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Dean points to different areas on the blueprint and explains every detail to me. The top floor will be my office. City view, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the space is large enough for me to have a boardroom in my office for meetings, separated by a sliding glass door. He exceeded my expectations, as I knew he would. I have complete faith in him. I trust him entirely with something so personal to me, knowing he is the perfect person to bring my vision—our vision—to life.
Maybe it's fate that brought us back together.
"I'm thinking that I should take your silence as a good thing,” he says, leaning back against the plush white sofa, his fingertips brushing my shoulder innocently when he raises his arm to rest on the back of the couch. The simple touch sends electric shocks through me.
Fuck. If he can ignite my body with a simple touch or look, I already know this will be difficult.
He's awakening a part of my body that's been dead for so long.
Clearing my throat, I roll my lips between my teeth, then gather enough courage to look at him. "Yes, very good. Holy fuck, Dean. This is amazing." I can't downplay my excitement.
"I can always change whatever you want or add anything else you want. I used my old designs and memory as reference." He chuckles; the deep sound enough to turn my insides to liquid.
"No. No, it's perfect. There's nothing that needs to be changed. This is exactly what I want."
He nods, giving me one of his dazzling, toe-curling smiles. "Here is a list of interior designers in Seattle that I'd recommend if you haven't already hired someone." He leans forward, opens his folder, and hands me the list of information for interior designers. "Most have a long waitlist, so it would be smart to find someone soon."
With a nod, I take the list from him and look it over. One name feels like a slap to me across the face. "Sadie Marshall? As in, Sadie Marshall from high school?" I scoff, looking up at him with my eyebrows pulled together in a scowl.
He gives me an apologetic look. "She's rated as one of the top interior designers in Seattle and has a very elite client list and exceptional recommendations. Hate to say it, but she's the best at what she does."
Great, how lucky am I? The Sadie fucking Marshall.
As in the stupid Sadie Marshall from high school who made my freshman year a living hell by embarrassing me every single chance she got because she wanted Dean to herself, and I was his younger best friend who stood in the way. Sadie was a fucking she-devil.
Good God. I cannot work with her.
"I must've done something horrible in another life if my path is crossing with Sadie's again," I say sarcastically with a long dramatic eye roll.
He laughs at my misery, not bothering to hide it. "Keep rolling your eyes, and they'll get stuck in the back of your head."
God, I can even feel his deep laugh all the way to my toes. I clench my thighs together and lean against the soft back of the couch, covering my face with my hands. "Do not laugh at me. I'm serious. This is painful."
"Then hire someone else. I just wanted to make sure you had all the options of those who are the best."
"I sense abutcoming." I peek at him through my fingers, still covering my face.
He grins, shifting toward me. He wraps his long fingers around my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face. "But would you really not hire someone who is clearly the best just because of a high school beef from years ago?"
"Dean! She made my life hell, and you know this. And stop laughing at me." I'm being dramatic. We both know I am. It's so easy with Dean. Everything is so fucking easy when I'm around him. It's as if no time has passed, and we're able to slip right back to the people we used to be. How we used to be with each other.
"She did it because she was jealous. And how well did that turn out for her? Sadie and I didn't end up together, did we?"
I huff out a breath of air. I've always hated when he spoke logic to me. I allow myself to look at him, really look at him. My eyes scan over his handsome face, taking in his sharp features. His oval-shaped face, thick black hair that's cut into a comb-over, longer on the top and faded on the sides, trimmed beard, and stunning hazel eyes with bright specks of gold. Everything about Dean Jameson is attractive. He's pure sex on legs.
Inhaling deeply, I pry my eyes away from him before he's able to cast me under his spell any further. "Neither of us did. Guess we both lost," I mumble under my breath, unable to stop myself, hoping he doesn’t hear, but knowing that's not the case.
Dean never misses a single fucking thing.
His eyes connect with mine, his thick yet trimmed eyebrows pulling together in a deep V, his plump lips thinning. He grabs hold of my wrist, and his thumb traces invisible shapes on my skin. I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it, but his warm lingering touch makes time freeze.
Time fucking freezes.
I know we both feel the spark. It's always been there between us.
I used to think there were invisible strings between us pulling us together, but I realize how crazy that sounds. I've always hated that mushy, romantic shit, but when it comes to Dean, I feel like a mushy hopeless romantic.
He pulls away from me quickly, dropping my wrist as if I burned him. Clearing his throat, he begins gathering the papers on the table. "If you don't want to make any changes, then construction can go ahead and get started. My guys should be ready to start with the foundation on Monday. They've got the old building torn down, and the place is nearly cleaned up," he explains.
