Page 15 of Pour Decisions
Owen raised a skeptical brow. “When you say ‘everything,’ what exactly do you mean?”
“I’m not going to be telling people where you live or giving away your social security number but…in my experience, people like thinking they have access to celebrities, or well-known influencers. Since you’re one and I’m the other, I want to give anyone who follows us an inside look at the entire process. Behind the scenes, Q&A sessions, voting on finishes. That sort of thing. An unfiltered look into the whole process.”
He scraped his fingers through his sandy hair, the tattoo of his last name shifting like a flag along with the muscles of his forearm. In his short-sleeved Carhartt pocket tee, half of the curve of his biceps was visible where the sleeves suctioned to his muscles, and I had to clench my mouth shut to avoid drooling. Owen’s body was incredible, and he was exactly the kind of man I’d already have gotten into bed with if my livelihood didn’t rest on an amicable—and decidedlynotphysical—partnership with him.
“I know that’s your thing, Delia, but I’m not entirely on board with giving the public that much access to my life.”
“It’s not your personal life, though,” I protested. “It’s just the business side of things.”
“I don’t know…” he trailed off.
“Look, if it’ll make you feel better and get you to agree, I promise I won’t feature you in any content. I know how to draw people in either way.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You rarely show your face in your own content,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “People are obsessed with you anyway.”
Ha!I thought. Hehadspent more time on my accounts than he let on.
“So it’s settled then,” I said, reclining on the couch, a smirk dancing on my lips. “I’ll get our profiles set up this afternoon, and I can start posting content right away.”
Owen still appeared unconvinced.
“Owen,” I said softly. “This is why you brought me on. Trust me to handle this.”
He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “it wasn’t my choice” but I decided to ignore him. I was saved from having to respond anyway when a knock came at the door. Owen stood and admitted the architect.
The man strolled in, dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit and caramel-colored wingtip shoes. His thin, pale hair was combed over in a poor attempt to cover the shiny scalp beneath. Shorter than me, the top of his nearly bald head reached somewhere around my nose. Horn-rimmed glasses framed watery, pale grey eyes that swept right over me, and my hand proffered for an introduction, and settled on Owen.
Already, I didn’t like this guy.
“Mr. Lawless,” he said, heartily shaking Owen’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve really been looking forward to this project.”
Owen offered a smile that tensed slightly at the edges. Itseemed I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t a fan of the man.
“We have been too,” he said. “And we appreciate you making the drive up from Chicago to meet with us.”
“We?” the architect asked. “I was under the impression you were taking on this project yourself.”
“I was when we initially spoke,” Owen said, then gestured to me. “But I’ve since brought on a partner. This is Delia Delatou.”
“A woman?” the architect asked, surprised. Owen hadn’t yet given me his name and, at this point, I didn’t want to learn it. I’d be content to call him “the weasel” in my mind from now until the end of time.
“My family owns a winery on Old Mission,” I said, my tone so saccharine I gave myself a toothache. “And we’re building on a portion of a forty acre parcel I own.”
The weasel’s furry grey brows drew together and, as though I hadn’t spoken, he returned his attention to Owen.
“Where would you like me?”
Owen led him to where we’d just been seated. The weasel unceremoniously lifted my laptop and dumped it on the couch, sweeping loose papers out of the way to make room for the large rolls of schematics secured under his arm. As he spread them out, Owen grabbed a couple paperweights from his desk—which I quickly realized were actually football awards—to secure the edges so we could study them.
Yeah, the man usedfootball awardsaspaperweights. My god, I was so far out of my league.
After allowing my gaze to sweep across the first one, which was a full-color rendering of the entire front facade of the exterior, I blinked in surprise.
Thiswas what Owen wanted?
