Interior Designs

by Pamela Browning

  Interior Designs

  The Beach Bachelors Series

  Book Four

  by

  Pamela Browning

  Award-winning Author

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-763-0

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2015 by Pamela Browning All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Chapter 1

  Afterward, Cathryn wouldn't remember what her reaction was when she first saw Drew Sedgwick gazing at her from behind a pillar, his figure half hidden in the gloom of the darkened department store. Cathryn had heard of him, of course. Who hadn't? Drew Sedgwick had, after all, inherited a hole-in-the-wall store on Clematis Street in West Palm Beach, and in the space of ten years he had expanded that tiny store into a chain of department stores with branches in every major South Florida city.

  And she remembered him from those long-ago days at Sun Lakes High School, where he'd made a name for himself as a state all-star halfback in football and as captain of the award-winning swim team. She didn't, however, connect the man he was now with the boy he had been, a boy she hadn't known very well in the first place. And she was definitely unprepared for his impact on her life.

  It was ten o'clock at night and after closing time, the only period when Cathryn could work without interruption at Sedgwick Department Stores' Caloosa Mall branch. She was bone-tired; tired of shoving around furniture, tired of draping wads of fabric so that they hung gracefully, tired of trying to gussy up a corner of Sedgwick's to look like something it most definitely was not—a fashionable Palm Beach interior-design boutique.

  Nevertheless, it was she who wanted to embellish her displays with the finishing touches, even though she could have called upon her associates and assistants. Cathryn Mulqueen, ASID, interior designer, trusted no one but herself to breathe life into her works, and the new Design Boutique was definitely one of her most important creations.

  "Okay, guys," she said, blowing a strand of naturally pale hair out of her eyes. The hair drooped again, but it didn't prevent her from noticing the man who stood in the shadow of a column. Hands in pockets, he watched as she tucked her errant tresses behind her ear.

  Cathryn's two helpers, Jeb and Elijah, sank down on the sectional sofa they had just toted across the floor. They were tired, too, and Cathryn was mindful that they were due at classes at Palm Beach State College at eight in the morning.

  "Does that mean we're finished?" asked Jeb hopefully.

  "Sure," said Cathryn. She dug into her skirt pocket. "Here's a few dollars. Go buy yourselves a hamburger and a milk shake on the way home."

  "Aw, you don't have to do that," objected Elijah. Eighteen and new on the job, Elijah felt uneasy about accepting the perks that came with it.

  "I want to," Cathryn said, firmly pressing the money into his hand. She smiled at them through a cloud of fatigue. "Anyway, a well-fed employee is a satisfied employee. Now run along. And don't forget to show up at my studio after school tomorrow. I've got a few deliveries for you to make."

  "We'll be there," said Jeb, hustling Elijah away. She watched as they disappeared into the Linens section.

  In the cavernous silence of the empty store, Cathryn slowly massaged her aching back as she paused to take stock of the artfully arranged wicker furniture and bright pillows of geometric-print chintz. The three of them had done a good job setting this up. It would be ready for the customers when they flocked into Sedgwick's showrooms tomorrow in response to the newspaper ad campaign.

  "That looks nice," said a deep voice from the shadows, and Cathryn jumped. She'd forgotten all about Drew Sedgwick watching from behind the column.

  Languidly he moved from the darkness of the obscure post and strolled toward her into the light. The navy-blue of his suit looked almost black, and his fine cotton shirt was white against his tan. He looked as if he'd stepped off a page of GQ.

  "You remember me, don't you? Drew Sedgwick. We graduated in the same class in high school. I admire your work."

  Blue eyes sparkled at her, and the hand he offered had well-kept fingernails, neatly clipped and squarish. Vaguely Cathryn remembered Drew and his high-school successes—wasn't it sports he'd excelled at? She'd hung out with the artsy-craftsy group. In any case, they'd inhabited different worlds.

  Nevertheless, she attempted a smile. Her lips strained at the edges. Really, she was so tired. She hadn't expected to work this late.

  He said, "Do you have time to take me on a tour?" And then, surprising her, he added a humble "Please."

  Despite her exhaustion, Cathryn was unaccountably impressed by something behind the blue eyes. A kind of desperation or loneliness or longing. An innocence, too, and, so help her, a goodness. That was a lot to read into one look into a man's eyes, and it stopped her cold. Drew Sedgwick, she thought to herself in surprise. I don't remember your being vulnerable in high school. His self-assurance was still there, but in the old days he'd been too macho, a jock with a swagger. He was different now.

  "It's late," she said, glancing at her watch.

  "Ah," he said. She didn't know if that meant he would understand if she didn't conduct a tour or if he was merely acknowledging the time.

  "You can see what I've done," she said finally, deciding that he wasn't going to go away. He watched her, his lips parted, the light in his eyes warm and friendly. It confused her, this friendliness. Surely it wasn't predicated on their acquaintance so many years ago? Most of her memories of him were fuzzy, unclear. But the present reality of him was, well... so real.

