Winning the Billionaire Page 3

  Cliché, but it got the point across.

  Today was her first day with them and she’d already been given two assignments. One was going to be a gimmie: design a nursery for twins. The second was a sure setup for failure by her new boss. She’d been given a file with directions to revamp a century old house into a manly retreat with a guest house. The man, or so she’d been told, was a completely rich backwoods hick with poor taste. Apparently when he’d bought the house, he’d shown up in a garish truck with a faded t-shirt on.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d done to aggravate the woman, but it was obvious Rachel had not made a good impression. She’d gone out of her way to present herself as the next up-and-coming sensation. Her ultimate goal was to host her own show someday on HGTV or have her own design firm, but she needed to learn the ropes first. She’d been in magazines and had proudly framed the articles on her in Better Homes & Gardens and Architecture Digest, displaying them on the wall of her tiny office she was getting ready to head into.

  Today she would meet her first clients and get an idea of what they were looking for – this was what had her in a tizzy, hiding in her car. She was nervous. Scared. It was one thing to look for inspiration, but it was another knowing you were going into proverbial battle or a losing situation. She favored the clean, classical styles or contemporary designs. If this man wanted a monster garage or diamond-plated chrome countertops with exhaust pipe accents, she was positive that she wasn’t the right person for the job. Knowing you are going to fail the first go-around was a bitter pill to swallow. She shut her eyes and prayed for guidance or strength.

  Hearing the roar of a muffler coming down the road, Rachel’s eyes darted wide open as she felt her stomach drop. There was no mistaking it, this was her hick client, and the sound of exhaust confirmed it. Perhaps she’d take a few more moments to herself and be fashionably late to her own meeting so she could assess the situation she was walking into.

  A large rusted truck pulled up with the windows rolled down. Inside was the best-looking guy she’d seen, hands down. Dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard surprised her. She expected to see a man missing his teeth or spitting tobacco juice by her boss’s description, not this gorgeous creature.

  The truck door creaked as he opened it and got out, before slamming it back shut. He walked slowly towards the office and she was almost touched when he nervously tucked his shirt in even further into the waistband of his wrangler jeans. His blue and white checked shirt looked clean and pressed, even if his jeans looked extremely worn out. The man looked like an average guy…an incredibly good-looking, yet average guy.

  Rachel checked her teeth carefully in the visor mirror one more time and quickly got out of the car, slamming the door shut twice in order to make the heavy thing finally caught on the latch. Smoothing her hair, she threw back her shoulders and adjusted her blouse, as she wanted to make a good first impression.

  She stepped inside feeling the rush of air-conditioning hit her face. She barely glanced at the man where he was seated and smiled politely at the receptionist. It was all an act and hoped it worked. Professionalism, cultured, and chic was the aura she was going for.

  She didn’t want to reveal the young girl that grew up on a farm near the cornfields back home. No, that girl was long gone, buried deep down inside and hidden away from the world. She’d stuff that part of her back down, forcibly if she had to, because she had an image to maintain if she ever wanted to be someone famous someday. That was what drew her to the Dallas area. It was the next huge metropolitan area in the United States…so how did she end up in the tiny town of Corsicana?

  “Julia, good morning. I am expecting a Mr. Howe and if- Oh?” she said theatrically and turned elegantly to face the man sitting on the silver velvet divan. “Mr. Howe, my apologies I was stuck in traffic. Let me get my things settled and I will get us some coffee so we can chat,” she schmoozed and extended her hand politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  His rough, calloused hand nearly swallowed hers as he quickly shook it and then dropped it. Nodding abruptly, she carried her purse back to her office and let out her breath in a whoosh of air. His eyes were breathtaking, a mix of green and brown hues that made her think of a forest glen. Rachel set down her things in her office quickly, dug out a breath mint, and prepared two cups of coffee before she went to retrieve the man from the waiting area. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble floor, echoing in the office, and with each step she practiced her mantra:

  You can do this.

  You can do this.

