Wallbanger (Cocktail #1)(35)
Author: Alice Clayton

James laughed loudly, and she walked away, shaking her head.

“Touché, Caroline. Touché,” he said, studying me again.

“So, tell me what you’ve been up to the last few years.” I put my elbows on the table and chin in hands.

“Hmm, how to encapsulate years in a few sentences? Finished law school, signed on with the firm here in the city, and worked like a dog for two years. I’ve been able to ease up a bit, only around sixty-five hours a week now, and it’s nice seeing daylight again, I admit.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “And of course working as much as I do leaves me very little time for a social life, so it was just blind luck that I saw you at the benefit last month,” he finished, leaning forward on his elbows as well. Jillian attended many social events around town, and I accompanied her on occasion. Good for business. I should’ve known I’d eventually run into James at one of those shindigs.

“So you saw me, but you didn’t come talk to me. And now here you are, weeks later, asking me to work on your condo. Why is that, exactly?” I accepted my drink as it arrived and took a long pull.

“I wanted to talk to you, believe me. But I couldn’t. So much time had passed. Then I realized you worked for Jillian, who a friend had recommended to me, and I thought, ‘how perfect.’” He inclined his glass toward mine for a clink.

I paused for a moment, then clinked him. “So you’re serious about working with me? This isn’t some kind of ploy to get me into bed, is it?”

He looked at me evenly. “Still direct as ever, I see. But no, this is professional. I didn’t like the way we left things, admittedly, but I accepted your decision. And now here we are. I needed a decorator. You are a decorator. Works out well, don’t you think?”

“Designer,” I said quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Designer,” I said, louder this time. “I’m an interior designer, not a decorator. There’s a difference, Mr. Attorney Man.” I took another sip.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, signaling for the waitress.

Surprised, I looked down to find my glass empty.

“Care for another?” he asked, and I nodded.

As we small talked for the next hour, we also began to discuss what he needed in his new home. Jillian had been right. He was pretty much asking me to design his entire place, from area rugs to lighting fixtures and everything in between. It would be a huge commission, and he’d even agreed to let me photograph it for a local design magazine Jillian had been wanting me to submit to. James came from a wealthy family—the Browns of Philadelphia, don’t you know—and I knew they must be footing the bill for most of this. Young lawyers didn’t make enough to afford the kind of place he had, let alone in one of the most expensive cities in America. But trust funds live on, and he had a large one. One of the perks of dating him in college had been that we could actually afford real dates, not just cheap takeout all the time. I’d enjoyed that aspect of being with him. Not gonna lie.

And I would enjoy that aspect of this project. A basically unlimited budget? I couldn’t wait to get started.

In the end, it was a nice evening. As with all old flames, there was a feeling of knowing, a nostalgia you can only share with someone who has known you intimately—especially at that age when you’re still forming. It was great to see him again. James has a very strong personality, intense and confident, and I was reminded why I’d been attracted to him in the first place. We laughed and told stories about things we’d done as a couple, and I was relieved to find that his charm remained. We could get along quite well in a social setting. There was none of the awkwardness that could have accompanied this.

As the evening wound down and he drove me home, he got around to the question I knew he’d been dying to ask. He pulled the car to a stop in front of my building and turned to me.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m not. And that’s hardly a question a client would ask me,” I teased and looked toward my building. I could see Clive sitting in the front window in his usual post, and I smiled. It was nice to have someone waiting for me. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing next door to see if there was a light on in Simon’s apartment, and I also couldn’t stop my tummy from doing a little flippity-flop when I saw his shadow on the wall and the blue light of his television.

“Well, as your client, I’ll refrain from asking those kinds of questions in the future, Ms. Reynolds,” He chuckled.

I turned back to face him. “It’s okay, James. We passed designer/client relationship a long time ago.” I felt triumphant as I saw a blush carve a chink in his careful façade.

“I think this is gonna be fun.” He winked, and it was my turn to laugh.

“Okay, you can call me tomorrow at the office, and we’ll get started. I’m gonna fleece you blind, buddy, Get ready to work that credit card,” I taunted as I stepped out of the car.

“Oh hell, I’m counting on it.” He winked and waved goodbye.

He waited until I was inside, so I tossed another wave his way as the door closed. I was glad to see I could handle myself with him. Upstairs, as I turned the key in my lock I thought I heard something. I looked over my shoulder, and there was nothing there. Clive called to me from inside, so I smiled and stepped in, scooping him up and whispering softly in his ear as he gave me a tiny cat hug with his big paws around my neck.

The next evening I was rolling out the pie crust when the text came in from Simon.

Come on over whenever. I’ll start dinner once you’re here.

I’m still working on the pie, but I’ll be over soon.

Need any help?

How are you with peeling apples?

The next thing I heard was a knock on the door. I walked over, hands covered in flour, and elbowed the door open. “Well, hello there,” I said, holding the door open with my foot.

“Looks like the end of Scarface in here,” he observed, reaching out to touch my nose and show me the flour on the end.

“I tend to lose control when there’s pie crust involved,” I said as he shut the door.

“Duly noted. That’s good information for me to have,” he responded, swatting at my hand as I tried to slap him.

He took a good long look at me then, blue eyes dropping from my face and traveling across my body. “Hmm, you weren’t kidding about the apron, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hang in here without trying a little grab-ass.”