Page 3 of That Time in Venice
Davenport Design Studio was an interior design firm located in Atlanta and specializing in residential interiors. The offices of the large converted house in Buckhead contained five designers, two project managers, supporting staff, interns, and Laura Davenport, the woman at the helm of the successfulcompany.
Anika climbed the stairs to the second floor offices, her heels barely making a sound because of the burgundy carpet runner. Walking briskly down the hall, she waved to other members of the team, including another good work friend named Edgar, one of the project managers. She entered her office near the end of the hall and with a quick flip of a switch, light bounced off the yellow walls, casting a warm glow on the drafting table near the window and across herneatdesk.
With no time to dally because she knew Laura was waiting, she hung her coat on the rack in the corner, dropped her large bag in the bottom drawer of her desk, and then wrote a quick to-do list of tasks that needed completing after the meeting. Everyone else in the office used tablets or other electronic devices to take notes and keep up with their schedules, but she preferred the old school options—notebooks to take notes and keeping up with her calendar in a pastel blue and pink planner. After a quick text to one of the interns, reminding him to stop by a local showroom to take photos of several pieces she was considering for a staging project later, Anika scraped up her pen and notepad and hurried back down the stairs to Laura’s office on the firstfloor.
Behind the frosted glass covering the door, she made out the singular shape of her boss. Two quick knocks and Laura calledherin.
She sat behind her desk, an abundance of hairspray making her platinum blonde hair an unmoving helmet. Her makeup, jewelry, and clothing were understated butelegant.
“Goodmorning.”
“Anika, honey,” Laura said in her husky Southern drawl. “I’m so glad you’re here. Have a seat.” She waved Anika into the chair opposite the desk. “Judge Evers has once again sung our praises and sent us a referral, but I haven’t had time to get much information. Her secretary called late yesterday and set everything up. The judge didn’t ask for you by name, but she did mention she wanted the same designer who’d done such a wonderful job on Representative Johnson’s surprise birthday gift for his daughter. You really did do a marvelous job. You breathed new life into thatplace.”
“Thank you.” Laura did not hand out compliments often, so Anika knew the words were not only sincere, but she must have really done one hell ofajob.
“Obviously, this new client takes priority. You know we want to keep the judgehappy.”
“Yes,Ido.”
“Here’s what I know.” Laura spoke with her hands a lot, gesturing, pointing, and spreading her fingers. “He’s a manager with the accounting firm Continuum, and they transferred him to the Atlanta area. He hasn’t lived here long but bought his house a few months ago and wants to redo theinterior.”
“Sounds easy enough. Only redecorating?” The firm offered redecorating and remodelingservices.
“That’s what I understand, but of course once you get over there, you’ll be better able to make an assessment.” Laura leaned forward. “If you do a good job on this, Anika, we’ll work something out on the ownership front. I’d love to take some time off. My husband is retiring soon and I’m not getting any younger.” Shelaughed.
A long time ago Laura had embraced the decision to not have children. Refusing to use the word childless, she extolled the positives of being childfree—freedom to do whatever she wanted when she wanted with more disposable income. On more than one occasion she’d said she didn’t think her business would have grown the way it did if she and her husband had had children. And soon she’d be using that disposable income to do more traveling and engage in more leisureactivities.
Laura’s voice dropped. “I trust you, and if you’re interested, I’m willing to give you aleadershiprole.”
This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Laura was no longer hinting. That was the second time in the conversation she’d flat out made her intentions known. “I’m very interested, and I would behonored.”
As Laura prepared to reply, a knock sounded on the door and Jasmine poked her head in. “Mr. Stewart is here. Should I bring him in or wait a fewminutes?”
“Oh my, he’s early.” Laura glanced at her watch. “Go ahead and bring him in, darling. We’reready.”
Jasmine disappeared, and only moments later the door wasreopened.
Laura came to her feet and extendedherhand.
Anika stood as well and faced the newcomer, freezing when her gaze landed on the man who’d entered, her eyes widening fractionally when they connected withblueones.
“Good morning, Mr. Stewart. I’m Laura Davenport, andthisis—”
“Reed?” Anika said in quietshock.
He stared back, the expression of surprise on his face undoubtedly reflectedonhers.
What were the chances? She hadn’t seen him in seven years. She’d been twenty-one and had completed her junior year in college. He’d justgraduated.
Anika had worked with him in the dining hall, and hadn’t known him well, but had knownofhim. Popular on campus, Reed had a reputation for having a laid back attitude and carefree demeanor. But behind the lazy smile and casual clothes had lurked a well-honed body of firm muscle. She’d seen for herself when he played Frisbee on the quad or rolled up his sleeves to empty heavy containers at the dining hall. He played baseball, had been the president of his fraternity, and garnered quite a reputation with thecoeds.
By chance, she’d gotten to know him very well, far away from everything and everyone they were familiar with. Even as her heart clenched at the memory of what they’d shared, Anika catalogued his appearance. Time had been good to him. His black curly hair was cut shorter than in the past but was just as thick and lustrous, and his eyes remained on her with the same intense, assessingstare.
He seemed taller, but she knew that couldn’t be right. Perhaps because years ago he’d been comfortable wearing jeans and T-shirts, while today he oozed style and polish and appeared a little imposing in all black—black jacket, black shirt, blackslacks.
Damn. He lookedso…good.
Hair covered his chin and jaw, enough scruff to tickle and tease, but not enough to bother or annoy. She knew the sensation well—across the tips of her breasts as he sucked her nipples, and down her spine to the small of her back. His hands and lips had beeneverywhereon her body. For months after they’d parted ways, she’d woken up at odd times of the night, achingforhim.
