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Shortly after Mark arrived at the office on Monday morning, the outer door opened, then closed with a bang. Addison burst into the drafting room. Excitement poured from him like water from a well-primed hand pump. “I have good news.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I’ve learned about an office building planned for a lot on Webster Street and—this is where it concerns you—the owner is looking for an architect.” Mark simply smiled, and Addison’s enthusiasm dropped into a frown. “This isn’t news to you.”
“No. However, I only received the details last night.”
“You realize what this means, don’t you?”
“A possible job for me?”
“Exactly.” Addison tossed a small square of paper on the table. “The seller gave me the new owner’s address.”
Mark picked up the paper. “I appreciate your work on my behalf, but I was told the project will be awarded through an invitation-only competition.”
“Invitation?”
“Certain architectural companies are invited to submit a design. The architect is chosen from among the designs submitted. Given my lack of references, the chance of being invited is remote.”
“Don’t be a Negative Ned. Of course, you have references. You have your experience in Chicago.” Addison’s eyes narrowed with sternness. “You want that commission, don’t you, Gregory?”
“Yes, I do.” His friend had no idea of its importance to Mark.
“Then you have nothing to lose by asking for an opportunity.”
“Which I was about to do when you burst in.” Mark strode to the storage closet and opened the box of newly printed letterhead. He grabbed the top sheet, fresh and crisp, along with a piece of notepaper for drafting the letter, a pen, and an envelope, then carried everything to the table.
“I’ll get the typewriter.” Addison bounded into the front office and lugged the heavy Remington back to the drafting room.
Mark had tossed and turned last night, thinking about what he might say in a letter to gain entry into Lefler’s competition. Together, the men perfected the wording until Mark grinned, confident he had a compelling communication. He rolled the letterhead into the typewriter. “I’ll take this to the post office when I’m finished.”
As he typed, Addison stood across the table. “Has Mama Grzegorczyk found a boarder yet?” His lips ticked up with enjoyment.
“I don’t know what got into her, but rest assured, there will be no boarder.” After his conversation with her last night, Mark said those words with more conviction than they deserved.
“We’ll see.” Addison laughed. “I wish I’d had a mirror to show you your face when she brought it up.” His mouth fell open and eyes bulged, trying to imitate Mark’s surprise.
When he crossed his eyes to add exaggeration to absurdity, Mark laughed. “I love my mother and want her to be happy, but I can’t deny you’ve captured my expression when dealing with her odd notions.”
“I like your mother’s spirit.”
“I like it, too, as long as it doesn’t adversely involve me.” For some reason, talking about his mother reminded Mark of Claire’s visit last night. “Do you remember the appointment I mentioned with a Mr. Dover?”
“On Friday.”
“I have my first confirmed job.”
Addison slapped his knee. “Good work! What is it?”
“A house design. But there’s a condition.”
“What kind of condition?”
Mark went into the details of Mr. Dover’s proviso. “He wants me to work with a woman by the name of Claire Kingsley. Do you know her?”
“I don’t think so. A woman architect, huh? It sounds like nepotism. Who is she? A daughter? Cousin?”
“As far as I’m aware, there is no relation. They’re almost strangers.”
“But he’s willing to risk your business reputation on a woman he doesn’t know?”
Addison had a point. Why would Dover go out of his way to see that Claire returned to the architectural profession?
Provided that she followed Mark’s instructions, he didn’t care. In fact, he looked forward to their time together. More than he should.
Addison shook his head. “There must be something going on between them that you weren’t told.”
Mark bristled at the implication. “Mrs. Kingsley worked with her husband and has experience in design. I’ll allow her input regarding the house plan but monitor her skills. We’re in agreement that nothing is to be done without my approval. With bills to pay, I can’t afford to turn down Charles Dover’s business.”
“I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
Mark typed Lefler’s address on the envelope. A couple of years ago, he’d heard idle talk that the businessman held a low opinion of women architects—of women in any profession, but Mark’s working relationship with Claire was for a single project. She would have nothing to do with Lefler’s design—that is, if Mark won an invitation.
