Ulterior Designs (House of Evans Book 1) (4 page)

T
he man standing in the doorway was exactly as he appeared in publicity photos—stylish, well-dressed and handsome by all accounts. But what the pictures didn't show was the air of self-righteousness surrounding him. It was the sort of attitude that got under Logan's skin. When Dimitry offered a pretentious smile and a quick once over of Logan, it took everything in him not to slap the sanctimonious look off his face. 'D-Mo', as Ms. Stephens had inadvertently called him, was nearly fifteen minutes late and any grand importance the man believed about himself went right out the window as far as Logan was concerned.

Dimitry stepped inside the house without so much as an apology or explanation as to his tardiness, further riling Logan. Forcing his annoyance down like a bitter pill, he reminded himself of the designer's reputation and talent for making beautiful homes even more spectacular.

"Your home is …," Dimitry paused and scrutinized the interior, "… quaint."

Quaint
wasn't at all how Logan would describe his life's work. The exterior was charming in its simplicity, sure, but that was intentional. But the inside—
fucking quaint
? Just as he opened his mouth to defend his design choices, Ms. Stephens spoke up.

"I agree. This home definitely has a picturesque and old-world feel to it."

Ms. Stephens’ soft voice tempered Logan's irritation, as did the sincerity of her statement and the impish smile she was offering up.

But her sweet smile disappeared in a flash when Dimitry responded, "I wasn't speaking to you."

Moriarty's callous statement and the narrow-eyed glare aimed at Ms. Stephens put Logan on edge.

"Sorry, I was only trying to help," she murmured as she picked at the collar of her shirt in a nervous gesture.

"I appreciate that," Logan spoke up in her defense.

Dimitry should’ve appreciated her intervention as well, because if she hadn't
tried to help,
he might have been on the receiving end of a harsh rebuttal.

"As I was saying," Dimitry said with a roll of his eyes as he began surveying his surroundings once more, "your home is
quaint.
From what we've discussed in emails and on the phone, I'm fairly certain that isn't the look you're trying to achieve. You clearly have a talent for creating magnificent architecture; however, in my opinion, your hard work is going to waste."

Though Dimitry's words stung, they resonated within Logan. Okay, so the man was less than tactful, but at least he was truthful in his assessment. And, hell no, he wasn't going for
quaint
. He was going for
extraordinary.

"No, that’s not at all the look I’m going for," he agreed.

"I'm glad to hear you say that. I have big plans for this place, Mr. Evans. With your reputation as a creative force and my skill set and expertise, I think we are going to make a great team—one which people are going to stand up and take notice of. Perhaps this could even lead to bigger things in the future," Dimitry added, hinting at collaboration.

Logan hadn't thought that far ahead, though clearly Dimitry had, and he couldn't blame the man. His last project had put him at the forefront of the architecture scene, and his star was shining brighter than ever. With the recent article in
Transform
magazine featuring the work that had garnered him and his firm an award, he was finally being seen as one of the Bay Area's leading designers. Anyone who didn't see the potential of working with him would be selling themselves short, and obviously, Dimitry knew that.

Standing in front of one of the windows, Dimitry stared out at the empty space in the backyard. "Just imagine the spectacular poolside parties to be had here, Mr. Evans."

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan saw Ms. Stephens cringe. It might have been comical had the look of dismay on her face not conveyed precisely what he was feeling. First of all, he wasn't a partying kind of man, and secondly,
a pool
? The upkeep alone was off-putting, but a huge hole in the ground filled with chemically treated water?
Fuck that.

"There isn't a pool in this home's future," he voiced his disapproval.

"Not yet," Dimitry peeked over his shoulder at Logan as if challenging him.

"Not
ever
," Logan's voice deepened. "A pool would detract from the beauty of the vineyard," he declared as he glanced at Ms. Stephens in hopes that she would back him up. "Wouldn't you agree?"

When he saw all of the blood drain from her face, he regretted having put her on the spot. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, Dimitry faced them both with a look of horrified offense.

"Everything is negotiable, Mr. Evans, and an intern's opinion hardly counts."

