Page 18 of Her Ruin

“Oh my gosh, Pete!” I snapped, desperately pawing for my travel mug. “You rang me four times, don’t get speechless now. What is it?”

“Can you come by the site?” he asked, and I knew he regretted calling me. “There’s an issue with the ballroom flooring. I need your approval on the changes before I order it.”

My irritation gave way to exasperation. “Changes? What changes?”

“Mr. Fitzsimmons asked us to?—”

“I’ll be there in twenty. Donotchange one thing until I get there.” I hung up.

IfMr. Fitzsimmonschanged one more thing, I was going to walk. A few weeks ago, when we discussed my proposal that day in the conservatory, Gerard said he wanted me to manage the project with complete control.

I didn’t know why I believed him then. I didn’t know why I believed him now. The following three times, he overruled something and told me he wouldn’t do it again...and did.

I didn’t care that my travel mug was half full. I still swung by the coffee shop and got a large black coffee, pretending I didn’t see the judgment as I poured half of it into my travel mug, tossed the lid in the recycling, and drank from the to-go cup.

After I parked at The Grand, I headed inside, waving at the concierge as I rushed upstairs to the ballroom. The scent of sawdust and fresh paint followed me as I walked from the hotel lobby down the corridors. Every main room was being overhauled. Fitzsimmons had told me funds were tight, but we were doing a huge, full-blown renovation, and I was so far out of my wheelhouse; I was glad Julian was dropping in “casually” every other day to check in on everything.

I couldn’t admit I was treading water but sinking anyway. I had talked Gerard Fitzsimmons into this; he added more, I’d protested, and he questioned if I was changing my mind. I’d stopped protesting.

This renovation was going to beeverything. I knew it would be.

As I hurried to meet Pete, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill as I saw evidence of our work coming to fruition. In the ballroom, the scaffolding reached up to the high ceilings, and protective plastic hung like ghosts from the old art deco decor. We wanted to preserve as much as possible while incorporating it into the fresh and new. Plaster was exposed and waiting for the walls to be treated, yet the bones of The Grand remained strong and sturdy. And stunning.

This was going to bethevenue in Gracemont. This would be the place that could rival Zayn’s club. It might not top his nightclub, but it would be a strong contender.

Pete saw me and made his way over, his expression grim. “So…we’ve got a supply issue,” he began, tugging on his beard. “The white marble tile with silver accents you wanted is back-ordered. By six weeks. We can wait, but it’ll delay the completion.” He raised his arm, showing me a small black square tile with a gold flourish. “This is in stock, ready to be delivered, and they’re willing to give a ten percent discount.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Fitzsimmons says order it.”

I closed my eyes briefly as I counted to five. Six weeks? I hadtwo. Three at most. “Alternatives?”

“You liked the polished oak.” He turned the tile over in his hand. “This is nice. No?”

“No.” I winced. “Sorry, I’ve got a busy day.” Rubbing my temple, I looked at the tile. I saw it perfectly laid out in the floor of Elixir. “We can’t take this. Wood? We ruled the wooden flooring out because it didn’t match the aesthetic.”

“It’s a dance floor,” Pete argued tentatively. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters.” Frowning I held my hand out and he placed the tile in it. “They only do black or white?”

“Gray, navy blue, maybe pink.”

I had been scanning the walls and the repair to the ceiling cornices. “Gray? Light or dark?”

Pete shrugged. “Gray.”

The man was aproject managerand had no eye for design. It was astounding. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was seven forty-five.

“I have a client meeting at nine thirty…” I mused. I made the decision. “Order nothing, gimme.” I gestured to the tile. “I’ll make a run past the supplier before my meeting, see what they have.” I looked around the room again. “The floor needs to be light to catch the light from the high windows,” I muttered.

“I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

“Thanks!” I was already halfway to the door.

“Mr. Fitzsimmons is looking for you!” Pete called after me.

“He can keep looking,” I muttered as I headed back to the car. Checking my watch, I did the math. I needed forty-five minutes to get from one side of town to the other. I had time to visit the suppliers, look at tiles, change the shipment if possible, and attend my meeting with an established client about an upcoming charity gala.

A charity gala I wanted to host in The Grand’s ballroom.

Thirty minutes later, I was using the employee entrance into the tile supplier warehouse as it was still too early to be open for business.

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