Page 93 of Idle

Her statement hangs in the air, and I swivel my chair to her general vicinity, still not allowing myself to make eye contact. “Excuse me?”

“Yes.” She inhales. “I approached Arch Pointe Furniture to ask if they’d let you create a line of furniture for them.”

My hands land on the top the table. My voice booms. “What? Why on earth would you do that?”

She waves her hand. “As you can see from this contract,” she points to the document in front of me. “Their offer is for both of us. They watchedNYC Viewsand think we make a great team. Ms. Kennedy explained that we complement each other and together, we create a better piece of furniture than if we were working alone.”

My head shakes. “I’m not interested.”

“There’s more.” She passes me another stapled document. “I purchased another apartment on the High Line to renovate. It’s similar to the one we did at 1626 but has its own idiosyncrasies. I have enough cash in the bank from my previous flip to purchase this one, but decided to finance it in order to purchase more apartments in the building.”

This has nothing to do with me. “I’m very happy for you.”

“I have only one problem. I need a carpenter to help me design some of the furniture pieces. Not all of them, only a few big ones like the sofa in the main living space and the bed. Plus, a couple of other odds and ends.”

A pang of longing runs through me—I want to be this man for her. Yet I can’t be and remain loyal to Homer. “Good luck finding someone.”

“Jesse.”

She caresses my name as if it were precious to her. I don’t understand why. I lost the competition for us. I crossed the line between work and professional, one I’m never going to cross again. I clench my jaw.

“Xander told me about your promotion.”

Damn my best friend. He caught me at a low point and blabbed our conversation to his cousin? He better not have said anything else—I’ll wring his neck the next time I see him. I give her a noncommittal shoulder shrug.

“Let it go.”

Her direct order does what everything else so far has failed. Mouth agape, I stare at her. A tomboy appearance hiding a sensual woman beneath. Short hair framing a gorgeous face, complete with bee-stung lips. Which she knows how to use.

Shifting in my seat, I answer, “Too late.”

As if I didn’t negate her order, she continues, “I have one more document to share.” She passes yet a third stapled document down the table to me. It has colored tabs. “Here is my business plan. Since you’re a banker, I wanted to talk in language you converse with on the daily.”

I’m not that type of banker. Biting my tongue to keep it in place, I flip through the twenty-page document, complete with marketing analysis and financial projections. Which show her company making more than five times my salary during its first year.

Returning to the beginning of the plan, I skip to the part about the owners of the company, which has been left blank. “Who are your partners, Paige?” A subheading aboutNYC Viewscatches my attention.

I’m engrossed reading snippets of our fan mail and jump when her hand lands on my shoulder.

“This is the final piece of the puzzle. I’ve worked my ass off pulling all of this information together. Met with execs and lawyers and real estate agents, contractors, and subs. Researched how to write this. I’ve done it all with one single guiding mantra.”

Knowing I’m going to hate myself for asking, I whisper, “What is it?”

She removes her hand, and my shoulder runs cold.

“We do this together.”

Together? She wants to work with me? After I lost us the competition? I flip to the financial section of the plan. Pointing to the projected net revenue, I ask, “This is your bottom line. Why would you want to share this with anyone, let alone me?”

She pulls out the chair next to me and sits, twisting my body to face hers. “Because we work great together. Even Arch Pointe Furniture recognizes this. You make me want to do better, be better. I’m so sorry I lost the competition for you. I only want to make it up—”

“Excuse me? You did what?”

“I cost us the show. It was because I followed my own selfish whims rather than work with you that the primary suite got away from us.”

I resist the urge to smack the side of my head against my palm. I must have misheard. “What are you talking about? My inferior skills are why we lost. I wasn’t good enough.” I flip the pages of her plan. “I’m not good enough.”

Paige grabs my hands and squeezes. “Are you crazy? If I hadn’t insisted on doing the side tables and other pieces, I would’ve seen all the flaws with my bathroom design and made it much more of a showcase. Plus, I should’ve deferred to your knowledge about staining the headboard.” She takes a breath. “You did a fine job carving it, by the way. I was hovering over you like a shrew.”

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