He folded the letter and stuffed it in the envelope. “Don’t worry. It will all work out.”
It must.
***
MARK STARED AT THE figures in front of him, seeing little more than squiggles. For half an hour, he’d attempted to review the estimated costs for refurbishing a small stable into a house for his client’s aging parents.
His concentration failed him, and his thoughts slipped sideways. How had he, a practical man of business, let his attraction to Claire sway him into hiring her as an office clerk? He had little for her to do and even less money to pay her.
Truthfully, he should have denied Claire the opportunity to work on the Dover house. But when she related the difficulties of a woman seeking work in a man’s world, he’d asked himself how he’d feel if placed in her position. What if he were denied the chance to do a job that appealed to him, solely because he was man?
“Many men feel threatened by working with a woman.”
But not her Richard.
If Mark explored his decision in depth, he’d probably admit that the reference to her late husband’s willingness to work with her tipped his resolve in her favor. If he refused her, she would see him as narrow-minded by comparison. The offhand thought gave him pause. How rational was it to attempt to compete with a dead man?
The office door opened and the subject of his lack of concentration drifted into the room like a whimsical vision. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
Those eyes, the shade of a summer sky, had done nothing but disturb him each time he saw her. Her sense of humor brought out his own. Her bravery when saving a small child drew his respect. The story of drawing for her grandmother...
Don’t get carried away, Gregory. You’re working with her, not courting her.
Not yet.
He rose, grabbed his suit coat from the back of the chair, and put it on. “Not at all. Come in, Claire.”
She smiled, and he was lost. Oh, he was in such trouble.
“I was on my way home from the store and wanted to let you know I spoke with Mr. Newland.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s a generous man, but he’s also a businessman.”
Perhaps offering her a job was a mistake. What if he had cost her more lucrative employment?
“Fortunately, one of the other ladies in my department had asked to work more hours, but they weren’t available.”
Relief buckled through him. “She’ll replace you during those times when you’re here.”
“Yes. Mr. Newland agreed to reducing my hours starting Thursday.” She inspected the small office with the same earnestness he’d expect to see from someone wishing to lease it. Then she turned her attention back to him. “How did Mr. Dover react?”
“He was pleased to know we’d be working together in some capacity, even though it wasn’t what he’d had in mind.” Mark’s doubts flew like pigeons out the turret windows. “I told him I’d walk the lot boundary tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”
Her eyes lit. “What time?”
“Six-thirty. If you’ll be home from work by then, I’ll pick you up, and we’ll drive out there together.” At Claire’s puckered brow and the quiet seconds that ticked by, Mark braced himself to hear she had another engagement.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather meet you here.”
The taut muscles in the back of his neck relaxed. “Whatever is most convenient.”
She peered around him toward the drafting room. Curiosity practically exploded from her.
“Would you like to see the rest of the office?”
“May I?”
“This is where you’ll sit in your role as office clerk.” He tapped the back of the chair behind the desk, then led her into the large room in the rear of the suite.
Claire ran a hand over the table and turned in a circle to survey the whole room. He recognized that look of longing, as if she’d found Excalibur or the Fountain of Youth. He’d worn it, too, his first day employed in an architectural office. Beneath the longing had lain dread —the dread of failing. He saw something similar in Claire’s stiff bearing.
“It’s a fine space. The turret’s triple windows provide much-needed natural lighting.” She pointed to the tiny and worthless closet installed by a previous tenant. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She opened the door. “I thought I saw light peeking under the door. This closet blocks another window. I’m sure you’ve considered removing it and opening up the room to even more light.”
“I’m waiting on the landlord. He’s promised it will be done in the next couple of days.” Long past Mark’s original expectation.
“That will make a difference in this area.” She shut the door and returned to the table. “You chose your office well.”
