From the Top

Book 3: Bound by Design

by Roxanne Smith

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

A labor of love… Seraphina Fawkes is ready to make her mark on the Little Rock design industry as Gallagher Interiors’ new lead on Tanbee House—a coveted historic restoration project. But the job’s biggest perk might be her handsome boss, Grant Gallagher. Grant shares Seraphina’s straightforward, no-nonsense demeanor, so she’s surprised when he hires an old adversary who was suspected of involvement in a drug ring. Though Grant seems intent on giving him a chance, she’ll keep a close watch on anything that could jeopardize the project—or her growing partnership with Grant. Getting what he wants—even at others’ expense—never used to be difficult for Grant, but sexy, stubborn Seraphina tests his resolve. Though deception is necessary to maintain his covert investigation into the crime syndicate plaguing the city, Grant knows that the longer he hides the truth, the more destructive it will be when revealed. Will Seraphina still trust Grant, and their intense connection, after she finds out their foundation is built on secrets?

Release date: December 19, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 198

Sample

Chapter 1

Seraphina Fawkes ran her fingernail down the list of appointment times. Once again, her meeting had been pushed back, and Roper McLeod had taken her time slot. She’d give anything to hate him, but not only was he kind, he was also talented, helpful, and outgoing. All things the mighty and imposing Grant Gallagher prized in his designers. Seraphina wondered, not for the first time, how on earth she’d ever been hired. She didn’t seem to fit in very well at Gallagher Interiors. And yet, here she was.

Annie Lester blinked up at her expectantly through Coke bottle lenses, and a small smile stretched tight on thin lips. She was ninety if she was a day, with thin, gray-streaked hair pulled into a too-tight ponytail. Not a lick of style, but sweet down to her bones.

Seraphina gave Grant’s secretary her most winsome smile, which wasn’t much of a smile she’d been told. More of a smirk, but Seraphina tried her best. It wasn’t her fault if grinning ear-to-ear felt unnatural. “Ten-thirty works fine for me. Thanks, Annie.” The false brightness in her own voice made her cringe internally, but she kept her face composed and walked with purpose, her head high, back into the small waiting area.

Some waiting area. Just a few chairs lining the hallway outside Annie’s reception area. The line of chairs ended at a small table, like the caboose of a train, that held a tacky fake flower arrangement weirdly out of place at Gallagher Interiors but just right for Annie’s style, and a spread of magazines, which were mercifully up-to-date. Seraphina eyed the cover of one, enjoying the view of a shirtless Orlando Bloom on a tropical beach somewhere, but she wasn’t in the mood to browse. She was too wired.

The tablet she tightly grasped was searing her hands like a hot stone. She’d joined Gallagher Interiors just in time. Grant’s firm had won the bid to create a new business office on a piece of property annexed to Little Rock’s historic Governor’s Mansion. Tanbee House. Originally the project had been slated for Cupper Cottage, but the city, in a move that surprised some city officials and most of the local Historical Society, switched the site to Tanbee House, once the large home of a farming family.

Today, she’d present her personal designs. She was lucky to have been included, new as she was to the company. But she’d joined Gallagher Interiors for this very reason. She wanted to make her mark, and the chance to get her hands on one of the protected historic buildings of downtown Little Rock probably wouldn’t come again anytime soon.

Unfortunately, she had Roper McLeod to contend with. There were a couple of other designers in Grant’s firm who were putting forth ideas for his consideration. But Roper was the one to beat. Between him and Grant, Seraphina had her work of breaking up the boys’ club cut out for her.

Her nerves refused to settle, so she paced the hallway. The hiring process she’d endured had been almost overkill, like she’d applied to work for NASA or the FBI. She’d undergone several interviews, but none with the man himself—Grant Gallagher. He’d hired her sight unseen. For the first time, Seraphina would meet the man behind the curtain. He had a reputation spanning a wealth of creative descriptions—terrifying, intimidating, cold, uncompromising—none of which frightened Seraphina terribly; she’d been accused of some of them herself. But meeting him the same day she had to hand over her maiden assignment for his company, well, even she wasn’t immune to that level of scrutiny.