  To hide her confusion she said rapidly, "I've placed a few furniture items out here near the aisle to draw people into the Design Boutique. This is a wicker sectional, very unusual, imported from India." She went on in this vein, watching him and gauging his reactions to how she had decorated her assigned nook in his store. For some reason she needed Drew Sedgwick's approval for what she'd done.

  Cathryn still didn't know what had prompted the call two months ago from Sedgwick Department Stores' general manager. She'd been sitting at her desk reviewing spreadsheets in her office hidden away in her studio on the peaceful Via Parigi off Palm Beach's exclusive Worth Avenue when she'd answered the phone. Sedgwick's wanted to experiment with a new concept, the manager said. Bringing the skills of an exclusive Palm Beach interior designer to the discriminating customers at its mall store where sales were lagging could upgrade the store's image. Would Cathryn Mulqueen be interested?

  Would Cathryn Mulqueen be interested? She didn't have to think twice. Cathryn Mulqueen w
as interested in anything that would bring her name before more of the public and stimulate business for her burgeoning interior-design studio, which she'd built from the ground up.

  Cathryn and the management of Sedgwick's struck an agreement, and her niche in Sedgwick's, to be known as Cathryn Mulqueen's Design Boutique, would open tomorrow.

  She wouldn't have to relinquish her thriving Palm Beach studio—far from it. The Design Boutique would be merely an adjunct to Cathryn Mulqueen Interiors. But the boutique would stimulate furniture sales for the store and publicize Cathryn's services to Caloosa Mall customers. After all, Cathryn Mulqueen Interiors could make their homes more comfortable, more livable, and more beautiful. Florida living, so casual and free, was an acquired taste for retirees accustomed to the faster-paced Northern style. And Cathryn, a graduate of Parsons School of Design in New York, was eager to help Northerners acquire that taste.

  As Cathryn flipped quickly through her wallpaper sample books, she watched Drew from the corner of her eye. He had an exotic face—broad, bronzed, and very regal. If she were designing a home for him, she'd include a few Egyptian accents—a big brass gong, framed hieroglyphics on papyrus matted in terra-cotta silk. His eyes were startlingly blue, so blue that she, who was used to tossing around the names of colors the way other people rattle off the names of their children, couldn't think of a shade to describe them. His hair was dark and styled with just enough carelessness. She wondered what it would look like when he'd just tumbled out of bed.

  "I've had new business cards printed," Cathryn said. To hide her confusion, she bent over the escritoire that would serve as a desk for the salespeople. She fumbled in a drawer for one of the embossed ecru cards, mindful that her naturally platinum-blonde hair, worn loose and long, had fallen over her face. Before she straightened, Drew's hand, almost of its own accord, reached out and brushed a single shining strand away from her cheek. His touch startled her so that she jerked away involuntarily and dropped the cards. They fanned across the thick fawn carpet at their feet.

  Unnerved, she stammered, "L-Look what I've done."

  "It's all right," Drew assured her quickly. "Anyway, it's my fault." He bent swiftly and with the grace of a natural athlete, he scooped up the cards.

  Something in his tone of voice coupled with the reverent way he'd touched her hair made Cathryn wary. High school classmate or no high school classmate, she didn't know much about him. Or did she? This man moved with a sense of purpose, and there was something powerful about the way his eyes bored right into her. He gave the impression of knowing her better than she knew herself.

  "Really, I'd better go." She swiveled her head toward the aisle, looking for the night watchman. She had seen him walking his rounds twice already tonight and he'd offered to walk her safely to her car when she was ready.

  "Please don't leave yet," Drew said. His tone was persuasive. "I was going to ask you to have a nightcap with me." His eyes crinkled appealingly at the edges, and his smile was warm.

  Even though Cathryn felt slightly hypnotized by his effect on her, she was tired and wanted to go home. "It's much too late," she said, caught off guard. She slipped her arms into her lightweight jacket.

  "Well, you can't go until you've straightened out that jacket. You've got it on inside out or upside down, and unless you're Houdini, you're not going to get out of it without help."

  She shot him a quick glance. He was clearly trying to suppress a smile. His eyes sparkled with devilment, and blue eyes weren't supposed to sparkle with devilment. They were supposed to remain serene, like the sky in summer, or, when angry, stab into you with cold fury like shards of ice. But these were indeed devilish eyes, fringed with black lashes intriguingly spiked together. Drew's smile was growing perceptibly wider.

  The flush crept upward from her neck and spread across her cheeks. She hadn't blushed since she was a teenager. Thirty-three-year-old women weren't supposed to react this way to men. She turned away to hide her flaming cheeks and fumbled with the front of the jacket, only to find out that he was right—somehow she had tangled the arms and twisted the back in her hurry to get away, and short of contortions, she wasn't able to set it to rights.

  "Let me help you," he said, edging around the table. His face was only slightly above hers, and he wasn't as tall as she'd thought. But then, at five feet eight inches, she was used to being almost the same height as many men.

  "I can manage," she assured him, her backbone becoming rigid. Her body seemed captured by confusion, and the touch of his gentle fingers on her neck didn't help matters.

  "The only thing to do," he said patiently, "is to take it off." He slipped the jacket off her shoulders, and unexpectedly his touch sent chills through her.