  Smiling widely, Rachel greeted the handsome man and was startled again by how gorgeous he was. He was tall with a very lithe physique hidden by his clothing, she could just imagine how devastating he could be in a tux or suit – or really just anything at all, if he simply tried to dress the part. She’d heard he had money, but this man didn’t look the part. Perhaps he was modest? She could handle that type of client. Modest meant simple- yet practical, not overly ornate or gilded.

  Walking him into her office, she took a seat behind the cherry desk and gestured that he should have a seat in the Queen Anne chairs she’d selected. The office fit her image perfectly. Elegant, functional and stylish. Simplicity and cleanliness. Her paperclips were stored neatly on a magnet, her stapler lined up beside her glass pen caddy and a multicolored sphere of agate functioned as a paperweight and design piece.

  “Let’s begin with introductions, shall we? My name is Rachel Thorpe. I am excited to take on your project and…”

  “You were in the Mustang, weren’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” she squeaked, taken aback that he’d seen her and the tone of his voice. His gruff voice brooked no argument. It was challenging, confident, and she instantly had been put on the spot.

  “You said you were stuck in traffic. This is Corsicana and we don’t get much traffic here. That was you in that old Mustang, wasn’t it? 1995? 1996? My buddy had one that kept losing third gear until he finally got rid of it. So how about we start again and you try not lying to me first go around. I don’t cotton to liars and sure don’t pay them,” he told her bluntly, sitting back in the Queen Anne chair and extending his legs outwards garishly, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Go on… or should I get going?” he prompted arrogantly.

  “No,” Rachel said quickly, grasping her coffee cup as if it was a lifeline. “I, ah, I was nervous about taking on this project and meeting you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Like what?” he said bluntly, one dark eyebrow shooting upwards towards his hairline. The crease on his forehead was quite foreboding and she noticed that he had a little scar marring his perfect features just above his eyebrow. Interesting.

  “Nothing,” Rachel sputtered, glancing away momentarily to keep from squinting to see that little scar a bit clearer. She had a haze on her glasses and really could use a lens cleaner cloth, but it was crammed in the cup-holder of her car.

  “Honesty, remember?” he said suddenly standing up.

  “No, please! Sit down, okay?” Rachel stammered, splashing her coffee on the desk and her blouse. “Shucky-darn!” He chuckled at her outburst and sat back down with an easy smile on his face.

  “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “You’ve got a weird accent and no one says ‘shucky-darn’ in this here neck of the woods. I’m Tyler Howe, but you already knew that,” he said with a smile and yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean up the spilled coffee. She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful or mortified. Was the handkerchief even clean?

  “I’m from Kansas,” she admitted. “I just moved here and still getting settled in my apartment. You aren’t what I expected, you know?”

  “What’d you expect?”

  “I was told you were some yokel or redneck,” Rachel whispered, mortified to even say the word aloud. He began to laugh and reached for the cup of coffee she’d made.

&nbs
p; “That’s a badge of pride ‘round these here parts. It’s not a bad thing and I am both of those- through and through. Thank you for that,” he said, holding his cup of coffee aloft in a mock salute.

  “You aren’t mad?”

  “Not in the slightest. I’d much prefer that we be honest with each other and upfront since we’ll be working together to design my house.”

  “Omgosh- that would be fantastic, because I feel so much like I am going to mess this up.”

  “Well don’t.”

  “I’m going to try not to,” she quipped, backpedaling a bit.

  “Look, this will be easy okay? Relax. I’m a simple guy that wants some privacy, a nice place to rest my head and a space my Mama can call her own.”

  “Your mama?” she parroted in surprise. This grown, gorgeous man lived with his mother? Maybe he had issues that were hidden down deep, she thought.

  “Yeah, she lives with me and I take care of her. Is that a problem?”

  “Nooooo,” Rachel drawled, suddenly thinking about the possible clash of personalities. She’d had that happen on another project where one person liked Country Western and someone else liked Shabby Chic. It worked in the end, but not without its headaches and compromises. “She, your mother, might have different tastes in furniture or décor than you do.”