He fought to restrain the puff of his chest. “Thank you.”
Claire started toward the front office. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
When she reached the desk, she stopped and nodded at the drawing on top. “A current project?”
“Yes. I’m drafting a possible floor plan to show the client.” If he could concentrate long enough to finish.
“It’s nice.”
The compliment was as enthusiastic as his mother’s response to laundry day. “But?”
“No buts.” She chewed her bottom lip a moment, then flashed a shy grin. “Well, perhaps one small one?”
“Yes?”
Inhibition tossed aside, along with her purse, she leaned over the surface of the desk, filling the space between them with a sweet and flowery scent. It threatened to drive Mark to the greatest distraction he’d experienced all day—in months, really.
“See this door?” She pointed to the one off the western side elevation, in the middle of what would be a small sitting room.
Mark had left the door in its current location, but now that she pointed it out, he saw a better place for it. Did she have the same idea? “What about it?”
She pressed a rounded fingernail to a spot on the southern exterior wall of the room that jutted out four feet from the main structure. “If you move it here, you could turn the current door into a window that would brighten the room considerably, while not losing important wall space.”
Her breath had ruffled the hair on the top of his head, calling attention to how near they stood to one another. On Thursday, he would use the pomade, not only to keep it in place but to keep his mind on his work.
As for the door... “I agree. Adding a small side porch”—he pointed to the new location—“will allow the residents to relax in the evening and look out on the open space adjoining the property.”
“I like that idea.”
“And I like yours.” Rather than be embarrassed that she’d recommended something better, his trust in her ability grew.
She gathered her purse. “Now, I really am going.”
Claire reached for the doorknob, evidently oblivious to the shadow of a figure on the other side of the glass. Mark pulled her out of the way of the door hitting her in the face as it was pushed open. She let out a slight squeak and fell back against him.
Addison entered the office and his eyes narrowed at seeing the two of them nailed together like a pair of two-by-fours. “What’s going on here?”
Mark glared at him. “You almost hit this woman.”
His friend’s eyes expanded. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No. I’m fine.” Claire relaxed in Mark’s hold, until she gazed at his arm encircling her waist. She glanced up at him and stiffened, her cheeks the color of a ripe crab apple.
He cleared his throat and released her. “Mrs. Kingsley, I’d like you to meet my friend Addison O’Keefe.”
She planted that sales clerk smile on her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Keefe.”
“And you, ma’am. I understand you’ll be working with Mark.”
“Starting Thursday.” Claire moved toward the door. “I’ll let you two visit and will see you tomorrow evening, Mr. Gregory.”
Before Mark could get out a goodbye, she strode into the hall, leaving nothing behind but the sound of quick footsteps and her flowery scent. The former faded in seconds. The latter remained to taunt him.
Addison closed the door, then crossed his arms, feet apart in a stance that demanded attention. “Now I know.”
“You know what?”
“The reason you seized Mr. Dover’s deal.”
“What are you talking about? I hardly seized it.”
Addison’s bearing eased and his lips twitched. “You looked at Mrs. Kingsley, and the truth popped out in bright red hearts all over your face.”
Mark’s laugh sputtered. “That’s ludicrous.”
He’d tried to hide his interest in Claire, but everything about her intrigued him. As she’d fit perfectly in his arms a minute ago, something deep inside—something he’d never felt before—convinced him that she would fit as perfectly into his life.
“I know what it is to be attracted to a woman, Mark. I felt the same way when I first met Lizzie...still do. But don’t risk your future on a pretty face.”
“She isn’t merely a pretty face.” Still, Addison’s warning served as reminder of Mark’s own concerns.
He glanced at the guesthouse drawing on the desk. She had noticed his error right away. Though awkward for him, her pointing it out gave him reason to look upon her as an asset rather than a burden.
Addison shrugged. “I can see that nothing will deter you. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a lovesick calf.”
Mark opened his mouth to refute the claim, but no words made it past his lips.