Page 45 of Daddy By Design

“It’s a six-figure trailer, Hellcat.”

I whistled. “Dang. Really?” I stood up and patted my pocket for my credit card. “Think you got ripped off. I’ll go close out our bill.”

He shot a look at me. “You don’t?—”

“I got it.” What was another charge on my poor credit card? “Meet me at the door.” I left him at the table, my stomach flipping at having him come back to my place with me. What the hell was I thinking?

It took a minute to get Colder’s attention to cash out.

“Everything good?”

“Very. Thanks for the extra big order.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Hopefully, a new client.” I glanced over at the table and then cut a look over my shoulder, but he was gone. I sighed. “Maybe a new client.”

“All good?” He frowned at me. “Do I need to walk you out?”

“No. Honestly, I’m good.” Disappointment hit harder than I expected. The idea of him seeing my preliminaries and maybe giving me some input, perhaps even at the idea of more time with him—both had me more twisted than I wanted to admit.

Maybe it was best that he’d left.

I could get the girls’ input first, then I’d go over to his damn mansion and blow his socks off.

I scribbled my signature on the bill and stuffed my credit card in my back pocket. “Thanks, Colder.”

He glanced toward the door then looked back at me. “Sure you don’t want me to send out Cordie or something?”

“No, he’s not a bad guy. Just an asshole.”

“And you want his business?”

“I want his house.”

Colder laughed. “Whatever works for you, Dahlia.”

I waved as I headed for the door. It was true. I wanted that house, but I couldn’t deny the pull of the man, either. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that part.

I pushed the door open, and my breath stalled. He was standing on the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared across the street at my building. The warm breeze blew his long hair around his shoulders and that strong jawline made my chest tighten.

He hadn’t left.

TWELVE

My fingers itched enough that I’d had to shove them into my jeans pockets to quiet them. The lines of The Heights were stark—both the breadth of the windows and the grandeur of the jet-colored building. Art Deco and modernism had melded into a spectacular building.

However, it was missing curves.

Something out front to soften the severity of the dark, boxy building. The Sycamore trees did a pretty good job of it, but space outside the building was prime for a?—

“You didn’t leave.”

Dahlia’s voice snatched me out of the creative vortex I’d fallen into, something I hadn’t lost myself in a damn long time. The jarring reaction was enough to make me want hop back into my truck and leave her in the dust because I didn’t want to deal with that shit again. The flash of an idea wouldn’t stick around, anyway.

Because I didn’t deserve it.

My throat went dry. “You said you had something to show me.”

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