by Wylie Kinson
“But Cynthia’s company is still in business and although it makes me choke to say it, she’s a talented designer, so it doesn’t explain your prediction that Cynthia’s going to be especially difficult on this project.” Ellis dropped her completed mood boards and moved to help Remi with the toolkits.
“She needs the money, girl—and she needs to win this competition. You’d never know it from her extravagant habits and her never-ending entourage of interns, but business at Afflairs has hit the skids since the incident last summer. She’s barely hanging on, despite maintaining a good façade. Her bank account is nearly empty.”
They finished sorting through the toolkits in silence, lost in thought, each trying to gather their focus for the task at hand.
Chapter Two
Simon Callon had been over the moon when his construction firm won the coveted contract for the Oak Ridges Development. Had he known what a full-scale pain in the ass the show-house competition was going to be, he would have sold Callon & Son Construction and opened a donut shop. How could ten talented designers make his life such a living hell? Barely a week into the project and some of his men were on the verge of walking off the job, thanks in part to two especially difficult design divas.
Simon had worked with Cynthia Travers before. She was an icon in the design world and at fifty-something, still looked hot. Her coiffed red hair, classic face and diminutive figure belied her feisty, difficult personality. The few times they’d worked together, Cynthia shamelessly flirted with Simon despite their vast age difference.
“Call me Cyn, darling. It’s my nature,” she purred on their first meeting. He always graciously avoided her come-ons because, quite frankly, she scared the shit out of him.
Cynthia Travers was a very demanding woman. Wherever she went, she was followed by a group of interns who buzzed around her like a swarm of bees on a flower cart. They worked very long hours for very little pay and it was well known that Cynthia enjoyed reducing them to tears with her scathing comments. It was amazing what these fledglings would put up with just to have Afflairs on their résumés. As soon as Simon saw her name on the Oak Ridges roster, he knew he’d have to make the largest crew available to the obdurate Ms. Travers, if only to save himself a few migraines.
Meanwhile, one week into the job and some newcomer named Ellis Strathmore had his best foreman swigging directly from a bottle of pink antacid. Unflappable Marco, who’d worked with Simon for years, kept mumbling about the wacky lady who kept phoning him—he had no idea how she’d gotten his cell number—questioning the experience of his crew, telling him how to do his job. No, Marco assured Simon, she didn’t yell or make demands like the Travers woman, always said “please”, “thank you” and “sorry to bother you”, but how was he supposed to get his work done with her constantly phoning?
“And now,” Marco moaned, “she called to say there is something wrong with the floor! We just finished the floor to her exact specifications! What can this woman possibly want?”
Simon had never met, nor heard of, Ellis Strathmore, but promised Marco he would have a word with her.
“Leave it with me, Marco. As soon as I’m done installing these in Cynthia’s closet, I’ll go have a word with Miss Strathmore.”
“Thank you,” Marco said gratefully. “I’ve never before worked with a woman who makes me so dizzy!”
“No problem,” Simon said, hauling a box of cedar panels onto his shoulder for the trip up the stairs. “Oh Marco, one more thing. We seem to have an inventory problem. Let’s meet later this afternoon to go over the onsite supplies.”
Simon couldn’t understand why his crews were experiencing shortages on everything from lumber to tiles. They’d built this house on time, on spec and under budget but this past week saw his paperwork go from organized to exasperating. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Simon trusted his workers, trusted their skill and integrity, so the problems must stem from human error. Hopefully Marco would have some answers.
The issue of the inventory was all but forgotten as he fit the brownish-red tongue-and-groove panels together against the rear wall of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. He drank in the rich woodsy smell. It reminded him of the cedar chest his mother kept in her bedroom. She opened it twice per year to exchange the heavy winter bedding with the lighter blankets. As a special treat when he was a child, Mom let him fall asleep in their bed so he would be surrounded by the spicy, earthy smell, before his father’s strong arms ferried him back to his own bedroom.
Simon sighed as he headed in Ellis’ direction. He hated confrontation but he needed to nip this situation in the bud before it got out of hand. Marco always did fine—no, excellent work, and Simon was eager to see the exotic Brazilian cherry floor that Miss Strathmore apparently had issues with. Even as he approached the office door he could see the glow of golden luster beneath the reddish brown wood. Gorgeous. So warm you wanted to reach out and stroke it.
He crossed the threshold mentally prepared for a face-to-face confrontation with a raving harridan. Instead, Simon found a perfectly shaped denim-covered bottom poking up into the air.
“Ahem,” Simon cleared his throat loudly.
Ellis was on her hands and knees in the corner, her eyes level to the floor as if lining up a perfect putt. “There’s a dent here,” she said, pointing at a spot on the floor. “Did Marco send you to fix it?”
