.” She grabbed her portfolio and flipped to the section showcasing her family’s destination getaway. “If you look here, you can see how I merged old-world details original to the farmhouse with—”