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Tara all but purred the words. “It will eliminate any question whether Garson is addressing you or me.”
“Or Jessy,” Sloan inserted.
“And her, too, of course,” Tara agreed coolly and turned immediately to the designer. “I know how anxious you are to see the suite of rooms, Gar. Let me show you where they are.”
She instantly took the lead, ushering him from the entry hall through the living room to the oak staircase, leaving Sloan with no choice except to follow. She climbed the steps after them, her features set in a look of firm resolve.
At the top of the steps, Tara walked straight to the master suite, pushed the door open, and swept into the sitting room with an air of ownership. St. Clair sauntered in after her, his head on a swivel as he took in the height of the ceilings and the room’s dimensions.
Sloan was right on his heels. “You’ll have to overlook the boxes,” she stated, although only a few remained in the room. The rest she had managed to unpack the night before with Trey’s help.
“You did warn me that your belongings had arrived from Hawaii.” Tara cast a dismissive glance at the heavy cardboard boxes. “Is this all you shipped?”
Inwardly bristling a little, Sloan managed a cool smile. “No. But there isn’t anything in these particular boxes that I need right away.”
“Then you need to have one of the hands carry them up to the attic for you,” Tara stated with a a disdainful look at the room’s furnishings, “along with everything else in here. It’s just as I told you, Gar—the room needs to be totally redone.”
“Not necessarily totally,” Sloan corrected quickly.
“Even if there is a piece or two you can use, why should you?” Tara reasoned. “After all, this is my gift. So don’t you listen to her, Gar,” she admonished, a coy smile curving her red lips. “Money is absolutely no object, not where my late husband’s son is concerned.”
An absent sound of acknowledgment came from his throat as he paused next to the free-form sculpture, lightly touching it with his fingertips. “This is an unusual piece.”
“Yes, it is.” On that, Sloan could agree.
“Do you collect modern art?” His questioning glance made a probing study of her.
“No. It’s a wedding gift.”
“A generous one,” he said and immediately lost interest in it as he wandered over to one of the windows and looked out. “Quite a view.”
“It is,” Tara agreed. “But the room is absolutely flooded with light during the daytime. You’ll need to install heavily lined drapery to block the glare.”
“No,” Sloan spoke up quickly and firmly. “I like the light.”
Tara turned, an eyebrow briefly arching, then lowering. “I forgot. You’re a photographer by profession, aren’t you? It’s all about light for you.”
Mixed in with the words of understanding was a note of condescension. Sloan stiffened, instantly taking exception to it. But before she could fire back a retort, Mr. St. Clair showed his diplomatic side.
“And harsh light is always screened,” he inserted smoothly.
“But never blocked.” Sloan wanted that clear.
Undeterred that her suggestion had been rejected, Tara eyed the windows in a reassessing fashion. “Plants would certainly thrive with all this natural light in the room—and provide you with a hint of the tropics you left, Sloan,” she said, then explained to the designer, “She moved here from Hawaii.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m interested in turning this into a tropical retreat filled with rattan and wicker covered in the colors of the sea,” Sloan challenged to quickly dispel that notion.
“Naturally you wouldn’t,” Tara agreed smoothly. “But you could focus on the Oriental aspect with a lot of dark woods and rich reds and gold. Or choose something with a Hemingwayesque flair to it. I can just see that gorgeous four-poster bed that Ty and I used, draped with gauzy fabric to simulate mosquito netting—”
“No, absolutely not,” Sloan broke in. “Trey would hate that.”
“My dear child,” Tara murmured with great indulgence and a pitying smile. “Of course we have to consider Trey’s likes and dislikes, but ultimately the decor needs to be what you want. After all, you’re the one who’ll be living in it day in and day out, not Trey. Other than spending an hour or two here in the evening, he won’t be here at all, just you and these walls. Believe me, I speak from experience.”
“In my case, it’s different,” Sloan replied, not the least bit concerned. “My work keeps me busy.”
“Then you plan to continue your career, do you?” The possibility seemed to amuse Tara.
“Naturally.”