“No, I came to—”
“Here! Come and see.” Ellis didn’t want to hear his excuses, she wanted the spot acknowledged and fixed.
Reluctantly, Simon lowered himself to the hardwood floor until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ellis.
“Where?”
“There, see?” she asked, running her finger over a small nick in the wood. “It’s got to be fixed.”
“Uh…lady? Aren’t you putting built-ins across this wall?”
Ellis met his gaze, only inches away. For a split second, she was distracted by the depth of the gray-green eyes framed in sooty black lashes. Good Lord, what man-planet did he come from? He smelled of sweat and cedar—not a bad combination. She gave her head a small shake before continuing. “It still has to be fixed.”
“Why?”
“The room is uncomfortable with it. It’s embarrassed.”
Simon lifted his brows in disbelief. “It’s embarrassed? It’s a room! It doesn’t have feelings. It’s a fucking room!”
Ellis was momentarily taken aback. She would have to speak to Marco about this rude worker.
“Fix it. Please,” she said, and sauntered out of the room.
Simon shook his head and watched her leave. Marco had warned him that Ellis was a whack-job but he failed to mention her saucy figure. He failed to mention that Ellis Strathmore, with the golden shards in her brown eyes, tanned complexion and shiny brown hair, looked like she’d been dipped in honey.
* * * * *
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ellis sighed, running her hand along the smooth grain. “Just wait until they affix the cherry accents and apply the finish coat. It’ll positively glow!”
Ellis and Remi were inspecting the wood and pre-made supports for the built-ins at the Callon & Son workshop. It’s not that she didn’t trust Marco, but she really needed to see and feel the material they were going to use for the piece that would become the focus of the room.
“Yes, this will do nicely,” Ellis agreed, responding to Remi’s wolf whistle.
“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m admiring,” Remi replied.
Ellis followed his gaze past the open double doors to see Marco’s insolent workman striding toward them from the other side of the yard.
“Who, him?” Ellis asked.
“Yes, girl! Just look at the way his tool belt hangs all low on his hips, like he’s Gary Cooper going to fight the bad dudes at high noon. You’ve got to admit he’s hot.”
“Okay, I’ll give you hot, but Remi you know me. I don’t go for muscle heads and this guy is practically dripping testosterone.�
� Ellis had two good eyes. She could see and appreciate the guy’s finely honed physique, but men like that weren’t her type. She preferred someone like her father, a worldly intellectual who could carry on a conversation. Some of her earliest teenage crushes landed squarely on her father’s young protégés and other professors from the university at which he taught music.
Ellis admired men who had a well-developed mind, who could discuss a good book, enjoy an art show and know which fork to use for salad. Men who were in touch with their emotional and sensitive sides. She suspected the he-man bearing toward them exhibited none of these qualities, as demonstrated by his language and attitude. His idea of fine dining was likely the big value meal at Burger Heaven. Ellis was sure this dude could build a nice brick wall, but could he hold a conversation over dinner? Probably not.
“Oh yeah, Simon is all Mister Man…mmm, mmmm!”
“His name is Simon? Remi, let me tell you a little secret. Despite appearances, he’s a bad guy. The Simon character in books and movies always turns out to be the villain.”
“For example?”
“For example, Simon Legree in Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Hello? Evil slave master! And in the romance novel I just finished, Simon kidnapped the winsome bride of the Duke of Carberry and raped her. On her wedding night! E-V-I-L! It’s a really good read, by the way. I’ll lend it to you if you want. And don’t forget Simon Cowell from Idol. He’s rude and nasty.”
“I counterpoint with Simon Templar, aka, ‘The Saint’.”
“Then there’s Simon Says, who’s really bossy, and Simple Simon who’s just plain stupid.”
“You’re stretching.”
“Yeah, but this Simon is a rude pig. Do you know how he spoke to me?” Ellis said in an undertone as Simon strutted to within hearing range.
“Well, I guess he can speak to you anyway he likes ’cause he’s—”
“Shhhh,” Ellis hissed as Simon came within earshot, sure that Remi was going to say something inappropriate about his extraordinary physique. As she watched his approach, Ellis had to admit that he had a natural air about him that shouted confidence. He really was a fine specimen, with his tousled black hair and shoulders an acre wide. His jeans, faded to a soft grayish blue, hugged his hips and muscular thighs. She wished she could get a view from the rear.
“May I help you, Miss Strathmore?” Simon asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“We’ve come to see your boss. Is he around?”
“My what? My boss?”
“Yes, Marco. Is he here?”
“I’m afraid he’s not,” Simon smirked, looking down as if something on the ground caught his attention. He managed to compose himself before meeting her eye. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I don’t think so Mister, um… I’m sorry. I don’t believe I got your name.”
“Callon, ma’am. Simon Callon.”
