Page 17 of Filthy Mouth
It was showtime.
Chapter 8
Poppy
I dragged my wheeled samples case up the steps. There was nothing worse than a vague client. Ella McPhee might be difficult if she couldn't narrow her specifications to some basic colour schemes. If I got a good look at her house, then perhaps I could guide her.
Once I’d rung the bell, I took a moment to plaster on my winsome smile. It was forced because I’d rather relax in my bath with a glass of Prosecco. But since this was booked as a prospective high-end project, I’d made the time even though she hadn’t been happy that it took me eight days to book her in.
The door opened to bare feet. Not petite ladylike feet. I glanced up past the charcoal trousers and black shirt to see Benedict Lancaster’s smug face—the man who’d been on my mind for the past two weeks.
My smile froze in place.
“Ella, I take it,” I said sarcastically as he bent down to take my case hostage.“Have you been diagnosed as a pathological liar?”
“Why, Ms Blythe, do you usually greet all your clients in this manner?” he asked, waving me in.
“I’m not setting foot in your house if you're wasting my time,” I said, clenching my jaw.
He raised his hands in the air.“I do solemnly swear this is a legitimate project for an entire floor of my home.”
I eyed him suspiciously, but the home would have at least five or six floors if this Victorian townhouse had a basement.
“I appreciate that time is money, so do come in,” he said before he slipped up.
His eyes locked onto my lips.
I swallowed, recalling the ache. Still, I stepped inside, taking the handle for my case and wheeling it across the dark mahogany floorboards. I knew that I’d live to regret this. The door slammed shut behind me, and the brass letterbox rattled. This was a conscious choice I made.
The next move was his.
“I’ll take this,” he said, brushing his hand over mine.
I slipped my hand away and followed him until we reached the elevator doors. It wasn't the first time I’d encountered an elevator in a private home, but the small space was daunting when he took most of it.
“How many floors does the property have?” I asked politely as if I hadn’t pretended to be a prostitute the first time we met.
“The property has six floors with a total of 15845 Square feet. I have the floor plans in the library.”
Damn. That was pretty impressive. I wondered if he lived here alone. There was no mention of a family or a current girlfriend on the internet or social media.
The doors pinged open, jolting me back to the Canary Wharf apartment. I carefully wiped the perspiration above my upper lip.
One aspect of Benedict that I could admire was that he didn't come from old money. He made shrewd choices and built his property development business from scratch. I did ponder his past marriages, but there wasn't much information online about his ex-wives.
“I take it that it’s a listed building?” I asked, admiring the decor as we walked through the light, airy hallway.
I peered into the drawing room, which was painted in a white mint shade. However, the dark green fireplace and window panels were a striking contrast. This was worlds apart from the tasteless apartment he’d taken me to. If the rest of his home was like this, the man had amazing taste.
He cleared his throat, and I saw him leaning against a doorway with a smile.
Damn it. He’d discovered my kryptonite.
I smiled politely and closed the gap between us.
When I stepped into the library, I saw the modified large panelled windows, which kept the outer aesthetic while allowing natural light in. I paused at the small spiral staircase that led to more bookshelves. The room had enough space for the leather couch set, table, and a separate office desk. The shade of the wood was warm, creating a softness to the room. When I glanced at the chandelier, I almost shook my head. The man loved his chandeliers.
He rolled my sample case to the couch and sat. I chose my seat, which was a little distance from him. It didn’t stop his cologne or body wash from assaulting my senses. I glanced at the paper on the table—plans for his house. Perhaps he was serious about a renovation after all.
