The VIP Room(50)

My mind already went to work, cataloguing the dimensions, what would go best where, how nice that chandelier I’d spotted the other day would look right above it where the light could catch it. But I stopped myself. I didn’t know anything yet, how they wanted to use the space, if they wanted it as a waiting area, or more of a gallery.

Regardless, the walls would need to be painted. The front entrance and wall of the building was mostly made of glass and steel, flooding the entire lobby with natural light. But all the other walls were painted a pure white color.

Annie seemed to come to the same conclusion because her mouth pinched down into a displeased frown as she studied it.

Our heels clacked on the marble flooring—an underwhelming swirled grey and cream color—as we approached reception. The lobby was too large, a little lackluster. The flooring and walls would be the first things to change.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” the receptionist greeted with a soft, serene smile.

“Annie Irving from Irving Designs. And this is one of my designers, Noelle Travis. We are here to meet with Mr. Kemp for a one o’clock consultation.”

“Of course, Ms. Irving. If you’ll please wait over there, he will be right down.” She gestured over to the right side of the lobby, where a single pewter couch sat with a coffee table. “While you wait, can I offer you two a glass of lemon water?”

We both declined and walked over to the sitting area. Annie sat down, smoothing out her skirt, but I roamed the space, trying to get a feel for it.

“What are you thinking so far?” Annie asked in a low tone. Her cat eye glasses twinkled in the natural light.

“Walls and flooring first. Definitely.”

She smiled, looking down at the tiling. “Agreed. I’m thinking something dramatic. Eye-catching. Something like the tile you picked out for the foyer of the Wynne’s house.”

I nodded, “Especially since it’s such a large lobby.”

“Exactly,” she said, nodding in approval.

Mr. Kemp came down right on time. He was a plump older man in a navy blue suit and grey tie. He had an air of happiness about him that I immediately warmed to. Perhaps it was the laugh lines stemming out from the corner of his eyes or the broad grin on his face as he greeted us.

He shook our hands enthusiastically once we introduced ourselves. “So nice to meet you both. I’m Robert Kemp. Mr. Blackwell placed me in charge of overseeing all renovations and designs, so we will be working quite closely together, I imagine. If you’ll just follow me up, we can begin.”

The upper floors of Blackwell Financial were very much like the lobby. Minimalistic and rather stark. Evidence of a recent move was everywhere, from the still unpacked boxes lining the hallways to the completely bare offices. I was beginning to see why it would be an $850,000 job, possibly even more. There was a lot that we needed to fill and design for. And Annie Irving didn’t come cheap. Not that it would’ve mattered to the Blackwells. $850,000 was pocket change to them.

The next half hour was spent touring the building and bouncing ideas around. Mr. Kemp had quite a few himself, but based off the polite smile on Annie’s face, I knew she was calculating a way to push him out of the designs. We’d had clients like him before. They wanted to be involved in every step of the design process, micromanagers in their own right, but at the end of the day, the designers were in charge. It was what we were paid to do.

We met in the conference room—the most furnished place in the entire building from the looks of it—since Mr. Kemp’s office didn’t have any extra chairs. We spent a good chunk of time negotiating the budget, how much would need our attention, what areas ranked most important.

By the end of the meeting, my notebook was crammed full of notes and ideas for designs.

We were just wrapping up when the sound of footsteps and voices reached my ears. It sounded like a group of men were coming down the hall towards the conference room.

Mr. Kemp jerked his head towards the large clock on the wall. “Oh, two o’clock already.” He stood. “Mr. Blackwell has a meeting in here, so let me escort you down to the lobby. I believe we’ve covered everything. Contracts should be drawn up by the end of the week. Hopefully sooner.”

“On our end as well,” Annie said, with a smile, as we both stood. “If we need any other information, we will be in touch, Robert.”

He grinned, rounding the head of the conference table. “Of course.”

Just then the frosted glass door opened. The sound of the men’s collective voices grew louder as a group of eight entered…a familiar man among them.

The blood drained out of my face as my body froze in shock.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, with his dark hair neatly combed, and his jaw freshly shaved, stood none other than Tristan. My one-night stand. My Hot Stranger. The man who humiliated me just two nights ago. The man who kicked me out after the best sex of my life…

And he was standing in the conference room, tall and intimidating, amongst a group of equally intimidating looking men.

My brain stopped working. And all I could think was: oh shit!

I’d really stepped in it this time.





Chapter 7





Tristan hadn’t seen me yet. He was deep in discussion with a man to his left and I listened to the familiar cadence of his voice, trying to recuperate from my shock. I remembered to breathe. When I realized my hands were trembling, I clenched them into fists.