A New Foundation

by Rochelle Alers

  “When you admired mine, I thought I’d get you the smaller version.”

  “Thank you.” The two words sounded empty to Sonja once she realized Taylor was thinking about her when he had made the decision to lease the SUV. “I really appreciate the thought, Taylor.”

  He handed her the fob. “Anything to make the lives of my team easier. You’re going to have your work cut out for you once you begin going through those crates. What you saw in the cellar wasn’t even half of what has been stored there.”

  Sonja went still. “What are you talking about?”

  “The maintenance people discovered a door to a storeroom hidden behind several armoires. The space is filled with as many crates as what you saw.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Oh yes,” Taylor said, smiling. “I didn’t even bother to look at what was written on them—I just closed the door.”

  “Your ancestors probably were hoarders.”

  “Either hoarders, collectors or packrats.”

  Sonja was tempted to mention the museum again to Taylor but held her tongue. Bainbridge House was large enough to operate as a hotel, wedding venue and a museum. “Let me get my bag with my license so I can drive Silver Bullet to see if she purrs or roars.”

  Taylor ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Please don’t tell me you just named your car.”

  “Of course. Doesn’t yours have a name?”

  “Yeah. QX80.”

  She made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “That’s the model number.”

  “Well, that’s what it is.”

  “Well, my new baby is Silver Bullet.”

  Taylor shook his head. “Go get your bag, Sonja.”

  Sonja adjusted the seat to accommodate her shorter legs, tapped the start-engine button and slowly backed out of the garage. It was a while since she’d been behind the wheel, and this was her first time driving a sport utility vehicle.

  “How does it feel?” Taylor asked. He sat in the passenger seat as she drove slowly in the direction of the business area.

  “Nice, even though I’m not used to sitting up this high. I think I’m going to enjoy driving on the parkways.” She came to a complete stop at a stop sign, then continued, not exceeding the posted fifteen miles per hour.

  Sonja drove into the lot behind the strip mall, parking near the supermarket. The condos may have been overpriced, but for her the trade-off was convenience. She was certain to patronize the hair and nail salon, variety store, dry cleaner and restaurant.

  “I’m going to the variety store to pick up some housewares.” Not only did she need pots, pans and dishes, flatware and serving pieces, but also linens, kitchen and bath towels, and a laundry basket.

  Taylor nodded. “I’ll meet you in the supermarket. You said you need to stock the pantry, so I figured I’d pick up canned goods and nonperishables.”

  “Okay.”

  She peered into his cart near to overflowing with cans of beans and other vegetables, boxes of pasta, rice, sugar, flour, vinegar, cooking and olive oil, and a variety of cleaning supplies. “You did good.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. What’s for dinner?”

  Sonja gave him a level look. “You want me to cook for you?”

  “Yes. If you cook for me tomorrow night, then I’ll return the favor and cook for you the following day.”

  “You cook?”

  “Duh! Who do you think feeds me?”

  Sonja felt as if she’d suddenly come down with a case of foot-in-mouth. She didn’t know why she’d assumed Taylor was unable to prepare a meal for himself. “All right,” she said, hoping to cover up her faux pas.

  “What are you making?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it once we get home.”

  Once we get home.

  Taylor repeated the four words to himself. Had Sonja actually thought of the condo as theirs? When he was shown the two model units he’d purposely selected the one with the cheerful blue-and-white furnishings because he felt it complemented Sonja’s romantic nature. She’d admitted she read romance novels and watched Hallmark movies.

  Taylor knew he’d been lying to himself for weeks. He’d almost convinced himself that there could never be more between him and Sonja Rios-Martin than friendship. Even though he’d told himself that over and over, he knew it was a lie, and he’d purposely kept his distance, hoping his feelings for her would translate into out of sight, out of mind. But even that had proved unsuccessful.

  There was something about his sister’s friend that was so different from any other woman with whom he’d been involved. Sonja wasn’t reticent when it came to speaking her mind, and that meant he did not have to guess what she was thinking or attempt to interpret something she’d said. She was intelligent, poised and confident, qualities he admired most in a woman. Then there was her sensual beauty. Just looking at her, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her perfume, touching her hand or a part of her body, and the husky quality of her voice he never tired of listening to. The only thing missing was how she tasted. Taylor longed to kiss her sexy mouth with a need bordering on obsession, and it had taken all his self-control not to act on his fantasy.

  “You can ring up these two carts together,” he told the register clerk.

  He emptied his cart, bagging everything. And then he bagged the items in Sonja’s cart. He handed the checker a credit card. Between him and Sonja they’d bought enough food to last her for several weeks. He took the receipt and returned the card to a case in the pocket of his jeans.

  “Let’s go, muñeca,” he said, grinning and winking at Sonja.

  “I’m ready whenever you are, papi.”

  His eyebrows shot up. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d heard Spanish-speaking girls call their boyfriends papi, and it was always said as a term of affection. Taylor pushed his cart and pulled Sonja’s as he followed her to the SUV.

