Page 41 of Built to Last

“I don’t care.” His words hurt, but it’s not like I’ve never been told I’m annoying. I don’t get it. “I’ve left you alone. I do what you tell me to do.”

“Sure you do.”

“Unless it’s going to harm the integrity of the structure.”

“Oh, I’m not sure how the wallpaper for the powder room harms the integrity of this building.”

“I’m trying to defend her dignity, too, and that wallpaper is a crime against my eyeballs.”

His fists clench. “That wallpaper was designed from artwork that was originally in this home. I fucking selected it for you, damn it. I didn’t even select it. I had it made. The art is now in a museum, but I wanted to tie some elements into the history of the house to please you. But there’s no pleasing you.”

He did what? I stop, my eyes widening. “You did that?”

His head shakes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll chuck it out and go with my first instinct.”

I know exactly what he’s going to say. “No shiplap.”

He gets right in my face, bending his tall frame down so he can stare into my eyes. “Yes, shiplap. Guess what. I don’t care what you think.”

“You never cared what I think.”

He huffs. “Why the hell have I invited you to every design meeting I could? Why did I change my plans for the marbled hallways?”

“So no one dies.” I don’t back down at all. “It was impractical. It’s slippery.”

He points my way as though I’m making his point for him. “This house isn’t about practicality. It’s about design, and I’ve let you seep into my art.”

I groan. “Yes, I’m your muse.”

“You’re the damn devil on my shoulder, and I’m fucking sick of ignoring you.”

I feel my eyes narrow. “Well, you do an excellent job of it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not. I can’t ignore you, and I can’t do what I want to do.” He stares for a moment and then curses and takes a step back along with a long breath. His fists are still clenched at his sides like he doesn’t quite trust himself.

I’m not sure I want to know what he wants to do. I’m worried it’s what I want to do, and it will ruin me. “It doesn’t matter. You know what. Do your worst. You want to turn this place into some beige McMansion you could find in any suburb, do it.”

He turns, and I can tell I’ve pushed him over some edge. He’s a little predatory as he glares my way. “Which one is it, Harper? Am I too erudite, hence the murdering marble, or too bland?”

“You can be both.” I hate the me he brings out. I’m not this person. Not in any way. I’m the patient one. I have to be because I work with men all day. I can’t lose my temper or I’m emotional. I can’t show irritation or I’m probably on my period. I have to be gentle when I instruct the men on how I want a job done because I might hurt their egos. I’m never, ever mean. Except with him. “You can be a boring, erudite prick, and guess what, you can haul these ridiculous bland floating shelves right out of my kitchen.”

“Why would I do that? They go in here. They’re to be installed on either side of the range.”

I feel my jaw drop. “To what purpose?”

“Because they will look beautiful and properly showcase the family’s dining ware.”

I shake my head and point to the space. “First of all, are you only allowing basketball players to buy this place? Because I’m fairly tall and I can’t reach where the third shelf would need to go.”

“That’s what they make ladders for,” he says between clenched teeth. “And the higher shelves are for dishes they don’t use every day. The lower levels are for everyday China and barware. It’s going to look beautiful.”

“But there are no standard cabinets in the kitchen now.”

His eyes roll. “I assure you the shelves provide space for all of it. Appliances not considered attractive enough to display can be stored in the pantry.”

He has obviously never, ever had to deal with an actual family. “And where do the sippy cups go, Reid?”

He stops for a moment, and I worry he doesn’t even know what a sippy cup is. “No one who lives in this home will ever use a sippy cup. And while we’re at it, no, they won’t save the plastic cups from Yankee Stadium or have a single red Solo cup. And I desperately want to kiss you right now. Like I need to walk away this second or I’m going to do something that will send our director right back to whatever spa he recovers at.”

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