Had she played it too safe, too conservative? She could be as creative and innovative as the next guy, but this was different. She’d chosen to keep her designs true to the original concepts of the building they were renovating, with little deviation. Her draft maybe lacked flavor, some spice and fun, but surely this was a special case.

She’d settled into a meditative wait when the soft scuff of shoes brushed the carpet. By the time Roper rounded the corner into the hallway, Seraphina was on her feet, balanced comfortably on the stilettos she’d purchased just for this meeting, and smoothing the soft fabric of her dress pants. They were pleated so perfectly, no one would ever guess she did her own dry cleaning at home. The idea, always, was to hide the effort. Make it look easy. Never let them see you sweat. That was a lesson from her father Seraphina would never forget, because it was one of the few worth remembering.

Roper’s lips parted into an easy grin. It took nothing for the man to smile. He bowed slightly, dark brown eyes merry behind square lenses in nearly invisible frames. “Apologies on taking your time slot. I realize my boon came at your expense, even if he doesn’t.”

She smiled back. Roper’s disposition had that effect. Her smile might be vague to anyone who didn’t know her well, but Roper was catching on. “It gave me plenty of time to sit out here and build myself up.”

“Into a ball of nerves, I bet,” he shot back agreeably. “I know you’re nervous, but I think you and Grant will find you’ve got a thing or two in common.”

So she’d already suspected. It didn’t make the heaviness in the pit of her stomach go away. “Thanks, Roper. I hope your presentation went well.”

He shrugged and waved his tablet carelessly. His was the exact same make and model as Seraphina’s, which didn’t surprise her in the least. Any more, part of succeeding was staying on top of the constantly shifting world of next-level technology. He probably had many of the same software programs installed, as well. “Okay, I suppose. I guess we’ll see. I’ll be in the lounge if you want to compare notes after your presentation.”

Actually, she wouldn’t mind seeing what the great Roper McLeod had come up with. Once they’d pitched their ideas to Grant, proprietary concerns went out the window. “Sure. I’m certain I’ll be in dire need of an espresso by then.”

“If not something stronger.” Roper winked, gave her another merry smile, and left her.

Part of her wanted to scurry after him. Seraphina sighed and let her shoulders droop. Five seconds. She gave herself five seconds to doubt, tremble, and be afraid. Then, on a forced exhale, she squared her shoulders, hitched her chin, and cleared her mind of every negative thought and emotion. Easier attempted than achieved.

Annie waved her through without looking up. Seraphina was glad to avoid another round of uncomfortable small talk. Grant’s office was behind a set of double doors. They weren’t any more special or impressive than the flower arrangement in the waiting area—outdated and out of place. She’d imagined someone like Grant Gallagher inhabited the most sleek, high-end, state of the art office in the city.

Once she stepped through the doors, she was satisfied to see she hadn’t been too far off the mark. In here, the design changed so drastically, it was jarring to her finely tuned sense of style. To call the square room austere wouldn’t quite do it justice. For one, there were some elements of warmth. The desk faced her, and was backlit by morning light beaming through a checkerboard wall of windows. The side walls were paneled in aged, mellow wood, utterly unembellished. No photographs or shelves. The only thing to break up the monotony was an unremarkable door off to her left, only noticeable because of the black iron door handle. The desk was perhaps a shade or two darker than the walls and just as blank.

And there, so still she’d missed him at first glance, sat the imposing figure of Grant Gallagher.

He stood as her gaze alighted on him, straightening his jacket and smoothing his tie. He wore an expensive suit, cut perfectly, the color of wet sand. His hair nearly matched it, a beige blond he wore close cut. It suited the angular planes of his face—razor sharp cheekbones and a wide, stubborn jaw, both coated with a fine stubble of blond hairs. He came around the desk swiftly and offered Seraphina a long, narrow hand. He moved with a brisk industry; not the type to tap his foot or drum his fingers restlessly across a surface. Seraphina could almost sense the reserves of energy coiled inside him, as if he were poising himself to strike the moment it became necessary.

