Hiding From The Sheriff (A Southern Kind of Love Book 1)
Page 22
Oddly aware that he was right behind her, she focused straight down the long hallway, one side almost entirely made up of windows. Nash couldn’t offer her a solution unless he had a farmhouse in his back pocket and an extra architect to work Lionel’s abandoned jobs. Not that she needed a man’s help, anyway.
“This is a nice office.” Nash paused by one of the windows. “I have to admit, I’ve never wondered what Atlanta looks like from forty-three floors up.” He whistled low. “And that’s a long way down.”
Taking two steps back, she looked at the view of the city and then at his profile. “Scared of heights?”
He rolled his shoulders, looking a little uncomfortable in his suit. “Nothing that I’d admit to.”
Something about his answer made her smile. “Follow me.” Lexi walked into the conference room and around the long table to the three large boards, each displaying a different variation of the store. She might feel unsure when it came to the farmhouse, but designing spaces like Nash’s came second nature now.
“I tried to use what you described in the email and the examples of other country stores you sent me to come up with a rough sketch. I appreciated the photos of the property, but I’ll have to come down and get a firsthand view of the land before I can finalize the plans—”
“These are great, Ms. Caden.”
“I’m glad you like them. Please, call me Lexi. So,” she said, pointing at the first board, “this one is the size you described.” She went through all the technical specs of her designs one by one, explaining her thoughts and views, giving a couple of suggestions about outside space.
Nash nodded but was otherwise quiet. She thought she’d caught him watching her instead of where she pointed on the board. Or else she’d looked at him long enough for him to notice her staring.
Either way, the two or three times he gave her undivided attention, she lost her train of thought. That had never happened before.
She finally managed to get through the entire explanation with a little less finesse than usual. She’d dated a few men who were white in the past, but none like Nash who watched her with such intensity. And never a client. That made him off-limits. The end.
“What do you think?”
“They’re all very nice.” He ran a hand over his chin. “I think you’re right, though. You’ll need to come down to see the land. I’ve changed the location.”
Lexi rested her hip against the conference room table. Some clients could be very picky, constantly changing or adding things to the design up until the very end. She hadn’t expected her overalls-wearing, old farmer to be one of them.
“I also want to add a small version of a cotton gin on the back.”
“A cotton gin?” In the store? Didn’t Eli Whitney invent that? “That takes the seeds out of cotton, right?”
He seemed to sense her confusion. “When you come down to look at the land, I’ll give you a tour of the gin, so you can get an idea of the space.”
“Why do you want a cotton gin?”
He looked at the drawing again before turning those blue eyes her direction. “I want an exhibition demonstrating cotton from seed to shirt. Between the tours and selling local produce, we’re hoping to help our local farmers by drawing in business off I-75.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“The town?”
“No. You.”
Nash shrugged. “Pride, I suppose.”
She motioned to the boards. “This seems like a lot of money and time to put on the line for pride.”
“Lexi,” he said, her name sounding different with his accent. “When you stand in front of something you’ve created, how do you feel about it?”
It was the moment she enjoyed the best of all. “Pride.”
“Right. Some people in this life see dollar signs. We don’t. Most farmers don’t. They have pride in what they do.”
“Did you just call me a farmer?”
“Despite the social stigma, there are worse things to be called.”
She laughed. A sexy farmer with a sense of humor. The shirtless overalls picture popped into her mind unannounced.
She cleared her throat. “Then I suppose I will need a tour.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” He sat one hip on the edge of the table with his phone opened to his calendar, mirroring her position. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I’m free all day.”
Why did that sound like a dare? She crossed her arms, needing every defense against him. “I guess I’m coming to see how you make cotton.”
His lips twisted into a half-smile that was lethal. “I look forward to it.”
“Lexi?” Charlie poked his head into the conference room. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you still had a client.” He entered the room as though he owned the entire building. “This must be the farmer you mentioned coming in. I’m Charlie Roberts.”
