There was a beat of silence, then a soft chuckle from behind her.
“Page twenty-three,” Connor said as he sat behind his desk. “Section three, subsection B.”
“I keep that binder within arm’s reach for a reason.”
“To metaphorically clock him with it? ’Cause you did.”
She laughed. “With kindness, I hope. Heisthe client liaison.”
“With an agenda,” Connor muttered.
“He’ll get over it,” she assured him. “I’m not worried.”
“I’m not worried, either,” Connor said. “But I do find it curious that a plumbing and mechanical contractor reviews rooflines.”
Meredith frowned. “Why?”
He rolled his chair out and leaned back, eyeing her as he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t know this business, obviously, but Bayside Mechanical doesn’t build roofs. They don’t install trusses. They have zero reason to have opinions about roof-pitch compliance.” He shrugged with his good shoulder. “So why are they flagging your design to Vance? Just to give him the satisfaction of calling your decision a ‘rookie move’?”
She considered that, but not for long. “They install ductwork under the trusses. They’re up in the roof cavity all the time and they probably noticed the pitch looked steep and mentioned it to Vance. It is a little steeper, but that’s what gives the sense of drama and a genuine farmhouse look. Subtle, but if you’re in new builds a lot, it’s noticeable.”
“I guess,” he said. “Still doesn’t make sense.”
“Contractors overstep all the time,” she said, even though he had a point. It was definitely not in the Bayside Mechanical wheelhouse. “Honestly? It might be a test.”
“You passed.”
“Well, I’ve never failed in my life, so…”
His mouth slid into an amused smile. “Why am I not shocked? Ever get a B? Ever, even once?”
“AP Environmental Science in high school,” she said without a second’s hesitation.
“Still carrying it, I see,” he teased.
“Forever,” she volleyed back. “But I aced the final, did three times the amount of extra credit, and got a five on the AP exam.” She playfully brushed her nails over her collar, making him laugh. “Vance might have an ax to grind, but trust me. By the time we’ve finished the first few homes in Phase One, and this place is selling several lots a day? He’ll shut up and take his bonus to the bank.”
Connor nodded, slowly pulling back into his desk and wincing at the effort on his bad wrist. “That’s a good approach, but I’m still keeping my eye on that clown. I don’t like the way he treats you.”
A little shiver of something that felt wholly feminine and unfamiliar danced down her spine. A protector? Had she ever had one—other than Dad? Not in her life and, honestly, she did not hate the idea at all.
She turned back to her monitors and tried to refocus on the permit amendment for Lot 112, but her concentration had been fractured. Not by Vance—she’d handled Vance, filed him away, moved on. That was easy.
What fractured her concentration was…yeah. Her administrative assistant busily typing with his left hand, his brow furrowed, his too-long hair falling across his forehead.
Focus, Meredith.Permit amendment. Lot 112. Shear walls.
She lasted about four minutes before looking at him again.
It was going to be a long day. Week. Month. Was heevergoing back to Gainesville?
At the endof a day that did, indeed, smack her from every angle—three permit amendments, a conference call about drainage, and a revision to the clubhouse floor plan that was going to ruin the beautiful flow—Meredith eyed the clock and had the rare wish to go home.
“Are you leaving soon?” Connor asked as he turned off his computer and started to straighten his desk for the next day—yet another thing about him she liked.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Meredith. Those permit revision drawings will wait, and I know you’ll fix the clubhouse problem you’ve wrestled with all day.”