“Seraphina.” His greeting was brusque but not unkind. He didn’t waste effort on a false or weak smile, only nodded slightly.

She grasped his hand firmly, suddenly certain they would get along famously, even as the energy he exuded made her nerves tingle. “Mr. Gallagher. A pleasure.”

The color scheme of the room, combined with Grant’s likewise suit, hadn’t prepared her for when their gazes locked. His eyes mirrored the startling blue of her own. They were perhaps a little brighter, even, all the more intense for how they contrasted so sharply against so much brown and beige. She blinked as the unmistakable burn of desire whispered through her, stoking fires low in her belly.

“All mine.” If Grant was having a similar attack of sudden attraction, he showed no signs. He indicated one of two empty chairs, both light brown tweed, for Seraphina to sit, and went back to sitting at his desk like a statue.

Not a statue. A lion. The thought came unbidden. And indeed, as still as Mr. Gallagher was, there was simply no ignoring the power he radiated, even as he sat back in his chair deceptively relaxed. Perhaps some others wouldn’t notice there wasn’t an at-ease bone in his body, but Seraphina did. But she was a special case. Deciphering body language and reading facial expressions were part of her skill set—an ability cultivated from a childhood spent trying to read her dad’s moods—but Grant offered no physical clues for scrutiny. Not a man who wore his emotions.

Another thing they had in common. Seraphina took the chair and settled with her back straight. She smothered the flare of sexual tension that had snaked through her. She wasn’t embarrassed or chagrined. The body wanted what the body wanted, and it was pretty obvious why hers might want Grant Gallagher. Besides being lean and tall, his air of self-contained power spoke of a fierce discipline that was her personal kryptonite. She was a sucker for a man with an iron will and a masterful grip on his self-control.

But her mind was focused elsewhere. Currently, it was engaged in keeping her hands from shaking from nerves. Her career at Gallagher Interiors began—and possibly ended—here in this room, today.

* * * *

Seraphina was almost exactly what Grant had expected her to be, given her résumé and the reports he’d read on her hiring interviews. Her answers had been so picture-perfect, he’d rejected her offhand. Roper had intervened. He’d said there was more to Ms. Fawkes than could be put on paper. Trusting the opinion of his most highly regarded designer, Grant hired Seraphina sight unseen. Now, he had some small idea of what had impressed Roper about this particular candidate.

Seraphina carried a peculiar energy he found both unsettling and familiar. She was earnest yet guarded, sincere yet rigid. She shared little of herself, but what she shared was true. A good thing, since duplicity was Grant’s pet peeve. He’d take an honest sinner over a lying saint every time.

All this, he thought wryly, perceived from a handful of exchanged words. Ah, but those were instances of the truest communication. Without saying much at all, he guessed he and Seraphina had taken one another’s measure and found a commonality in how they approached the world.

He settled into his desk and peered at her, enjoying being on the receiving end of a piercing gaze from such interesting, nearly ethereal, eyes for once. His eye color was a nuisance most of the time. Men were more likely to feel intimidated by a steady gaze, and women more likely to find him attractive. Seraphina didn’t appear to suffer from such a malady. If she thought him handsome, she hid her thoughts well behind her stark, measuring gaze. Maybe the direct stare threw people off, he mused. He wasn’t prone to intimidation, but Seraphina looked as though she could pull it off if she wanted, and with minimal effort.

A delicate patrician nose sat perfectly on her heart-shaped face between wide, high cheeks. Her blue eyes were ice against the fire of her brilliant red hair, which she wore to her shoulders, sleek and straight like she’d had it dry-cleaned and pressed alongside her suit, and bangs that fringed over delicate eyebrows the same vivid shade of red.

She was beautiful. And waiting for him to say something, he realized.

Grant cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and held out his hand for the tablet Seraphina held clutched in her hands. It was the only trace of nervousness she betrayed. “May I?”

“Yes, of course.” She relinquished the device with a slight smile.