Logan's pleasure at forcing Dimitry to admit his dependence on an intern was quickly overshadowed by the man’s degrading remark, especially when he saw the hurt in Ms. Stephens' eyes.

Biting back his displeasure, Logan shook his head. "This particular item in my design plan isn't negotiable, and as far as opinions go, I happen to value Ms. Stephens'."

Dimitry's cheeks reddened, and his eyes flashed irritation as he struggled to hold his tongue. Ever the professional, Dimitry changed the subject and began talking about everything except the proverbial white elephant in the room—his ill-received suggestion about a pool. It was fine as far as Logan was concerned, because at least Ms. Stephens seemed to relax.

When there was finally a break in the one-sided conversation, Logan motioned toward the dining room table. When they had all seated themselves, he pushed his ideas across the table toward Dimitry, but didn't get the response he was expecting. Instead of diving in, Dimitry simply glanced at the paperwork, then back at Logan. He then reached into his satchel, pulled out his own stack of documents and pushed them toward Logan, while offering the same phony smile as before.

"Compromise, Mr. Evans, is the cornerstone to collaboration."

****

Mr. Evans gave Dimitry a no-nonsense look that said he was accustomed to taking charge. Personally, Chloe loved that but she knew others didn't feel the same way. Namely, the Big Man himself. Dimitry’s usual M.O. was to seek, conquer and destroy anything that got in the way of his creative plans, and he had already stated that he had
big plans
for this place. He was always prepared that way, as any self-respecting designer with a good work ethic should be. But any decent designer would also take into account the wants of the homeowner.

Not D-Mo. His
reputation
was far more important than pleasing those he perceived to be beneath him.
Compromise,
her ass. Knowing Dimitry there would be no meeting in the middle involved. Sure, he would play it off like he was going to give Logan what he wanted, but he was a manipulative, self-serving, social-status junkie to the core. She had heard countless tales of how his design plans eventually won out over the client’s wishes.

But this place had character and allure that made her feel as if she had lived a thousand lives here. And honestly, Mr. Evans had done such a fantastic job with the architecture, it didn't need much—just the perfect shade of paint, dark and sexy like its owner, some luxurious masculine furnishings and bookshelves, and perhaps a plush, exotic fabric draping the far back wall. She could see it all now—the layout, the colors, the lighting and ambiance, the sights and sounds of pure decadence. She could even envision herself basking in the California sun with her feet propped up in a beautifully decked-out gazebo in the backyard—the backyard
without
a pool. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the handsome Mr. Evans' brutally sculpted mouth ravaging her body and leaving a scorching trail in its wake as his hands took control of her.

She quickly reminded herself that what was to be done with Mr. Evans' home wasn't her decision, and she kicked herself for having spoken out of turn against D-Mo's rude
quaint
comment. Even worse, she had given Mr. Evans the impression that her opinion mattered, when the fact was that she was only there to act as a glorified gofer.

Just then,
I Put a Spell on You
began to play
.
The house had certainly done that.

A smile spread across her face when she realized how truly fortunate she was, especially considering that less than twelve hours before she had been working at her second job and feeling resentful about her too-tight barista uniform as she sulked in a corner booth trying to take her mind off how badly she had misjudged her career choice. She had even bemoaned having a degree in interior design because, until that moment, she hadn't been able to land a job doing what she loved.

She reminded herself that, in fact, this wasn't a
job
yet. It couldn't be classified as such until she earned a paycheck. But, instead of focusing on her normally dismal existence and student loan debt, she concentrated on the positives in her life, like being lucky enough that her excellent grades had been able to secure her a temporary position with one of the area’s leading designers. She had hoped that the internship would lead to an eventual break
into the field, though nothing had popped up yet. Even if this particular gig was unpaid, and she had fallen into it by default because Dimitry’s actual assistant was out ill, it was giving her real-life experience that couldn’t be achieved any other way, and this accidental windfall was one she was going to take full advantage of.