* * * * *
“How could you not tell me he owned the company?” Ellis wailed to Remi as they drove away from the Callon & Son yard. “I’ve never been so embarrassed!”
“I thought you knew! How could you not know? He’s been at the house everyday for the past week! All the designers have been ‘oh-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’ over his butt! Where have you been girl?”
Typical, thought Remi. Ellis was so caught up in her work that she couldn’t see past the office door. Besides, Simon had mostly been working on the second floor with Cynthia.
“Don’t lose sleep Ellis. I’m sure Mister Man thought it was all a big joke. And by the way, he was totally checking out your ass when we left.”
“Ohhhh,” Ellis groaned again, putting her head on the dashboard of Remi’s car. “Give me the dirt, Remi. Tell me everything I need to know.”
“I don’t know much,” Remi admitted, wishing he’d had more time to pay attention to the coffee-break gossip. “Just that the company has been around for about six, seven years, is very well respected and that Simon is currently single. And hot. Oh, and most of the Afflairs interns melt when he’s in their space but Cynthia shows her claws if they flirt. That tidbit I got from Valentina, who is doing the room next door.”
“Okay, currently single, but which Callon is he, the father or the son?”
“Don’t know, girl. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Ask him? I don’t think I could face him,” Ellis said, wiping her palms over her cheeks.
“Look on the bright side. Now that you know who’s boss, you can go over Marco’s head.”
Simon watched Ellis and Remi drive off before breaking into the grin that he’d successfully swallowed in their presence. So she thought he worked for Marco. He’d have to share that with his foreman over the beer they normally shared at the end of the day. For all the headaches she’d given him, Marco would get a kick out of it.
The blush that kissed her cheeks played in Simon’s mind. She looked so vulnerable—and embarrassed, he thought with a chuckle. But it gave her bossy demeanor an air of charm. She barely met his eyes when she apologized for her error, which was a shame because Simon liked her expressive eyes, which tended to betray her emotions before any words came out of her heart-shaped lips. And the way he’d seen her rubbing her hands along the cherry. How many women could admire a good cut of wood like she could? Certainly none that he’d ever met. She knew good material and craftsmanship when she saw it. There was definitely more to this gal than just being a high-strung artsy-fartsy decorator.
Good God. Simon shook himself. What was he doing? He couldn’t possibly find Ellis attractive. She wasn’t his type at all. When he had time to date, which hadn’t been often in the years since he’d started Callon & Son, he liked his women soft-spoken and charming, preferably blonde, big tits an asset—but definitely not bossy and melodramatic.
And definitely not a woman who heard rooms “speak” to her.
Chapter Three
Ellis pulled her car into the circular driveway of the show house. A long line of cars, construction trucks and work vans was already in place. She wasn’t used to parking this far down the line as she was usually one of the first to arrive, but this morning she had gone to her studio to check the progress of the draperies and other fabric accent pieces. Remi was doing a fabulous job, as usual. He had a way of adding little details to their creations…embellishments that turned simple decorative pieces into talking points. He once added a hidden pocket to an ornamental throw cushion so that a very particular and fussy client could keep the television remote tucked out of sight and off her Queen Anne side tables.
Ellis was thrilled with the progress on her designer showcase room. Everything was coming together fabulously, and so far on time! The electricians had worked overtime the night before putting in the sconces and pot lights, the furniture had arrived and was tucked safely in the storage area, and the custom-made built-in and matching desk were almost finished. The painters, who had started earlier that morning, were probably almost done and she was looking forward to seeing the transformation. With any luck, she would see the moulding installed first thing tomorrow and then she could begin work on the hearth.
She practically skipped into the house, waving hello to the familiar faces of the workmen and designers wandering about. Some even smiled back. Her day could not get any better.
Ellis caught a whiff of expensive perfume before actually seeing Cynthia, who strode toward her with obvious purpose.
“Once a thief, always a thief,” Cynthia practically shouted in her direction.
“Good morning to you too, Cynthia. Problem?”
“You stole my design once and now you’re stealing my color scheme? No original ideas in that wacky head of yours?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t steal that design and you know it! What color scheme—”
“Don’t deny it! You will not get away with this!”
Cynthia stomped off before Ellis could catch her breath. What on earth was she going on about and why was she bringing back ancient his
tory? Ellis continued toward the office, shaking her head. She rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks.
The office had been painted silvery green.
No! she silently screamed. “No, no, no!”
She grabbed her cell phone and hit redial.
“Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” She stamped her feet when she heard Simon’s voice mail message. First an encounter with Cynthia, now this!
“Mr. Callon? This is Ellis. There’s been a horrible mistake. My room, my office, it’s green! It’s not supposed to be green! It’s supposed to be Caramel Sundae, not green! Caramel! The color is wrong!”
“I know.”