  “Let’s take this one step at a time. How about we talk about what makes everybody tick-money,” he told her coldly. Rachel was surprised that he looked to be bracing himself for something. Was he expecting an exorbitant dollar amount or was he the type that would complain about every dime spent?

  “Money is a huge factor of this project but it’s all up to you and what you want to do with the house.” Rachel was usually pretty good at reading people, and he looked like he was ready to bolt at the drop of a hat.

  “No. How much do you charge and how long do you think this will take? The builder is having the house rewired right now since it’s so old and I want to be able to move in eventually.”

  “Are you in a hurry?” Rachel asked bluntly. She could tell he had really put his guard up and she was having a hard time putting her newest client at ease. She offered him the small crystal candy jar she’d put at the corner of her desk. Mr. Howe just shook his head, declining the treat, and popped his knuckles loudly.

  “Well I’m really tired of having to hide in my own house,” he admitted, throwing Rachel for quite the loop. She stared at him for a few moments, not sure if she had heard him correctly.

  “Why are you hiding?”

  She took a sip of her coffee confused at his words. Was he afraid to go outside and if so, how did he get here? What was that word even called, agoraphobia?

  “I’ve got too many people wanting to be a friend in order to borrow money or things from me. I’m sick of it and need some privacy.” Ahhh, there it is, Rachel thought sagely. Money was the root of all evils, yet necessary. She had an inkling that the man had been hounded for money by people he’d trusted – you don’t end up this jaded for no reason.

  “Well, from what I understand you bought a house on thirty acres – so that should give you plenty of privacy.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  His beautiful eyes met hers and Rachel’s saw a flare of hope in the depths. Maybe he was realizing that people could understand, if only he would talk to them. Unfortunately for her, those eyes would be her downfall. She was a sucker for a guy with thick lashes, and his would make a girl jealous. Nodding, Rachel grabbed her laptop and opened it, double clicking on his file she’d started.

  “Let’s start with the beginning. What are your favorite colors?” she asked clinically, trying to distance herself from the attraction she felt looking at her client.

  “Don’t really care.” He just shrugged his shoulders.

  “You must have a preference.”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you like to do for fun?”

  “I work a lot.”

  “Okay? What do you do?”

  “I weld stuff.”

  “So, you like metal work?”

  “No, not really. I hate the slag and how sweaty you get in the heat. Those helmets are stuffy but it paid the bills in the past. Now, it’s more to keep me grounded, normal.”

  “Okay,” Rachel hedged, thinking it was an odd choice of words. It paid the bills, past tense? Perhaps he’d paid off everything and that was why he’d hired them? Maybe he was richer than her boss had let on? “What about what draws you, what catches your attention? Do you like football, baseball? Log cabins… or are you more of a contemporary art kinda guy?”

  “Do I look like a contemporary art lover?” he asked, the corner of his lip upturning in the barest hint of a smile. He crossed his legs, propping a dusty boot up directly onto his knee pointedly.

  “No.”

  “Try again,” Tyler said with a knowing smile, watching her. His piercing eyes made her nervous and she found herself fidgeting under his gaze. The man looked at her like he’d seen her before or was imagining her in a compromising position.

  “Trucks,” Rachel said suddenly, snapping her fingers. “You like older, classic trucks like yours?”

  “Naawww,” he drawled out. “It runs and functions- that’s it.”

  “So, you like functionality?”

  “Yes.”

  “So back to your truck, if you could pick out any type of truck – would you like a sleek, stylish truck or a big fancy truck?”

  “A truck is a truck,” he shrugged, looking as if he knew he was deliberately irritating her.

  “And a house is a house,” Rachel blurted out, exasperated. “You aren’t giving me much to go on, Mr. Howe.”

  “Come up with a design and we’ll talk about it in a week. I am going to be late for my shift and need to get going.”

  “Can I call you if I have questions?”

  “Sure, but I’d rather see what you come up with, not spoon-feed you some ideas.”