Captivated by her surroundings, she gazed at a wall where Logan had purposefully left exposed brick underneath plaster, and wondered about more of the home's history. Besides Logan’s little episode of debauchery, and the obvious revival and repentance that would have taken place there, what else had gone on within these walls? How many
taboo
love affairs had begun within this home that was once a house of God? How many hearts had been broken? Was there happiness here? Birth and loss? She reached over to skim her fingertip along the dark wood of one of the dining room chairs next to her, trying to listen to the home's voice. It had one. They all did. She only hoped that Mr. Evans would hear what the house was trying to tell him. By the looks of it, he had. She said a silent prayer that he had an iron-clad will and could hold strong against Mr. Moriarty to stick with his design plan.

She also held out hope that Mr. Moriarty would see in this house what she saw, that it didn't need to be industrialized or made to look like a modern-day piece of abstract artwork. It merely needed to be brought back to its former glory and have life breathed back into it.

"Don't touch anything." Dimitry's coldness brought her out of her entrancement. "And go get my color wheel out of my car." He dropped his keys in her lap. Clearly, he was still upset with her unsolicited remark from earlier. When she didn’t move quickly enough for his tastes, he barked and stammered, "Double-time, Ms … Ms …"

He couldn't remember her name, and while that didn't surprise Chloe, Logan looked less-than-impressed. Jumping up, she caught Logan's incensed stare riveted on Dimitry though she had no idea why he was upset. Other than Dimitry wanting to ruin the unspoiled view of his vineyard, that is.

Moving speedily as ordered, she retrieved the color wheel from his trunk only to be met by both Dimitry and Logan at the front door of his home. Snatching the wheel from her hand, Dimitry glared angrily at her and marched toward his car. Following two steps behind him, he spun on his heel and ripped into her.

"I don't know what the hell you did or said to that man before I got here," he growled, "but you've sealed your coffin in this field."

L
ogan had probably made another bad decision, but if there was one thing he wouldn't tolerate, it was blatant disrespect. The harsh words Dimitry had barked at Ms. Stephens and the look on her face when he told her that her opinion didn't matter were on an endless loop in Logan’s mind. That douchebag wasn’t even paying her and he had the nerve to treat her so shitty? The more Logan thought about it, the better he felt about having fired that asshole.

He felt even more vindicated after having looked over the design plans Moriarty had left behind in his haste to leave. Did that man even take into consideration what they had discussed on the phone? Did he even really look at the house? Where in the hell did a modern sculpture and pool fit into the grand scheme of his design?
Nowhere, that's where
. What the hell kind of look was
D. Mo.
aiming for—the Beetlejuice house? And a concrete floor and window treatments? Logan had restored as much of the original wood floors and as many windows as possible so that they could be showcased, not covered.

The walls of his home had seen a lot of lives pass between them long before him. It had traveled halfway across the United States before settling in Napa to finally be given a new life, in much the same way he was starting fresh within its very walls.

The fact that his home was an old church was a sort of bittersweet irony seeing as control was a belief that he held onto just as tightly as some held onto religion. What might be considered an elusive thing or mirage to others, was to him a course of action that he practiced as often as feasibly possible. It was the infrastructure on which his entire adult life had been built. But, some things were simply out of his hands, and as difficult as it was, he accepted it. Though his future was left up to fate, how his home would turn out was something he could and
would
be in command of. He had hoped fate would be kinder to him than it had been in the past, but things didn’t seem to be going in that direction.

Logan hadn't spent nearly two years perfecting his home just so some self-important douchebag could get his hopes up, only to dash them at the first meeting. Three tedious months in negotiations trying to procure the acreage and getting the proper permits to have the old, run-down house on the property demolished, two months in breaking down, transporting and then reassembling the old church, plus a year in renovations and design—the House of Evans was a major undertaking. And Dimitry had the balls to show up and attempt to make his home into something that neither represented his personality nor reflected his life's work?

Christ almighty, what a colossal waste of time. Not to mention money, seeing as he was out half of his deposit.

A week had passed since his one-time meeting with Dimitry, and already Logan was feeling the stress of not having his home organized. The only thing he hated more than disrespect was disorganization, no doubt due to the lack of control that came with that. He had rearranged his furniture, but only ended up frustrated with his lack of finesse when it came to decorating. He envied the architects who had not only an eye for drafting but décor. But what he lacked in feng shui, he made up for in spades with his engineering skills.

