Page 17 of Smooth Sailing
She grinned, jumping up and down, doing a little dance between the aisles. “With the possibility of many more. Sorry, I got sidetracked telling you about my pathetic dating life. But that’swhywe’re better off as business partners instead of sex partners.” Pulling her phone from a hidden pocket in her dress, she opened an app and turned the screen to him. “I might be a fuck-up when it comes to relationships, but not in business. Yesterday, I shared the progress of your garden on social media. This morning, five clients called me wanting something similar. And one of them is Roy Sterling.”
Max stilled. “Of Bloom and Heart?” Not only was Roy from old-Michigan money but also owned the top home and garden magazine.
“Yup, him,” She trilled. “He and his wife bought a house on Grand Traverse Bay. They’d like us to submit a proposal. They want the interior, exterior remodeled—including a conservatory.”
“This year?”
She nodded. “If they hired us, we’d start next month. I’d have to shuffle around some clients, and the hours will be long . . . but it’s the Sterlings.”
He was already doing that for the Thompson project, but he hadn’t minded much because he liked the challenge of creating indoor gardens. And spending more time with Paloma was a definite bonus. But he wasn’t sure if he could take on another client, especially one that was out of town. That would stretch him and his employees too thin.
She came closer and took his hands. Her eyes were big and pleading. He couldn’t look away. “Please, tell me you’re interested. A job like that could change our lives. Take our careers to the next level.”
He was fine professionally. He had more than enough money and work. Yet, refusing her made his heart ache. He was torn between his contentment and her ambition.
Seeing Paloma happy and excited filled him with joy. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he wanted to be a part of whatever made her eyes light up like that. It was becoming harder to separate his professional admiration from his growing personal feelings.
“I . . .” he began, voice faltering. Could he balance his needs with hers? The weight of the decision pressed down on him, and then he buried his worry under the hope in her eyes and caved. “I’ll do it.”
She lunged, hugging him so tight his breath whooshed from him. “Thank you. Thank you,” she squealed. “We are a fantastic team.”
His hands instinctively found her waist, and his body came alive at the contact. Her hair tickled his chin, her curves pressed against him, and his heart hammered so hard she could probably feel it. The scent of her shampoo made him dizzy, and he had to force his fingers not to flex against her hips.
Pulling away, their gazes met, and for a moment, neither moved. The warmth of her body, her light perfume wrapped around him. He found himself wanting to pull her close again, to feel her in his arms for just a little longer.
She seemed to realize how close they were standing and took a small step back, clearing her throat. “So, um, in conclusion,” she began, her voice slightly unsteady, “it’s a good thing we didn’t sleep together. Mixing business with pleasure usually ends in disaster.”
Her gaze lingered on Max’s lips for a moment too long. “Usually,” he said, “but not always.”
“It does for me,” she whispered, almost pleadingly.
He heard what she asking. For now, he’d be her business partner and friend.
“You know what I noticed today?” she asked rhetorically.
“What’s that?”
“When I saw the post from the Sterlings, you were the first person I wanted to tell.” She fiddled with a price tag. “Not my brother, not my friends or family. You.”
“Makes sense it’s a team project.”
“No, that wasn’t it. In this short time, you’ve become my go-to friend. You’re important to me.”
The simple admission hit him harder than any flirtation could have. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She leaned against a display table, playing absently with a collection of vintage-style bulbs. “And that’s . . .” She shook her head, laughing softly. “That’s kind of terrifying.”
“Why?”
“Because important people always leave.” She met his eyes. “And the Sterling project could change everything for us.”
He caught her subtle emphasis on ‘us.’ “Professionally,” he said, testing the waters.
“Right.” She picked up another pendant light, then set it down without looking at it. “Though sometimes I wonder . . .”
“Yeah?” His throat went dry at the vulnerability in her expression.
“If I’m being smart or just scared.” She gestured to the collection lights and LED strips they’d spent the last hour examining. “The thing is, Max, any other time in my life, I would’ve already . . .” She gestured between them, leaving the rest unsaid.
