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Laine reached for the book and flipped through it. Of all the people at Brandt Interiors, she had hated working with Ramos the least. Probably because he was so damn meticulous that he actually liked doing the paperwork, and while he had a lot of ideas himself, he was quite good at collaborating and listening to the ideas of others.
“Not that you need it, but juggling a new start up is infinitely easier with help, a place to meet, and clients to start from,” Ramos said, ticking each item off on well-manicured fingers. “Not to mention that my record in client relations is utterly impeccable.”
Laine narrowed her eyes at him and dissected him visually for any sign of derision or judgment. Ramos quirked his mouth to the side and shrugged. He knew what others were saying. And he was only mentioning it now, clearly, because he wanted a yes out of her. He wanted an out from this company too.
“Go,” she ordered. “Make it official. We don’t want any bleed between working for him and official meetings for whatever this will be. We can talk over lunch.” Laine fanned herself with the contact book. “And probably a margarita.”
Ramos chuckled. “You and me both. I know just the place.”
Chapter Fourteen
Of all the things Laine had expected for her life, being technically unemployed and working out of an arthouse/coffee shop owned by the boyfriend of her bisexual business partner had not been one of them. Actually, she’d always expected to be promoted within Brandt Interiors or scouted by a larger company eventually, and for her life to be essentially the same as always, only with better perks.
Now she was listening to some indie song she’d never heard while Ramos flirted with his silver fox of a boyfriend at the register. He returned with a couple of free refills on their lattes, and the two of them got down to work.
“Hector made you a kitty,” Ramos said, inching the latte toward her.
“If that’s a hint that I need to just give in to my fate and become a lesbian, I reject it,” Laine said, pointing at him.
Ramos laughed. He had been teasing her lately about being so single, especially once he’d learned that she’d taken up painting again. She’d found a class within her skill and price range not too far from her apartment. She wouldn’t be featured in any museums any time soon, but she deeply enjoyed going to class after work two days a week. Hector, the sweetheart that he was, had hung one of her efforts up with a price tag of $100 underneath it—which, compared to the other paintings, was practically giving it away, but it was the gesture that counted. It looked like he’d taken it down now, though.
“Okay, you call the supplier for the wallpaper, and I’ll get on the phone with the construction guys.” Laine picked up the conversation where they’d left off.
The days were long, but Hector helped make them go by faster. He also had an office and a few spare rooms above the coffee house where they could make use of his printer and fax machine or make calls when bands came in to play and it was too loud to work. Hector had thanked Laine for helping Ramos get started on his own. Laine herself wasn’t particularly interested in entrepreneurship and felt that the two men had really helped her attain a balance with the things she wanted to do.
That evening, they were working late. It wasn’t a painting class evening, so Laine had a little extra time to spare before she called it quits when she noticed Ramos looking up at Hector expectantly. It was late enough that Hector was opening a bottle of wine for a customer, and he signaled that he would be two minutes.
“What’s going on?” Laine asked.
Ramos shrugged.
She watched the two of them suspiciously for the next few minutes from behind her laptop screen. Finally, Hector came over to her and put a check in front of her. She looked at it, and then up at Hector in disbelief.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Your commission. For your painting.” Hector beamed.
“Someone bought it?” Laine picked up the check as though it might dissolve in her fingers.
“I know, right? What’s become of taste these days?” Ramos teased.
Laine swatted him.
“Well, minus the house’s take,” Hector said. “But plus a little extra over the asking price.”
“I noticed,” Laine said.
Hector shrugged. “I told the buyer you’d deliver it and do a little artist/buyer meet and greet.”
He held out a scribbled note with an apartment number for one of the rooms upstairs. Laine reached for it and then paused. The check was from Hector, so the buyer had already paid in advance to see her.
“Did he pay in cash?” Laine asked. “What did he look like?”
