1Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires, #1)(52)

The color reminds me of the one she wore during a college Halloween party. Her red lips were a Trojan horse, and I was too enamored by her beauty to stop her from kissing me.

At first, I was surprised by her making the first move, but it only took me a few seconds to throw my inhibitions away and kiss her back after spending three long years resenting myself for dreaming about it.

Dahlia wasn’t my first kiss, but it sure felt that way with how my mind and body reacted.

The memory wraps around my neck like an anchor, dragging me down until I’m left with only one thought.

Her.

Dahlia wipes the corner of her mouth. “What? Do I have lipstick on my face or something?”

No, but I wish I did.

A jackhammer to the heart might have been less shocking than the vision of Dahlia’s red lips pressed against mine.

What the hell has gotten into you?

“Are you okay?” Her eyes shine brighter than Town Square during Christmas.

“Sam will help you get set up in the spare office room.” I escape into my private suite before Dahlia has a chance to respond.

Have you learned anything since the last time? I begin pacing the perimeter of my office like a caged animal.

Obviously not, which is exactly why you need to keep contact to a minimum.

The idea of stepping away from the project fills me with dread, especially when I was looking forward to getting out of the office more and returning to my roots.

This is for the best.

If that’s true, then why does it feel like someone turned my lungs into a pin cushion?

Because you’re only punishing yourself by planning to avoid her.

Am I? Because I don’t need a pro-con list to determine working with Dahlia is a disaster in the making. The best thing I can do for both of us is add distance, especially when my restraint is weakened by nothing more than red-painted lips.

I take a seat at my desk and fire off an email requesting a review of our schedules to ensure that.

Crisis averted.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Julian


Since I officially opened the Lopez Luxury office, I have always been the first person in and the last person out. Tonight’s monthly board meeting for the Dwelling app took longer than usual, thanks to the latest bug discovered after Rafa’s late-night tinkering.

By the time I shut down my computer and exit my office, my energy is sapped, and my stomach is protesting every few minutes for something better than coffee and a protein bar.

I’m surprised by the sound of off-key singing and country music streaming through the hallway. After spending the past few days avoiding Dahlia, it feels counterintuitive to seek her out now, so I don’t bother checking in on her.

My escape route is blocked by a man standing behind the glass front door, holding a takeout bag from Holy Smokes BBQ.

My mouth waters as I unlock the deadbolt and open the door. “Yes?”

“I have a delivery for Dahlia Mu?oz.” The delivery man holds out the bag for me.

“Follow the music and terrible singing to the source.”

The man’s phone chimes. “Shit. I wouldn’t ask this normally, but do you mind taking it to her? My next delivery is ready to be picked up, and the guy has been a real pill.” He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply as he places the bag on the sidewalk and takes off, running toward his parked moped.

“No problem,” I grumble to myself as I lean down and pick it up off the ground.

Annoyance bites at my heels as I head toward the office Sam set Dahlia up in. It’s on the opposite side of the building, far from my office and the conference rooms I frequently visit every day.

My loud knock goes unanswered, which only fuels my irritation as I turn the knob and open the door.

Dahlia jumps in place. “God. You scared me!” She reaches for her phone and hits pause.

I completely forget my reason for visiting her as I enter the office, which has been transformed in the short time she has been here. The chrome desk that originally took up half the space has been replaced by a reclaimed wood table covered with wallpaper samples, flooring chips, and ten different doorknobs.

Dahlia covered the plain gray carpet with an accent rug, added floor lamps to replace the bright overhead fluorescents, and installed a large bookshelf to organize the baskets full of supplies. She removed the previous paintings to make space for her design mood boards.

I head toward the six-foot pinboards covering the wall opposite the window. Fabric clippings, raw material samples, paint chip options, furniture printouts, and hand-sketched drawings are pinned to the surface, giving me a sneak peek into Dahlia’s mind.

I knew she had an eye for modern rustic design—that much became obvious during my hours of researching her career—but seeing her in action takes my breath away.

I clear my tight throat. “Settling in okay?”

“Sam said I could do what I wanted with the room.” A hint of defensiveness bleeds into her voice.

“I see that.”

She peeks up at me through her dark lashes. “Do you hate it?”

“I don’t think hate is the right word.” I wince at how the sentence sounds.

Do you ever get anything right?

Reality is, I like her style more than I care to admit. Something about it is warm. Welcoming.

Homey.