Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(43)

"I bet you're good at confrontation," I said.

"I have to be, sometimes. But I'm not that way by nature."

"Sure," I told him, smiling skeptically. "I'll call you later with the appointment time."

"Okay, boss."

The smile was still tucked in the corners of my lips as I looked up and saw Jack there. I couldn't tell it he was frowning or scowling — but it was not a happy expression.

"Don't tell me you were just talking to Hardy Cates," Jack said.

"I was just talking to Hardy Cates. What about it?"

"I haven't heard you giggle like that since high school."

"I wasn't giggling," I said defensively. "I never giggle. And before you say anything else, remember my personal boundaries."

"You make sure Cates remembers about your personal boundaries," Jack muttered, and left my cubicle.

"You know, " Todd said, "I've had lots of clients who have crappy taste in decorating. But they never want to admit it. They hire me and then they waste a lot of time arguing over the design scheme. This is the first client who's ever admitted he has crappy taste."

"I think he may actually be proud of it," I said.

We were riding up in the elevator to the eighteenth floor, where we were going to meet Hardy at his new apartment. "Did I tell you what Beebe Whitney said when I told her that I was doing his apartment?" Todd asked.

Back in high school, Beebe had been the most beautiful girl at Lamar, not to mention head cheerleader and class princess. She had been married in one of Houston's biggest weddings ever and had divorced eleven months later.

"No, what?"

"She said, 'You may be doing his apartment, Todd, but I've done him.'"

My mouth fell open. "Beebe Whitney slept with Hardy Cates?" I whispered, scandalized.

Todd's blue green eyes sparkled with relish. "A one-night stand. They met on her divorce-moon."

"What's a divorce moon?"

"It's the trip you take after your divorce . . . you know, like a honeymoon. You didn't have one?"

I remembered lying in Gage and Liberty's apartment with a rib brace and a concussion, and I smiled grimly. "Not exactly."

"Well, Beebe did. She went to Galveston, and there was this great party, and Hardy Cates was there. So after they talked for a while, they went to her hotel room. According to Beebe, they had sex all night in every possible position, and by the time it was over she felt like a cheap whore. She said it was fabulous."

I put a hand over my midriff, where nerves were jumping. The idea of Hardy ha**ng s*x with someone I knew was strangely upsetting.

"Too bad he's straight," Todd said. "Heterosexuality is so limiting."

I gave him a dark glance. "Do me a favor and don't pull anything with Hardy."

"Sure. You calling dibs?"

"No. Not at all. I just don't want you to make him nervous. He is definitely not bipossible."

As we got out of the elevator and went to the apartment, I wondered what Hardy would make of Todd. My friend wasn't in the least effeminate, but he still gave off the vibe of being able to play it any way. People usually liked Todd — he had a sense of effortless cool, of being comfortable in his own skin.

"I think you'll get along with Hardy," I said. "I'll be interested to hear your opinion of him later."

Todd had an unerring ability to read people, to ferret out the secrets they gave away without even knowing it. Body language, verbal hesitations, the minute changes in expression . . . Todd saw it all with an artist's sensitivity to detail.

As we got to the door, we saw that it was already open. "Hello?" I said tentatively as we went inside the apartment.

Hardy came to meet us, his gaze flicking over me, then settling on my face. "Hi." He smiled and reached for my hand. He held it a little too long, his thumb sliding into the cup of my palm before I tugged free.

He was wearing a designer suit, a beautiful dress shirt, a good watch. His tie was a little loose, as if he'd been tugging at it, and his hair fell in mink-brown layers that practically begged to be touched and played with. He looked good in the civilized attire, but there was still a touch of the bruiser about him, a sense that he was not meant be bound up in a suit and tie.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked Todd, who was burdened with a stack of materials including a portfolio, sample books, sketches, and folders.

"Nope, I've got it." Todd set the stack on the gray quartz countertop. He gave Hardy a pleasant smile and extended a hand. "Todd Phelan. Great place you've got here. I think we can come up with something really spectacular for it."

"Hope so." Hardy shook his hand firmly. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way."

"You don't have to stay out of the way. I intend to take your likes and dislikes into account." Pausing, Todd added with a grin, "We may even be able to work in the cowhide sofa if you're attached to it.

"It's damn comfortable," Hardy said with a touch of wistfulness. "I have some good memories of that sofa."

"We'll all be better off if you keep those to yourself," I said crisply. Hardy grinned at me.

"In the absence of furniture," Todd said, "this will have to be a kitchen counter meeting. If you'll come around here, Hardy, I'll show you some ideas I've already come up with. I have a copy of the floor plan, so I'm familiar with the layout . . . "