  “You aren’t ‘spoon-feeding’ me. Do you have any friends I could speak with or perhaps your mother?”

  “Nope. Let’s see what you can do,” he said simply and got up to leave. “I’ll be back next week, Ms. Thorpe.” He quickly exited her office, leaving her stunned and dismayed. He was utterly no help whatsoever. Not only did her boss set her up for failure, she could see that Mr. Howe was doing the exact same. No wonder people had such a sour outlook towards him. He was a tough nut to crack and just when you felt like you were getting through to him?

  He ran.

  Rachel left the office early that afternoon to go inspect the house that Mr. Howe was having remodeled. Perhaps she could draw inspiration from how the house frame looked and what had prompted him to buy it. The man obviously wanted his space and thirty acres was a huge plot of land. Perhaps he was into nature and the outdoors? As she pulled up the dirt road, her car kicked up all sorts of rocks behind it and skidded just a bit on the steep incline.

  The house was stunning in its dated simplicity. At one time, it had been a pristine clean farmhouse, but now it was a weathered husk. Paint curled up in several places off of the plank siding. The construction workers were installing an air-conditioning unit on the side of the house and she realized that the house might be older than she had anticipated.

  Transom windows, a set of doors on the outside of the building indicating a larder, and a basement or storm shelter under the structure. Large pecan trees had grown up around the building that would provide shade during the summer months. A dilapidated barn was also being worked on. She could see that they were framing it up in order to serve as a garage. A secondary outbuilding was beside the house and looked to be almost like a quaint cottage. The house was old, there was no doubt. She was willing to bet it was built in the 1890’s or earlier.

  Mr. Howe liked a turn-of-the-century style apparently. Rachel circled the house, snapped several photos on her phone, and sketched a rough layout. She’d do a thorough walkthrough and measure the rooms once he ap
proved her theme. Perhaps some chairs like her office ones, a few quilts on display, maybe a pie safe or cupboard? This could be quite fun!

  Happy to have garnered an idea, she ran back to her car and returned to the office, working late into the evening. She wanted to succeed in more ways than one: she wanted to impress her new boss, and she wanted to wow the handsome Mr. Howe.

  4

  Rachel took particular care getting ready this morning. Carefully applying a faint brown eyeliner to her eyes, she dabbed on a bit of tan eyeshadow and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She looked out of place and she knew it. Not one to wear vibrant lipstick, fake eyelashes and loads of makeup…she felt more at home in simply her skin, making her look odd in her sleek pantsuit she’d selected for the day. It wasn’t a finished product she was presenting, it was simply her.

  She’d awoken miserable, bloated and hormonal this morning – a decidedly awful combination. The gray pantsuit was comfortable and would help hide any bloating she felt with the pleated slacks. Settling on the third pair of shoes she’d tried on, she finally found a set that didn’t pinch her toes. She hated getting her period and the havoc it caused on her body. She was beyond excited to pitch her idea to the handsome Mr. Howe. She just wished that she felt a bit better today.

  Ideally, she’d have her hair coiffed neatly, worn a fancy suit and would have bothered with heels and jewelry in order to present the complete package. Today, she was happy to be out of bed and functioning. Popping two Midol in her mouth, she washed them down with coffee and tossed several maxi pads into her purse viciously. Perhaps she’d stay at her desk seated with a heating pad plugged in underneath for her abdomen. The first day was always the absolute worst, but she was confident in her presentation today, which kept her upbeat.

  Her theme she’d chosen was turn-of-the-century excellence… and she was so proud of her idea. The bathroom would have penny tiles complete with a modern, high efficiency toilet that reminded her of an old water-closet, with a brass pull chain at the top. The claw foot tub she’d found had jets hidden in the bottom of it, giving the illusion of old-world styles. The living room and kitchen she’d planned focused on gatherings, making the sofa and two oversized chairs simply the place to be. Nail head edges on the furniture made it look like it was handmade, yet with the elegantly turned scrollwork on the wood- created eye-catching pieces. Oh yes, it was lovely, classic, simplistic elegance.