Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(16)

chapter four


I sat across from Max Camden, my designs tacked up on boards around the room and my formal presentation in my hand. On a disk. And in a folder. And backed up to a thumb drive in my purse. And a thumb drive in Jillian’s purse. And after a midnight run to Sophia’s apartment, a thumb drive in her jewelry box.

I had thumbs all over town. But would I get the thumbs-up from Camden?

Nerves gave Backbone a high five for punning in the face of life-changing moments.

I had circled the room for an hour, laying out my ideas, bolstered by pictures, charts, and more graphs than high school geometry. Jillian had interjected occasionally, but she let me take the lead. The vision I had conceptualized for the Claremont was clean and simple, with a nod to the boutique hotels that used to line the California coast.

While Camden’s hotels were known for their modernistic design, there was a reason that he wasn’t going with his usual design team. He was looking for something new, whether he knew it or not. Would he be swayed by what I had to say?

His gray eyes flickered back to me, his gaze narrow and sharp. This guy was intimidating, and he knew it.

As I had presented, he had stopped me only a few times, asking very clear and concise questions that were exactly the right ones. I was ready, though. I was as prepared as I could be with the limited time I’d been given, and I thought I held my own. Now it came down to whom else he was seeing, and whether their vision matched his own.

It was time for me to bring it home.

I slid one more picture across the table toward him, a photocopy from an old San Francisco Chronicle article about the town of Sausalito. It was old, nearly eighty years, and the picture showed that the town was much the same as it was now. Picturesque but bustling, quaint but proud. Next to its much grander neighbor of San Francisco, it could have lived for years in its shadow. But Sausalito had a heartbeat that was all its own; its own DNA. It was family, in whatever way the modern times defined it.

“So you can see, Mr. Camden, that while other towns around the Bay Area have grown up and out, Sausalito is content to remain in its own little oyster shell, enclosed by the bay that makes it such a unique community. For a new hotel to succeed here, it needs to be unique as well. The existing hotel fails to do that.

“This hotel needs to be appealing to both young and old clientele at the same time, environmentally conscious without appearing to be so, green without being granola, with a design that harkens back to the town’s beginnings but nods toward the future,” I said, then took a breath. Jesus, I hated speaking in motivational.

“A modern hotel will be out of place here, Mr. Camden. This needs to melt into the landscape, but leave such a strong memory that once you stay here, you’ll never think of booking anywhere else.”

I sat back in my seat, putting the cap on my pen.

“And that’s exactly what you’ll get with Jillian Designs,” I finished. Hoping that no one noticed that I’d been struggling under the table to get back into my left shoe. I’d lost it somewhere between harkening back and nodding toward the future. When I was nervous, my feet tended to go pigeon-toed.

The room was quiet.

Camden looked at me for another moment, his eyes indecipherable.

We all sat, waiting for him to say something. Finally, he sighed.

My heart sank. And there went my right shoe.

“Well, Max,” Jillian said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to think about, so we’ll make sure you and your people have everything you need to—”

“You can bring this project in on time, young lady?” he asked me directly as everyone on his side of the table had started to get up.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you think you can get this done with the budget you’ve set out here?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, toes frozen in their quest for my shoe. Everyone else hovered in their half-standing poses.

He smiled at me, then stood up . . .

? ? ?

“. . . and then he said, ‘Okay, you’ve got the job,’ and walked out! Just like that!” I squealed. “I got the job!”

I was recounting the story to Simon, who had called me as soon as his plane landed in Cape Town. The biggest news of my professional career, and I had to share it with him over the phone. Ah, well.

“That’s great! Oh, babe, that’s fantastic! Damn, I wish I was there to take you out to celebrate.”

“I know, I wish you were here too. But you can kiss on me when you get back—we’ll celebrate then.”

“I’ll for sure kiss on you, plus other things.”

“Right now I’d settle for the kissing. Let me fantasize about the other things.” I sighed into the phone. I could hear him exhaling. That was his tell, right before things got out of hand . . .

“Anyway, before things get out of hand—”

“You mean before I take things in hand?” he replied in a husky tone.

“Simon, control yourself. Pretty sure you’re still in the airport, aren’t you?” I asked, my face blushing when I thought of him walking through customs with a bone diddy.

“You’re getting off on a technicality. So talk me down. You got the job, what’s next?” he asked, his voice taking on a businesslike tone. I could tell he was struggling to maintain, so I went easy on him.