Chapter Four

Violet

Stick to the plan.

Before I left yesterday, Lucas told me he’s not moving in officially until a couple of weeks from now, so there’s no danger that I’ll do something completely stupid like fall for him, because we’re not going to see each other again. Simple.

And what if we do meet again?

Yeah, that might not be quite as simple, but it doesn’t change anything. And I’m not going to start analyzing why I dreamed about him last night, either. It was just a freaking dream. Considering how long it’s been since I’ve even kissed a guy, let alone done anything else, a dirty dream’s been in the cards for months.

I’m still smirking as I open his door, even if a part of me is slapping my head for allowing a bloody footballer to invade my private fantasies. I’ve better things to think about. Such as the fact I start work at Sycamore Lodge on Monday afternoon for my first four-hour shift.

It’s amazing how positive I feel about this. After the whole Geoff and Monica thing, I was so off guys and the thought of ever dating again that I focused all my energies on my studies.

Thank you, Lucas Carter, for not being an arsehole.

I bump the penthouse door shut with my butt and take a deep breath.

A couple of hours should do it. Mum’s going to renegotiate the contract with Bec, and I’ll never have to come here again. And I still have enough time to finish my assignment before tomorrow night.

Like a continuation of my early morning dream, Lucas strolls out of the sitting room, and the pit of my stomach swirls, and not from disappointment. Argh, this is so inconvenient. What’s worse, if I’m honest, I’m not even surprised he’s here.

Admit it. I was kind of hoping he would be. Otherwise, why did I go to all the extra trouble with my hair and makeup?

“Hey.” His easy grin takes my breath away, and even though he’s wearing casual pants and a shirt that’s two thirds buttoned, there’s something ridiculously sexy about his bare feet. And not just because they’re big.

I swallow a groan and focus on his face. Which doesn’t help with the whole “Keep cool and professional” mantra thudding through my head, since it should be illegal for any guy who’s so gorgeous to also look so…what’s the word?

I don’t want to think it, because it’s boring, bland, and ordinary, and he’s none of those things. But nothing else fits.

Nice.

“Hi.” I sure won’t win any prizes for scintillating conversation. “I didn’t think you were going to be here today. I’ll try not to get in your way.”

Pants on fire…

“You’re doing me the favor, coming back today.”

“Not really. I’m being paid overtime for this.”

“Good.” He strolls over and takes the case that’s filled with Mum’s tools of the trade from me, which I suppose I should take issue with, but don’t. “The coffee’s on. Do you want one?”

As we enter the room, the rich aroma of fresh coffee permeates the air, and my mouth waters. While I’m a strictly tea girl first thing in the morning, I’ve already had two mugs at home, so I reckon I’m due for my first coffee of the day.

“That’d be nice.” God, stop using that word. I glance at the rug so I don’t keep gazing at him. Luckily, my hard work there appears to have paid off. “You know, you should really rethink the positioning of that rug. It’s not meant for a high traffic area.”

Did I just say that out loud? What’s wrong with me? Nobody wants an unsolicited opinion, especially not any of Mum’s clients. Except it’s so obvious. Isn’t it?

“Oh?” The surprise in his tone is evident, and he even pauses on his way to the kitchen to stop and stare at the damn rug. I resist the urge to shuffle. Too late to backtrack now. At least he didn’t tell me to mind my own business which, I think, is a good sign.

Since I’ve already put my foot in it, I might as well jump in up to my neck. “Yes. I mean it’s beautiful, but it’s not particularly hard wearing. It’d be fine if you move it, say, over there.” I point to the far end of the room where there’s less likelihood of food and drink being dropped on the poor thing. “You can make a feature of it. Or even hang it on the wall for more of a statement.”

When he doesn’t answer straightaway, I risk glancing over my shoulder at him. There’s a strange expression on his face, as though he can’t quite believe I just told him he needs to rearrange his soft furnishings.

Well, shit. Me and my big mouth. Why does he have to be so easy to talk to? I can’t afford to forget Mum’s relying on this contract to open more doors for the business.

“That’s…” He clears his throat, and I steel my nerves for a put-down. “That’s an interesting idea. I wouldn’t have thought to hang it on the wall.”

The tenseness seeps from my shoulders. He’s not pissed off at all. “It’s just a thought. It cleaned up well this time, but it’s not created for the hard life.”

He comes back over and stands by my side, close enough that I can inhale his knee-wobbly cologne but not so close that he’s invading my space. Actually, I wouldn’t mind if he stood a little closer.

Stop that, right now.

“When I bought the place, all the furniture came with it. I’ve not had a chance to do anything with it yet.”

That makes so much sense. Everything I’ve seen in the penthouse so far has that perfectly coordinated visual vibe going on, but without personal touches, it’s just a shell.

“So, do you have a lot of stuff to bring with you when you move in for good?”

“Yeah.” He glances around the room, and a frown creases his brow, which is far more adorable than it has any right to be. “I don’t know where it’s all going to fit. It doesn’t even match this stuff.”

“Eclectic can work.” Oh my God, stop getting so excited. He doesn’t want my ideas on how to style his home, he’s just being polite. “Well, anyway, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

To hide my red face, I fuss with the case that he placed nearby. Why did I even follow him into the sitting room? It’s the bathrooms and bedrooms I need to tackle today. Maybe I should’ve worn the work overall to remind me why I’m here. And it’s not to flirt with the client.

I wasn’t flirting.

“Don’t know about that. I reckon I’ll need some serious help.”

I give up pretending to do something constructive with the case and turn to look at him again. Like that’s a hardship. “Let me know if you want any pointers.”