The folder icon was labeled clearly as soon as he turned on the device, and he spent twenty minutes of complete silence pouring over Seraphina’s drawings and calculations. She’d gone a step further than Roper had. Grant’s go-to guy had included plans for Tanbee House once the bottom-line renovations were complete. Seraphina had considered that in her notes, flagging dates, materials, potential resources, and additional permits required for things like the electrical and the plumbing.

Grant raised his eyebrows. “You’re thorough.”

She seemed almost confused by the compliment. “I assumed the remodel included all aspects, not just the fun stuff.”

“No, you’re absolutely correct. This is so detailed, I could hand it off to the renovation team tomorrow. However.” He paused, then glanced up and matched her stare. “I don’t need a designer to replace drywall, repair the original hardwood flooring, or tell plumbers and electricians how to do their jobs. What I need my designer to do is design. Your job is the fun stuff, as you call it. As I said, I appreciate that you’re thorough—”

“You didn’t actually.”

He’d looked down, but the edge to her voice caught his attention, and he glanced up sharply. “Pardon me?”

“You remarked on my thoroughness, but there was no mention that you appreciated it. You can tell me you don’t like my plans without insulting me at the same time. I’m a big girl, Mr. Gallagher. And an experienced one. I’m well aware of my job title and what my part entails. However, you asked for plans for a decrepit building, and seeing as I’ve worked for you all of three weeks, I daresay you’ll have to excuse my efforts to consider drywall replacement, a stable foundation, and running water in my calculations.”

His mouth opened. He shut it quickly, irritated to find himself slack-jawed. He inhaled deeply and set Seraphina’s tablet on his desk. “I apologize if I was rude. You’re right. You’re new here, and someone should’ve explained that we have a special team that handles what we call ‘cleanup’ before a big remodel. We do this so that our designers can focus on style and function without worrying about the basic garden variety needs of every job. If your idea is greenlighted, your plans are handed off to the cleanup crew, who run power and water lines where they’re needed. By the time you’re on-site, it’s stick and paste.”

Seraphina glanced around his office with a thoughtful expression. “Thanks for clearing that up. Are you going to tell me what you think of my designs, or is there some other company procedure I’m unaware of?”

He wanted to sigh. Her defensiveness was tiresome. “Ms. Fawkes, I don’t apologize unless I mean it. In fact, that goes for anything I say to you. Rest assured, I will never pander to your feelings. I said I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. If you wish to hold it against me, you’ll find the coming weeks unpleasant.”

Finally, something like chagrin crept onto her face. She looked at her lap demurely for the span of a few seconds before her chin came back up. But the chill had left her, at least. “I’m not usually so prickly. It’s nerves, I suppose. This is difficult. I’m new, and you give very little away. I spoke facetiously, but the question was fair. And I’d still like to know what to expect.”

He studied her. Her hands were pulled into tight little fists on her lap, but her face was open and questioning, waiting for his answer. “I’ll take some time. If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll transfer your files from the company cloud.”

She nodded, and he left the desk and slipped through the door that led to his inner sanctum. His secret office, he sometimes thought of it, where he could let papers pile up, blueprint rolls bunch into corners, and coffee cups sit forgotten. Quickly, he opened the necessary file from the company server but didn’t bother to save a copy on his personal device. He would only keep a copy of the plans he intended to use. He left Seraphina’s files open on his desktop, so they’d be ready when he returned to pore over them. Then he hooked a finger at Ophelia, his assistant, so to speak, and beckoned her to follow him into the outer office.

She rose immediately, so instantly obedient he almost rolled his eyes. But for the sake of appearances, he gave away nothing.

Seraphina’s eyebrows drew in confusion when she noticed Ophelia behind him. He stopped near her chair and nodded toward Ophelia. “Ms. Fawkes, meet Ophelia Quenby. I asked her to wait in the inner office for our interview to pass until I introduced her. I judge she’ll be an asset to you as you learn your way here. Ophelia, this is Ms. Fawkes.”

Seraphina stood up and offered her hand to Ophelia, but did not smile. “A pleasure,” she said. “Please, call me Seraphina.” She turned an inquiring look at him. “I’m being assigned a helper?”

