Destiny by Design (3 page)

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 history? 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.”

Ellis was startled to hear his voice in the room. Simon must have come up behind her as she was having her tantrum. He was with an older man with sparse gray hair and anxious blue eyes. Ellis wondered for a moment if this was Callon Senior.

“My fault, ma’am,” he drawled thickly. “The paperwork got screwed up. Not sure how, but…”

“We’re not looking to place blame, Jeb,” Simon calmly assured before addressing Ellis. “Sorry Ellis, seems there was a mix-up. You ordered, um,” he consulted his clipboard, “Caramel Sundae, and Cynthia Travers has Sunday Sage for the master bedroom. God, who comes up with these damn names? Anyway, what’s done is done.”

“But you’ll fix it right?” She looked from Simon to Jeb. “Right?”

“Of course we’ll fix it. Tomorrow…maybe the next day.”

“But that’ll put me behind! We want to bring in the fabrics tomorrow and—”

“I’ll do what I can but—” Simon tried to interject, but Jeb put his hand up to both.

“I’m on a pretty tight leash today and won’t git to the paint shop ’til later, but if you ain’t troubled,” he directed to Simon, “I’m happy to come back tonight so the pretty lady can hang her curtains.”

“Oh thank you, Jeb. I would really, really,
really
be so grateful!” Ellis beamed.

Simon reluctantly agreed. Ellis had almost a full week left in which to hang her blasted curtains and he hated seeing Jeb overtaxed at his age. Good grief! He’d be glad when this competition was over and these divas out of his life.

“He seems nice,” Ellis said to Simon when Jeb excused himself. “Is he your father?”

“My what? No, Jeb’s a painter,” Simon said. “What made you think he was my dad?”

“Well, your company is called Callon & Son and I figured you’re too young to have a son old enough to be a partner, which makes you the Son.”

Simon smirked. He’d never had to tell the story behind the company name before—nobody had ever asked. Men never asked questions like that. Like asking for directions, it fell under the masculine pretense of knowing all. Figures Ellis Strathmore would be the one to call his bluff.

“There was never a father or a son,” he began, “just me. I started the company when I was twenty-eight but nobody worth their salt would work for me, and I had a hard time getting contracts because of my age and
perceived
lack of experience. When I added ‘& Son’ to the title, folks just assumed I was the bright protégé of a talented master builder. In fact, my real father is a banker in the city.”

Ellis’ impulsive fishing expedition paid off. Remi was going to love this. And she had a touch of admiration for someone who knew what he wanted so young, and had the moxie to get it.

* * * * *

“Mr. Callon?” Simon heard the female voice ask on the other end of the phone.

“Yeah,” he answered groggily, eyeing the clock radio next to his bed, the faintest glow of dawn visible beyond his open window.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. You are awake, aren’t you? Don’t you construction folk rise early?” Simon finally recognized the caller.

“It’s five-thirty in the morning, Miss Strathmore. This isn’t early—this is the middle of the night.”

“Oh, sorry.” He clearly heard the chagrin in her voice.

“What?”

“I could call back in an hour if you’d like.”

“I’m awake now. What.”

“Well, it’s the paint. It’s not
right
.”

“It was fine at six-thirty last night when Jeb put the final coat on. I inspected myself. How is it not
right
now?”

“The color’s not right. I’m not blaming Jeb,” she hastened, “he did a terrific job. But the color is off. My fault.”

Oh God, what now? He knew the color was correct because he—Simon Callon, owner of his own construction company with all kinds of very important things to do—personally,
personally
, picked up her damn Caramel Sundae.

“The color is fine Miss Strathmore. You probably just had a nightmare and—”

“No, no,” she explained. “It didn’t look right in the evening light. And now, at dawn, it’s really off. It’s too, too, um…too caramel.”

“Miss Strathmore, am I to understand that you’re at the show house now? At five-thirty a.m.?” Simon asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Ellis was met with silence.
He thinks I’m a nut, but that’s his prerogative
, Ellis thought. This was her career, her reputation at stake.

“Actually Mr. Callon, I spent the night,” she proclaimed proudly.

“Wait there,” he groaned, getting out of bed. “I’ll be right over.”

* * * * *

The hot spray combined with the fresh scent of his shower gel finished what Ellis began—that of waking Simon from a restless sleep. He’d tossed and turned well into the wee hours, his mind heavy with worry. He was facing cost overruns and his crews were falling behind schedule waiting for new supply deliveries. Marco had checked and double-checked the storage areas at the site and back at the company yard, and they both combed through the paperwork looking for irregularities. They pulled up invoices, talked to suppliers and questioned some of the men. Simon had looked at this problem from every angle and the evidence was beginning to point toward theft. But this team was a scaled-down version of the crew that had built the house—the same trustworthy, hardworking guys, damn it! He couldn’t believe that any of them would steal from the company—until yesterday, when three of the men reported tools missing.

His neck and shoulders were knotted with tension so he turned the shower spray to pulse, bent his head and let the steaming water pound at his muscles. His temples stopped throbbing and his mind sifted through the issues that plagued him. The outline of a plan began swirling through his brain—one that Ellis had unknowingly inspired.

Truth be told, Simon enjoyed Ellis. Yes, she was a unique character, yes they sparred more than talked, and yes she was demanding, but he also found her refreshing and original. He found himself passing her show room for no reason other than to catch a glimpse of her at work. He had caught her mumbling to herself on more than one occasion. Oh hell, knowing Ellis, she was probably talking to the fireplace or the wood screws. Often he was treated to the sight of her perfectly proportioned backside as she bent to pick up a tool, or was gifted with a glance at her bare abdomen, flat and creamy smooth, as she stretched to reach something.

Simon could feel himself begin to stiffen, so he edged the tap toward cold. The trick was getting past her room before she saw him because then it was “Oh, Simon, please could you look at this” or “Simon, the bathroom isn’t happy. It needs better lighting” or “Simon, I’m so glad you happened by! I’m having a problem with mood and was wondering if you could…” The hardest part was containing the deep urge to jump her, tear off her clothes and taste every inch of her skin.