Page 23 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
“Well, my apologies for wanting to work somewhere that doesn’t feel like a prison.”
“Have you gotten anyactualwork done?”
“As a matter of fact, while I was shopping for a desk, I used the opportunity to go visit a local upholsterer yesterday. He was very excited about the prospect of doing a rush job for the great Rhett Baldwin. Said he might have a contact who can help us out with that cedar banister problem—his brother-in-law is starting up a new woodworking business and might be interested in giving us a hand.” Her phone rang, and she plucked it off the surface of the desk. “That’s him now.” Her smile was blade-sharp and not at all friendly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to stare at the pretty, frivolous pictures on my wall and talk to a man about some wood.”
She stared me down until I turned and walked out, saying nothing to Nora—or anyone else, for that matter—as I stepped out of the building and into my truck. A site visit would cool me off, and by the time I came back to the office at the end of the day, Piper would hopefully be gone.
EIGHT
PIPER
The restof my first week at work was smoother than the first three days. I plied Mila with coffee to beg for forgiveness, met Todd, the hiring manager, and introduced myself to half a dozen engineers who poked their heads above their computer screens only long enough to nod at me. I also shook hands with three eagle-eyed women who made up the procurement and finance department, exchanging an awkward smile with Nora. A few grizzled old men passed through the office once in a while, wearing fluorescent jackets and steel-toed boots, and were introduced to me as site supervisors for various portions of the job. Ollie usually came in first thing in the morning and charmed all the ladies while checking for goodies in the office kitchen.
On Friday, he made a point to veer over to my office and knock on the doorframe. “Settling in okay?”
I glanced over, pushing back from thegorgeous mid-century modern desk I’d found buried under a mound of junk at a local thrift shop. “Everyone’s been really nice,” I replied, smiling.
He grinned. “That’s because we need you.” He wandered into the room and glanced at my inspiration board, then picked up a couple of fabric swatches I had lying on my desk, thumbing between them with long, dexterous fingers. “You’re going to save this project.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied with a laugh as I leaned back in my new, velvet-upholstered office chair. I’d found that at the local upholsterer’s shop; a client had decided not to buy it, and he was happy to let it go for a steal. “Maybe I’ll save the job. Maybe the job will save itself.”
He winked at me, then straightened as we heard a throat clearing. Ollie turned.
Glancing over my shoulder, I arched a brow. “Rhett,” I greeted.
He shifted his gaze from me to the man in a bright orange site uniform hovering over my desk. “What are you doing here? Isn’t the outdoor patio pour going on today?”
“Concrete trucks are on their way,” Ollie confirmed, tapping the radio clipped to his belt. “I’m going to escort them from here to site.”
Rhett said nothing. He simply raised his brows. Ollie tossed the fabric swatches back on my desk, put his hands up, and backed away. “See you around, Piper. The team usually grabs drinks on Friday afternoons. You should come this week.”
Ollie’s radio crackled and unintelligible gibberish came through the speaker. “There’s the first truck,” Rhett said, stepping back so the other man could walk out.
Ollieturned long enough to grin at me. “Catch ya.”
“Bye, Ollie,” I said, then braced myself as Rhett took his place, looming over the side of my desk, his broad shoulders blotting out the light from the pendant above.
He thumbed the samples I’d unpinned from the corkboard and arranged on my desk. “What are these?”
“Samples I got from a local upholsterer I mentioned on Wednesday.”
“Yeah, but what are these colors?” Disgust dripped off every word.
I reared back. “Rust red with simple white stitching. Rich cream and warm taupe. Navy accents. A rich, cozy palette that feels luxe while being comfortable.” Best of both worlds.
Rhett had started shaking his head halfway through my explanation and didn’t stop until I was done. “No. I told you we want this to feel refined. Not like we’re visiting Grandpa’s cabin.”
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. I was glad to be sequestered away in a supply closet so no one could see how much I hated his criticism. “I see,” I said, managing to keep my voice level. “Perhaps you should have specified what color palette you’re after.”
“I want something sleek and refined, Piper. Luxury. Minimalism.”
“You want minimalist luxury?” I repeated, incredulous. “Have you forgotten people will be coming to the lodge to get in out of the cold? You need warmth, Rhett. Something that makes people want to stay and eat and drink and spend lots and lots of money. In what world is minimalism the way to go?”
“Is there something wrong here, folks?” Mila smiled at the two of us, her shoulder-length hair swaying as she poked her head around the doorframe.
That was the other thing about this “office.” Everyone walked by at some point or another on their way to the washroom. I got a lot of curious looks throughout the day, and I could be sure that anything I did would be noticed by all.
“I’m starting to understand why things didn’t work out with your previous designer,” I said through clenched teeth.
