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“Nothing.” His gaze flickers between the property and me for a whole minute before he speaks again. “What if we go fifty-fifty instead?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You want the house, and I want the land. I’m sure we can work together to get what we both want.”
“Who says the town would let you build another house here?”
“That’s my issue.”
“You want us to go all in together, hoping to rezone the property and build a few extra houses on it?”
“Correct.”
I shake my head. “That will never work.”
His frown lines return with a vengeance. “Why not?”
“Because only one of us has style, and hint, it’s not you.” Unlike Julian’s commitment to mid-century modern designs,my modern rustic design style is the complete opposite. I enter each home with the same goal of emphasizing its original architecture while combining different interior design styles.
One of the biggest reasons I started gaining popularity was that my approach was unlike everyone else’s. I wasn’t afraid of blending different styles, including Julian’s beloved mid-century modern, which helped me stand out.
He pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re testing my patience.”
“I’m surprised you still have any left when it comes to me.”
He grumbles to himself before speaking again. “You can have full creative control of the house.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And what if city hall denies your request?”
“Then we will need to flip the property and resell it for a price worthy of investing my time and resources,” he says.
“What resources?”
“If you plan on restoring that house within the next three years, you’ll need my company to get the job done.”
“Why is that?”
“The only other construction company in town has a yearlong waitlist because they’re busy fixing up the motel.”
Shit.I don’t want to wait a year when this is the perfect project to help get me out of my design rut.
Still, despite my excitement, I worry about partnering with Julian. We have only worked on one project together in college, and it ended with me setting myself up for unrealistic expectations.
I can vividly picture Julian destroying the house to build his ideal neighborhood of white-and-gray houses made of equal parts concrete and glass. The history of the property would be erased and replaced with cold, sharp lines to match the man in front of me.
I shake the image away with a shiver.
No matter how much I dislike the idea of working with Julian, I despise the thought of him demolishing this house more.
I speak before I have a chance to talk myself out of the opportunity. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Julian