  "There seems to be something wrong with the lining," he said, and she turned to find him tugging at the fabric in puzzlement. "One sleeve is inside out. Let's try it again." He held the jacket for her, shaking it out a little, and smiled. There wasn't anything wrong with his manner, she decided. It was her own reaction to him that bothered her. He was a sexy and charismatic man, but he was also polite and concerned about her. It was an intriguing combination.

  She slid her arms through the jacket sleeves, catching her hair beneath the collar. Before she could do anything about it, his hand slid under the weighty flaxen mass and slowly pulled it up and out until it unfurled, gleaming, across her shoulders.

  "You have the prettiest hair," he said, almost as if to himself. "I remember it from high school."

  Cathryn pivoted slowly to face him. "We barely knew each other then," she pointed out.

  "I remember you," he said, longing to tell her instead that he didn't mean to come on too strong, but he had to keep talking because he didn't want her to leave, not now, not when he was just getting things started. "You wore your hair braided, with bright yarn threaded through the braids."

  "Oh," she said in a small voice. He did remember her if he remembered that. The yarn had been her trademark, the quaint difference, or so she'd thought, that set her apart from the other girls with long, bouncy hair and laughing eyes. It had been an affectation, a hey-look-at-me-I'm-different sort of thing.

  "They used to call you Cat," he said, fascinated by her eyes, which were an unusual shade of green blended with gold. "Do they still?"

  "No," she said. He remembered the yarn in her hair and her nickname. What else did he remember about her? What did she remember about him?

  "Now, how about that nightcap?" he said hopefully. "I know an out-of-the-way place where we can hear a terrific jazz trio."

  She gazed at him, uncertain, her interest piqued. Admittedly, she was attracted to him. Furthermore, he was handsome and charming and all the rest, and he was clearly making a play for her. But wasn't he married? Her eyes automatically focused on the third finger of his left hand. Immediately she detected a telltale white stripe below his knuckle, a ring line that hadn't yet tanned.

  "Recently divorced," he said quickly, answering her unasked question. Cathryn flushed again, wishing she hadn't been so obvious. But his statement told her all she needed to know.

  She deliberately assumed a look of indifference before taking a step away from him. "It's very late, and tomorrow is a working day. It was nice seeing you again, Drew," she said formally.

  He knit his brow. What had gone wrong? He was divorced—didn't she believe him?

  "I'd like to call you sometime," he said quickly. He'd thought he'd made some headway. But just as she was beginning to become real and warm and alive to him, she took on the quality of finely sculpted crystal—lovely, but very cold.

  "Thank you, but I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said coolly.

  His eyes penetrated her expression. She caught her breath as he trapped her gaze, but it was a long moment before her eyes escaped his. Without a word she turned and walked swiftly away into the darkness of the empty store, her heels clicking on the shiny terrazzo floor, her bright hair chasing the shadows.

  He stood wat
ching her as she ran away, for there was no doubt in his mind that Cathryn was running. She was turning away and he didn't know why. For a moment, they'd connected. He never mistook that flare of interest where none had existed before. It happened often, but the women weren't as interesting to him as Cathryn. She seemed sure of herself as few of them were, and she was more beautiful than anyone he'd met in a long time.

  Cathryn, on her way out of the store, also knew she was fleeing. She hadn't run from a member of the opposite sex since she was in the third grade and a boy had tried to lift up her dress. Then, she hadn't known what she was running from because it was like a game. Now she knew what she was leaving behind and she also knew that with Drew Sedgwick it was no game.

  Well, he thought, rocking back on his heels, there was still the class reunion. Surely she would be there... wouldn't she?

  ***

  Judy Carruthers had been Cathryn's closest friend since they both refused to eat the canned spinach in the Northway Elementary School cafeteria. Their impertinence to authority had earned them an hour of after-school chores, and Cathryn and the auburn-haired, freckle-faced Judy had become fast friends as they refilled salt and pepper shakers in the lunch room. They remained friends, growing up in the same close-knit West Palm Beach neighborhood where they were encouraged by both sets of parents to think of each other's homes as their own.

  Cathryn had been awed by the comparative luxury of Judy's house. Judy's father was a well-to-do attorney while Cathryn's dad was a poorly paid clerk in an automotive store. The house where Cathryn's family lived was a run-down white stucco, small and cramped. Cathryn vowed in those early years that she would live like Judy and her family when she grew up.

  Susannah Fagan arrived on the scene later. She arrived in the middle of seventh grade and possessed an enviably curvy figure and long black hair. Susannah managed to wriggle her way into Cathryn and Judy's closed society by craftily offering lessons in how to flirt.

  Serious-minded Cathryn and bouncy, bubbly Judy had found Susannah's offer impossible to resist, especially when they saw the results of Susannah's flirting with the eighth-grade boys. Somehow they had become friends, the three of them, despite the total failure of Susannah's lessons. Cathryn and Judy hadn't learned to flirt until much later. Susannah sadly admitted after her second divorce that it was just as well that the two of them had been late bloomers. In the long run, all flirting had done for her, she admitted, was get her into trouble.