  “So, I’m your papi?”

  “Only if you want to be.”

  Taylor stopped and met her eyes. “I do.” The two words were firm, final, and in that instant he knew he and Sonja had silently acknowledged both were open to see where their friendship would lead. “What on earth did you buy?” he asked, moving the bags behind the rear seats to make room for the contents of the shopping carts.

  “Pots, pans, dishes, sheets, towels, small appliances and other knickknacks for the kitchen and bathrooms. I also bought a single-serve coffeemaker and an electric kettle, because I need my coffee in the morning and chamomile tea at night.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance as she handed him bags from the carts. “Do you have a problem going to sleep?”

  “Sometimes. But that’s only when I’m overthinking something.”

  “I hope that doesn’t happen when you begin working. I’ve told you I have a two-year timeline in which to fully restore the house and property. Even though you have a lot to appraise and catalogue I don’t want you stressed out about it. You can set your own hours and at no time will you be obligated to check with me unless you have a question or problem. I’ll have enough to do, working with the contractors and making certain I don’t incur too many cost overruns. I don’t want too many verbal rounds with my brother.”

  “Do you have a final budget for the entire project?”

  “Not yet. Patrick has been adjusting the budget for the house as needed. He has one for the château, one for the outbuildings, including the cottages, stables and barn, and another for the gardens, golf course, reflecting pools and fountains. Why did you ask?”

  “I haven’t seen the entire property, but based on restoration projects I’ve observed in France and Italy I guesstimate it will cost you between ninety and one hundred million dollars.”

  “That sounds about right,” Taylor said, neither confirming nor denying the dollar amount.

  “S
ounds about right, Taylor?”

  Taylor knew it was impossible to deceive Sonja. “You’re right. How did you know?”

  “I know you’re going to have to hire electricians, plumbers, roofers, carpenters, stonemasons, and landscape architects. Faux bois specialists are necessary to restore the walls in the library and the moldings in the ballrooms. A cleaning crew and exterminators also factor into the cost along with workers needed to haul away debris. Replacement doors and windows will have to be ordered from Italy, and if there’s a need to replace roof tiles, I can give you the name of a Vermont quarry that can ship them to you.”

  Taylor wanted to ask Sonja how she knew the doors and windows had come from Italy. Did she only have to glance at an object to ascertain its origin? “You’re going to prove invaluable and an essential member of the restoration team.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so, Sonja—otherwise I never would’ve hired you.”

  “I thought you hired me because Viola pressured you to.”

  He blinked slowly. “Is that really what you think?”

  “I don’t know, Taylor. You tell me. You didn’t believe me when I told you I was an architectural historian?”

  “I believed you because Viola, who rarely gives out compliments, said you’re a genius when it comes to identifying antiques. When Patrick asked for letters of recommendation and I told him I would vouch for you, it had nothing to do with Viola singing your praises. I don’t have time to look for another architectural historian so, regardless of what you think or believe, you’re it, Sonja.”

  A mysterious smile parted her lips. “Are you saying we’re a good combination?”

  “Yeah. Like peanut butter and jelly,” Taylor said teasingly.

  “No, Taylor. Like shrimp and grits.”

  “Nice. But how about bacon and eggs?”

  She scrunched up her nose as she handed him another bag. “I’ve got one better. Chicken and waffles.”

  “Hell, yeah! I’ve got a special recipe for chicken and waffles, and one of these days I’m going to make them for you.”

  “I usually have chicken and waffles along with mimosas for Sunday brunch.”

  Taylor closed the door to the hatch. “I suppose that means I’ll have to come over one Sunday morning and put my money where my mouth is.”

  Sonja bit her lip, bringing his gaze to linger on her mouth. “We will see.”

  “Yes, we will. If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive Silver Bullet back to the house,” Taylor volunteered.

  “I don’t mind since you acknowledged her correctly.”

  Cupping Sonja’s elbow, he steered her around to the passenger side, opened the door and assisted her up. Taylor stared up at her. “If you had to name my vehicle, what would it be?”

  “Gray Wolf.”

  Taylor angled his head. “I like that. Gray Wolf it is. After I help you put everything away, I’m going up to the house to get the trunks and copies I made of the blueprints and floor plans. By the way, the papers are wrapped in oilskin, which has preserved them from moisture and rot, and the floor plans and blueprints have been stored in metal tubes.”

  “Bring them by tomorrow. I need to unpack and put everything away.”

  “I have morning meetings, so I probably won’t be able to come over until late afternoon,” Taylor said.

  “That’ll work. Don’t forget I’m making dinner.”

  He wanted to tell Sonja there was no way he would forget. “Do you want me to bring anything?”

  “No. I think I have everything I need.”

  Taylor drove back to the condo, and he and Sonja made quick work of unloading the bags and carrying them to the kitchen. “Do you need help putting things away?”