I smile to let him know I’m just kidding. Even if a small part of me isn’t. Well, who wouldn’t want to help with some styling advice in a penthouse as beautifully proportioned as this one? It’s not as though an opportunity like this comes along every day.

Stop right there. What am I thinking? There’s no way Lucas Carter wants my input, and even if he did, I doubt he’d want me to use it as part of my college portfolio.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Even though his megawatt famous smile is aimed in my direction, which can only mean he’s continuing with the whole flirty banter, he sounds as though he means it.

That’s what players do.

I stifle a sigh. With all the years Lucas has been in the public eye flaunting his charm, it’s a little pathetic I have to remind myself of his reputation.

“You do that.” I give a little nod to show him I’m perfectly aware that this is just a game to pass the time. And speaking of time, I need to stop wasting it.

“D’you have a business card?”

“What?” The word blurts out before I can stop it, and his grin doesn’t help, since it’s now obvious he knows I thought he wasn’t serious.

He wasn’t serious about wanting my help. Was he?

“I need your number to contact you for when I need your expertise.”

“Does that line ever work?”

“It’s the first time I’ve used it. You tell me.”

Stop flirting, Vi. Except, even though it’s a bad idea on so many levels, I haven’t had so much fun in ages. Which says a lot about my self-imposed exile from the human race, but whatever. The truth is it’s a relief to discover I haven’t totally lost my touch when it comes to guys.

“Honestly? It’s a bit dodgy.”

“I’ve never been accused of being dodgy before.”

“First time for everything.”

“I’m not asking for any special favors. I’ll pay the going rate.”

I’m smiling at him like a smitten groupie, but it’s impossible not to. “You’re funny. I’m not even qualified yet. If I do agree to help you out, all I’d ask in return is a release to use photos, and a testimonial.”

If you don’t ask, you don’t get…

“Deal.” He sticks out his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, when every warning bell clangs in my head that touching Lucas Carter is the worst idea ever, I cave, and his fingers wrap around mine. They’re warm, strong, and slightly callused, and I forget how to breathe.

Yep. Worst idea ever. I need to break contact, but it’s like I’m totally paralyzed, and Lucas doesn’t appear inclined to reclaim his hand any time soon, either.

I clear my throat, which shatters the spell and our connection. I resist the urge to flex my fingers since there’s no way I’m letting him know just how much his touch affected me.

“You’re going to make me ask again, aren’t you?”

I’ve no idea what he’s talking about, but right now that’s a secondary concern because I’ve just agreed to help Lucas freaking Carter redesign his penthouse. Holy shit.

Stop hyperventilating.

Luckily my brain kicks back into gear before he jumps to the conclusion I’m completely flakey. “My number, right. Okay.”

Before I have the chance to rummage for pen and paper in my bag, he hands me his phone. “Here you go.”

It’s a surreal moment as I add my number to his contacts. And so he never looks at my name and thinks, Who the hell? I add “Interior Designer,” and pride surges through me. I might not be qualified yet, but I only have one more year until I am. Having a big name like Lucas in my portfolio sure won’t be a disadvantage.

And then reality hits me, and I can’t believe I’m so flipping gullible. “Are you serious about this? Or is it just some kind of ruse to get my number?”

That didn’t come out right. But I can’t explain what I mean without digging myself further into a hole, and as if I don’t feel bad enough, my face starts to burn.

Well, fuck.

“It’s totally a ruse to get your number.” He’s laughing, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s trying to take his phone and I have a death grip on the bloody thing, or because he finds the fact I needed to ask the question in the first place hilarious. Did I really think he was nice? “And I’m deadly serious about needing your help.”

…

Lucas

Violet releases my phone, but there’s a wary expression on her face as though she’s having second thoughts about the whole thing. Is she really that against seeing me again unless it’s strictly professional?

“Okay.” There’s a guarded note in her voice, and it’s like the laughing girl from a couple of minutes ago never existed. I step back to give her more space, even though I’m not sure why my comment made her react so badly. No way do I want her to think I’m coming on to her if it’s the last thing she wants.

Is my chick radar screwed?

“Sorry, Violet. I seriously want your advice, no strings attached.”

Not unless you want them. And if she’s not a football fan, why would she?

She lets out a ragged breath, and her shoulders relax. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s—”

“Don’t say it.” I have the insane urge to laugh, and when her lips twitch in response, I shake my head. “You really were gonna say it, weren’t you?”

She grimaces. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…” She chews on her bottom lip, which is sexy as hell but also a little sad, like she needs a hug. I shove my hands into my pockets before I do something stupid. “Well, the thing is, I dated a footballer for a while. It didn’t end well.”

Lightbulbs flash, along with a fair degree of relief that my chick radar hasn’t turned rogue. “Anyone I know? Want me to sort them out for you?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” She’s smiling again, and the frosty vibe has totally vanished. “I just promised myself I’d never date a player again, that’s all. No matter how casual.”

“Fair enough.” Fuck, that sucks. “If you change your mind, give me a heads up.”

She laughs, like she thinks I’m joking. “In any case, I’m not into open relationships, so I guess that rules anything out, right?”

“You’re breaking my heart here, Violet.”

“You’re the heartbreaker, Lucas.”

I slap my hand over my chest and stagger back toward the kitchen. “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the gossip pages.”

“I don’t. And I’ll have mine white with no sugar, please.”

As I pour the coffee, I can’t stop watching her as she takes her equipment out of the room. What would she say if I told her I’m tired of casual, and open relationships are the only ones I’ve ever had because that’s all that’s on offer?

She’d probably think I was spinning her another line.