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“Next,” the city employee with the nasal voice says to the man ahead of me.
One more to go. This cannot be over soon enough. Instead of trading barbs with the eldest Cargill, I pull out my phone and see something that makes me smile. “What a shame your business lives and dies on the weather, Sawyer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t imagine much sailing occurs when it rains.”
“No. So what?”
“Don’t pay attention to the local news, do you?”
He frowns harder. “Is it supposed to—"
“I hope that’s not your convertible out front with the top down.” I show him the local weather map and the bright red blob heading straight for us, just as thunder claps. The thunder’s timing makes me grin as he runs out of the building to save his precious car. The local weather app says it’ll rain on and off for a few days. If only I could call up a rainstorm every time Sawyer Cargill annoys me.
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23
ELSIE
Under normal circumstances, a drizzly day would keep me inspired and chugging through an assignment. Today, however, is not a normal day. Not by a long shot.
I’ve spent the better part of the morning hip deep in AutoCAD, and I’m going out of my mind, trying to get this model to look right. When I tweak one window, then the doors are off center. Lifting the awning—which should bring an open feel to the entryway—makes it look like the building is winking at me.
Mocking me.
Nothing is going right, and I am supposed to meet with Beau at two, but I am at wit’s end. It’s wrong. All of it. But I can’t scrap the hours I’ve put into the drawings, and I don’t want to start overagain. I place a DoorDash order, before texting Beau an update. “I won’t be able to make the two deadline, but I have been working all morning, and I will have something to show you tomorrow. Is two a good time tomorrow?”
My stomach sinks as I press send. Disappointing a client is the last thing I ever want to do, and it feels like I’m disappointing myself, too. I should have had this in the bag. It should have come to me easily. Resorts are dream jobs, which means I have spent months dreaming of how to craft a resort. But this one is eluding me.
Thankfully, all the stress of not being able to make the elevations come together has muted some of the stress of yesterday’s awkwardness in the café with Beau. Hard to still be sexually frustrated when I am creatively frustrated.
My creativity has always come first, both figuratively and literally. When my creative flow is on, sex—or in my case, masturbation—has been a great way to relax. But when my creative flow is off, my sex drive is dead. It’s like all my signals die when my creativity is on the fritz. Hell, even the DoorDash I ordered didn’t sound appealing. I just ordered it because I know I need to eat. Probably. I’m not even hungry, really. Too much to do.
I’m halfway into shifting a soffit by a quarter inch when someone knocks at my door. My head pounds as I get to the door. Good thing lunch is here. Or is it breakfast? Did I eat breakfast?
But when I open the door, it’s Beau. In casual wear. A short sleeve white Henley and jeans. It’s a good look on him.
“Um, hi,” I say, gathering my robe around me. I’m not even wearing a bra. What the hell is he doing here? He’s got to be extra pissed off about the message for him to just show up at my door. Shit.
He smiles and lifts a pair of coffees. “I thought—"
“I’m sorry it’s not ready. It’s the damn proportions. They’re throwing things off, but I swear, I will have it sorted and ready for tomorrow—"
“Might I come in?”
Holding the door open for him, I’m grateful he’s waiting to yell at me until he’s inside my room. I’d hate for the other guests to hear him, so I close it once he’s inside. “Beau, I hate to disappoint—"
“You never could. Take this.” He passes me a coffee.
And I frown at it. “What’s this?”
“A mint mocha, extra whip, extra cocoa powder on top.”
I let out a strange laugh, because I am not sure what to say next. “How did you know my order? You weren’t there when I placed it yesterday.”
“I asked Ms. LaCasse at Bean-Go what you ordered.”