She appeared dismayed, although Grant couldn’t credit why. “Ophelia is something of a catch-all assistant. She’s been working with me lately, on a recently completed proposal. Roper likes to work alone, and most of my staff already have assistants, so she is currently untasked. Even if I choose Roper’s design for Tanbee House, you won’t be long without a new assignment. We turn down more work than we accept.”

“I prefer to work solo myself.”

“When you’ve been with me as long as Roper has, perhaps you may.”

She pressed her lips together. “So, not an assistant so much as a babysitter.”

Ophelia looked away, toward the square windows and their broken view of the downtown skyline. Her dark brown eyes glittered, but she said nothing. Grant guessed she wasn’t admiring the picturesque scenery. Seraphina had taken a swipe at the young woman’s pride; spoken as if Ophelia wasn’t standing right next to them. That alone was enough to invite his ire.

He kept his expression carefully neutral, which made the stinging words all the more effective. “I prefer to call her a guide. She knows what I like, what I expect, and makes better coffee than most baristas in Little Rock. But if insulting her by likening her work to that of an inexperienced child taking care of a toddler makes you feel better about letting her tag along, then sure. Babysitter it is.”

Seraphina’s vivid blue eyes widened and a crimson tide rose from her neck and stole over her cheeks in a deep flush. Her first exhibition of real and deep emotion.

He was sorry the emotion was mortification. He would’ve preferred not to take her to task with an audience—or at all, if he could help it—but lopping off big heads was often necessary. Disrespect of any of his employees, from his dowdy secretary down to the janitor who swept the floors and emptied the trash bins in the evenings, was dealt with swiftly and harshly.

More importantly, he considered it good business practice to discourage his employees from questioning his authority before they developed a habit. He had a reputation, after all, and not for being a nice guy. Fair, yes. But not nice.

He analyzed his watch grimly, aware of the lunch hour creeping ever closer. “Ladies, I apologize if I’m cutting this short, but I have an appointment elsewhere. Ophelia, I’ll need you this afternoon. Report to Seraphina first thing tomorrow morning. Ms. Fawkes, it’s been…interesting. Expect my decision before the end of the day.”

Seraphina’s face registered relief. Well, that didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t given her any reasons to relish his company. Ophelia only nodded knowingly. She’d probably surmised by now where he spent his hour-long lunch breaks most days, even if he’d never said it out loud to a single soul. She had an underrated intelligence, but he didn’t try explaining that to Seraphina. She’d figure it out on her own. Or she wouldn’t, and be all the poorer for it.

Chapter 2

Grant signed in with a friendly nod at Emma, the longtime front desk aide. Her scrubs were a cheerful pink today, scattered with yellow daisies with happy faces drawn inside the center of their petals. For him, it only made the contrast between her bright outfit and the gloomy atmosphere of the home all the more noticeable. But he’d been told he was the only person who found Heritage Acres gloomy.

Maybe that was so. His mother liked the place well enough. She claimed the orderlies treated her well, the doctors and nurses took careful note of her penned complaints, and the other seniors who called the place home were happy. Content as they could be, at any rate, living in a nursing home, even if it was an incredibly nice nursing home.

That his mother had to live in such a place at all, chafed badly. But Grant had stopped being able to care for her once he’d started college. By then, Kathleen Gallagher was sixty years old. Grant had done his best, but there were limits to what a kid could do for a mute old woman with a club foot. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t walk without a walker, couldn’t work, cook, or communicate easily. They’d been on their own as long as he could remember, so there was no one to call when he simply couldn’t do it any longer. Certainly not the dad who’d abandoned Grant to Kathleen’s care as a child. She wasn’t even his real mother.

Still, he hated it. He hated coming here, visiting his mom, chatting with coat-clad doctors who were always in a rush, nurses who were too kind. Mostly, he hated the relief he felt that he no longer carried the burden of taking care of Kathleen. At this point, he wouldn’t know what to do with a seventy-seven-year-old woman.

He waved at Emma as he passed by the nurse’s station. She s. . .