  Sonja shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “It looks as if you’re really going to be busy, so why don’t we put off sharing dinner for a couple of days.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m going to stay up tonight and finish everything.”

  “So, we’re still on for tomorrow night?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Taking a step, Taylor lowered his head and brushed a light kiss over her parted lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He knew he’d shocked her when he heard her hushed gasp.

  Turning on his heel, he left the kitchen and walked out to where he’d parked his vehicle.

  Chapter Eight

  Taylor tapped a button on the steering wheel, increasing the radio’s volume as he sang to Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk.” Knowing he was going to share dinner with Sonja put him in a party mood. It had been impulsive when he’d invited himself to her home and then asked if she would cook for him.

  And if he were honest with himself he would have to admit he had been intrigued before Sonja introduced herself to him at The Cellar. When Viola called her from his car, putting their conversation on speaker he’d been mesmerized with the timbre of her voice. And the expression on her face when he opened the garage door to reveal the vehicle he’d leased for her was imprinted on his memory like a permanent tattoo. It was a combination of shock and then pure joy. It had been the same when she’d walked into the condo. She may have thought of them as perks, but he viewed them as necessities to make her life less stressful and had given her the option of setting her own hours. He did not relish the task of going through hundreds of crates, examining each item and cataloguing or authenticating it as an antique or a reproduction.

  Taylor lowered the volume on the radio when a familiar name appeared on the navigation screen. “What’s up, stranger?”

  “That’s what I should be asking you, Williamson.”

  “It’s all good, Robbie. Right now I’m living the dream.”

  “I’m glad you are because I’m so sick and tired of Lansing, Allen and Payette’s dog-and-pony show that I’m seriously thinking about walking into HR and quitting, but not before giving them the middle finger.”

  Taylor smothered a laugh even though what Robinson Harris had said was no laughing matter. After the company’s merger several years back things began to change. It was gradual at first, but after a number of Payette’s board members gained a monopoly, the entire culture of the company changed—and not positively. Layoffs escalated, salaries and promotions were frozen, and supervisors were told to lean heavily on their workers to complete construction projects before the designated date in order to maximize profits.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but I just got the message. Kendall took my phone when we broke up. She only gave it back once she’d let me into her apartment to get my things. In the interim I was using a prepaid phone.”

  Taylor suspected the woman in Robinson Harris’s life had tired of being his girlfriend when she’d hinted to Taylor that she wanted to become Mrs. Harris. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay. I’m over it.”

  Taylor wanted to ask him how he could be over a woman he’d dated for more than two years. He wasn’t calling Robinson about his love life but about whether he wanted to work for him as his project manager. He was a brilliant architectural engineer who had been passed over for a promised promotion before the merger.

  “Do you want to leave the dog-and-pony show?”

  There was complete silence from the other end of the connection. “You know I do.”

  “I just might make that a reality if you agree to come and work for me.”

  “For you and not with you? What are you into, Williamson?”

  Taylor chuckled softly. “Why do you make it sound as if I’m involved in some shady business?”

  “Are you?”

  “Hell, no! I’m working with my family, and we’ll need a project manager for the next two years.”

  Taylor made certain to say we rather than I. Although he’d supervise the restoration of the house
and outbuildings, his brothers and sister had their assigned tasks before Bainbridge House was approved to operate as a hotel and wedding venue.

  “You want me to come and work with you?”

  “That’s why I called you, Robbie.” Taylor told him about the project and how he had set aside several weeks in which to interview licensed general contractors. “If you’re interested I’d like you to come up and see what I am talking about.”

  “When can you make time for me?” Robbie asked.

  “Next week. I’ll let you know when I can block out time to spend the entire day with you.”

  “Where is the property?” Robbie asked.

  “North Jersey.”

  “I’m familiar with the area because my sister lives in Hackettstown.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Taylor?”

  Taylor was taken aback—Robbie had always called him by his surname. “Yes.”

  “Even if you don’t hire me, I want to thank you for thinking of me.”

  “You misunderstood me, Robbie. I do want to hire you.”

  “If you want me, then I’m your man.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  When he’d called Robbie and hadn’t heard from him, Taylor didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t like his friend not to return his call, and now he knew why. If his former coworker was willing to accept the position as project manager, then he would have filled the two most important positions.

  Sonja had mentioned hiring faux bois specialists to restore the walls and moldings, and he planned to give her the responsibility of finding them. Once Robbie came on board, together they would examine the château’s foundation to make certain it was stable before any work began.

  He also thought about what Sonja had said about ordering windows and doors from Italy and roof tiles from a Vermont quarry. The latter was more easily obtainable than the imported items. If he wasn’t able to get the windows installed before the cold weather, then they would have to wait until the following spring.

  Taylor had given himself a two-year window in which to refurbish the château, barn, stables, and cottages, to take undue pressure off himself and everyone else involved.