She groaned at the sarcastic way he said, “farmer.” Like it put Nash at a level below him. Setting a hand on Nash’s arm, refusing to let herself squeeze his bicep. It was like Olive Oil holding onto Popeye. “This is—”
“Nash Holloway,” Nash said before she could finish. He reached out to shake Charlie’s hand. At the last second, Lexi dropped her hand instead of holding onto his arm like some Southern belle at a ball. “We were finishing up our meeting.”
That was right. Charlie’s perfect timing reminded her that Nash was a client. Which meant he was off-limits. So were his biceps.
“Great. Lexi and I can get a head start on our lunch date. Squeeze in a full two hours so I can convince her to go to dinner with me.” Charlie set his arm around Lexi’s shoulders. He tugged her close, giving her a full preview of what her skinny accountant lunch date had underneath that suit. “I’ve waited two years for her to say ‘yes’ to a date with me. I don’t think she’ll be disappointed.”
Nash crossed his arms, those biceps straining against his jacket as he appeared either irritated or amused. She managed to extract herself.
Pretending to be in a rush, she grimaced toward Charlie. “I didn’t forget, but give us a few minutes. Julien had everyone in a meeting this morning, and my schedule’s been rearranged.”
“We can finish tomorrow, Lexi.” Nash ambled to the door, pausing at the exit. His stare held hers longer than necessary. God, that look was one step short of a tractor beam pulling her in. “I think Charlie may need the extra time.”
He left her staring at an empty doorway, her mouth slightly open. He was a cocky man, that was for sure. Why did it make her even more attracted to him?
She needed to get her mind straight before she saw him tomorrow. “Charlie, your tie is crooked.”
Charlie immediately adjusted it, his smile just as lopsided. “That was the first thing you ever said to me on the elevator.”
“I think I say that to you every time we see each other.” How did a man have a perpetually crooked tie? “Let me go back to my office and make some notes about my meeting. I’ll grab my purse and meet you downstairs in the lobby.”
Shaking his head, he walked out of the conference room ahead of her. “You promised me you’d go to lunch three months ago, and something always got in the way. I’m not letting you sneak away. I can wait while you make your notes.”
Since making notes was code for trying to calm her heart rate down after meeting Nash Holloway, the need to stop at her office had disappeared.
She’d agreed to go on a date because Charlie was interesting and cute in a nerdy sort of way. She’d analyzed him with her friends, trying to decide. That was before today. Now she knew what being hit with a thunderbolt of lightning felt like.
Charlie deserved more than her mind on shirtless farmers. He was a nice guy and on the “Julien Approved” list of men that wouldn’t get her fired.
“I’ll write my notes later. Let’s go on to lunch.”
Keep Reading! Falling For Her Client
Also by Palmer Jones
A Southern Kind of L
ove Series:
1. Hiding from the Sheriff
2. Falling for Her Client
3. Dreaming of Her Movie Star
4. Engaging with Her Enemy
5. Kissing Her Rescuer
6. Finding Her Leading Man
O'Keeley's Irish Pub Series:
1. Her Irish Boss
2. Her Irish Chef
3. Her Irish Flirt
Acknowledgments
I want to thank several people that helped support this incredible process. First, my husband, for being my own Southern gentleman. Second, my parents and friends, for listening to all my ramblings and reading my work.
Thank you to Jessie, for sticking with me throughout my crazy writing journey for so many years. I would never have made it this far without you. I’d also like to thank a few individuals who helped make this a great book. Melanie Touchstone for helping put the final touches on the book and helping me navigate through social media.Romance Refined, for the great feedback. Natasha Snow for the beautiful cover.
About the Author
Palmer Jones writes fun and flirty, romantic fiction. Born and raised in the South, she loves to travel but will always call Georgia her home. With a degree in accounting, she spends part of her day immersed in numbers. The rest of the time is spent with her friends, family, and hiding away in the worlds she creates through her stories.
Copyright © 2019 by Palmer Jones
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Melanie Touchstone
PalmerJones.Writes@gmail.com
Sweet Blooms Publishing, LLC
PalmerJones.Writes@gmail.com