Still too pissed off after having impulsively fired Moriarty, he hadn't even attempted to find another decorator.

At work, tired of thinking about the whole situation, he decided to drag his colleague, Everett, along on a venture down to the file room to retrieve a blueprint. He had never been to the bowels of the complex before as there were interns who usually did that sort of menial work. He wasn't getting anything accomplished and figured it would be a nice change of scenery.

When he entered the brightly-lit room, his ears filled with the sound of fluorescent tubes buzzing overhead in that brain-numbing way that made him want to destroy office equipment. The dingy smells of old paper and dankness only made matters worse and he immediately regretted his misguided attempt at adventure.

One would've thought that with the kind of money his firm brought in that they could afford to keep the place tidier and make it a pleasant environment for employees. Maybe he would have to suggest that at the next meeting. He'd even do the renovation schematics himself if need be. At any rate, it would give him something other than the jumbled mess waiting for him at home to focus on.

While he stood next to Everett and scanned the unpleasant room, he took note of the darkened and dusty wood. At least the faint smell of aged oak was somewhat pleasing. A 360-degree turn and a quick double-take brought him to an abrupt halt. The new grad who had been lingering in his thoughts all week stood a mere few feet away. How in the hell Ms. Stephens was working for the same firm without his knowledge was beyond him, though he supposed it had something to do with the fact that he always had his nose so close to the grindstone that he never looked up to see his surroundings.

She somehow radiated in stark contrast to her drab surroundings as she sat behind the tall counter, and once again completely captured his attention. Even under the whitewash of the fluorescent bulbs, her beauty was hard to conceal. The tip of her index finger rested against her lips, and as he watched her suck at it, his cock twitched in the same way it had the first time he’d met her.

She was poring over paperwork laid out before her and luckily didn’t see or hear when he and Everett had entered. Lucky for Logan, that is. He could’ve stood there and watched her for hours, but to his annoyance, Everett cleared his throat to get her attention, breaking the delicious spell of silence. Glancing up, she politely flashed her pearly whites at Everett.

When she caught a glimpse of Logan, her smile faded, her hand dropped away from her mouth and her glossy, pale-pink lips parted as she whispered his name, "Mr. Evans."

Her svelte body stiffened as she gaped at him, and it was clear to see that he was having the same effect on her that she was having on him. He reminded himself that could very well be wishful thinking on his part, though he doubted it. He had a knack for reading body language and what her body was telling him was that in addition to being surprised to see him, she was aroused. Strangely, the look on her face also told him that she was either confused or angry. He didn’t know her well enough to figure out which of those was actually coming into play. Hell, he didn’t know her at all, though he’d love to change that.

A sly smile played on the corners of his mouth when he responded, "I wasn't aware that you work here."

"I didn't know you work here, either," she admitted, her brows pinched together. "But, I did just start a week ago." A look of distress briefly flashed across her face. She acted as if she wanted to say more, but instead she tilted her head and pried her gaze away from him to address Everett. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Stewart?” she asked as she took a quick look at his name badge.

"No, I'm only tagging along," Everett gave her a flirty smile, seemingly oblivious to the sexual sparks igniting between Logan and her.

She briskly cocked her head and turned her attention back to Logan. “What can I do for you, Sir?” she asked, her tongue poking out and gliding over her top lip.

The way her mouth formed each word caused more blood to surge to his cock. At this rate, he’d have a raging hard-on in a matter of seconds, and that just wouldn’t do. The only thing worse than walking around with a full-
blown
throbbing whistle was knowing he couldn’t do a damned thing about it except look like a sexual deviant. Who the hell did he think he was kidding, anyway? He hadn’t been
blown
in months. Well,
blown
worthwhile. Even if he was really a deviant on some level, that didn’t mean he had to go and show his hand just because a beautiful woman
popped up
. The nearly impossible task of talking his dick down was made even more difficult when he remembered the sparkle in her eyes when she first saw his home. The recollection set his mind immediately to spinning its naughty web with thoughts as to what exactly he wanted her to do for him within its walls. Or more specifically, what she could do to
him with that tongue.

If only he hadn't fired that S.O.B. Dimitry, he could be spending his time with her while watching her work her magic on his place. Okay, so that was stretching it a bit since according to
D-Mo
her opinion didn't matter, but what-the-hell-ever. It mattered. More than Dimitry's, that was for damned sure.

Pushing his regrettable but inevitable decision from his mind, he kept his eyes riveted on hers as he approached the counter and rested his elbows on the Formica.

“Call me Logan," he stated as he edged close enough so that he could inhale the fragrance of her skin and hair. "I need file number 2632-BJ."

BJ, how apropos
, he perversely thought. He moved closer yet, his eyes zooming in on the name tag that hung in the center of her cleavage and read
Chloe.

As if having a difficult time concentrating, her eyes fixed on his mouth. He liked that.
Very much
. Perhaps he should help her refocus her attention on something worthwhile—like his wants and needs.

“Shouldn’t you be writing this down, Chloe?” he asked, instantly liking the way her name felt on his lips.

Her eyes immediately found his. “Right. Of course," she intoned on an exhale as she reached for a pen and notepad.

Thoughts of different ways of having the voluptuous temptress in the House of Evans crossed his mind, making him unintentionally clench his jaw. Envisioning her supple body shackled to the St. Andrew’s cross on his wish list, squirming against the wood as he took her made him ache to have her all the more, and her sweet smell only made matters worse.

She appeared to pick up on the change in his demeanor—then again, that might just be more wishful thinking on his part.

“Can I do anything else for you, Sir?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Surely she couldn’t be intuiting his needs so soon. It was ridiculous to even entertain the thought, yet that was twice she had called him
Sir
, and now her meek comeback was more than his tensed dick could handle. There was no way he could focus with her continued use of his preferred title behind bedroom doors.

“It's Logan,” he repeated more deliberately.

“Yes, Sir … I mean, Logan,” she stammered as she turned away to get the requested blueprint.

He peered over the counter as she walked away to try and get one last peek at the small-framed, busty brunette as she made a hasty getaway. The sight of her bouncing, heart-shaped ass and hips sashaying in time to the pad of her soled flats on the vinyl floor put a smile on his face, but was all too brief.

Disappointed to see her disappear down a small corridor that led to another room, a frustrated sigh slipped past his lips. What he wouldn’t give to see her muscular calves in a pair of heels and her legs wrapped around his waist. Yes, he had definitely made the wrong decision in firing Dimitry if it meant he would never see Chloe's imagination,
or body,
in motion.

*

Chloe entered the small back room and her nerves took over. She had spent the majority of the past week in tears over the loss of her ‘internship,’ and seeing Mr. Evans only reminded her that she was now shit out of luck.

Still, she couldn't deny that seeing him had brightened her mood, even if he may have been the reason she had been let go. She never did find out the exact reason for her dismissal, but whatever it was that took place after she had stepped out of Mr. Evans' home had clearly upset Dimitry enough to banish her from Indulgent Designs forever. She was never good at groveling either, though she had done her best only to find it got her nowhere.

After retrieving the requested document, she gathered what little of her wits remained and went back out to face the two men. Since there was no point in teasing herself with something she couldn't have, she pushed the blueprint across the counter toward Logan without making direct eye contact. Fortunately, her office manager approached them, and she made a speedy retreat into the break room.

Once behind closed doors, she sank into a chair and began daydreaming about Logan's gorgeous smile and home—a smile she would never get to fully enjoy and a home whose potential she would never see fulfilled. Even more heartbreaking, she would never know more about the
adult
room that beautiful architect had alluded to.

*

Proposals and drafts were of little interest to Logan, and the rest of his afternoon was spent thinking about Chloe and her pink, glossed lips and lush hips. It was a lovely distraction from what was going on outside of work, or rather, what
wasn't
going on.

Logging onto his computer, he brought up names of the firm’s employees in hopes of finding out a little more about her. The company policy prohibiting such activity gave him pause, but not much. The mental images of her soft-as-sin curves and enticing mouth were too tempting to resist breaking the rules. Unfortunately, the records offered him nothing in the way of useful information. Then again, what did he expect to find—a list of her hard limits and preferred traits in a sexual partner?
If only.