Barbara Dunlop - High Stakes

She and Jenna’s decorating business, Canna Interiors, was just getting established in Seattle, so they were taking every job they were offered. But Candice hoped they’d be able to specialize in historic buildings like the Quayside. They were the city’s heart and soul.

The doors slid open on the fortieth floor, and she decided she’d better kill a little time before going back down to escape. She left the elevator, and her footsteps echoed on the raw plywood as she made her way down the hall.

The entire floor was closed for renovation. The paneling had been delivered, but then she’d already known that. Sheets of plywood, stacks of wood paneling and cans of paint were clustered against the foyer walls.

She passed through the big, antique double doors that led into the dining room. The wallboard had been peeled back to reveal arched window openings, and the glaziers had just finished installing new windows. The view of the city was spectacular.

Abandoning the bouquet on a sawhorse, she squinted around the room, picturing antique light fixtures, turn-of-the-century paintings, white tablecloths, hurricane lamps and fine china. Her gaze caught and held on the half-finished wine rack, apprehension sliding through her stomach. Something wasn’t right.

She started toward it.

Lifting the plans from the raw wood top, she read the hand-scrawled note stapled to one corner. She stifled the urge to scream. She’d given specific instructions on the placement and the dimensions of the wine rack. But Derek had undermined her authority, yet again.

She crumpled the note in a tight fist. He might be the reason she and Jenna had this job in the first place, but she had to put a stop to the man’s meddling. Forget cutting out on the reception, maybe she’d go back to the ballroom and track him down. Track him down, corner him and set the ground rules once and for all.

As she formulated a scathing lecture, the elevator doors down the hall whirred open. Measured, masculine footsteps headed along the passageway toward her. Perfect. Jenna had sent up a date. Could the evening get any worse?

She started toward the double doors, intent on sending the hapless man away. But when Derek appeared, she stopped short.

Tall, broad-shouldered and athletic, his strong chin, aristocratic nose and piercing blue eyes combined with his wealth and power to give him anything he wanted in life.

But not this time.

Not with her.

He froze, hitting her with a narrow-eyed, suspicious gaze. “What are you doing up here?”

“At the moment, I’m trying to figure out how much damage you’ve done.”

He continued toward her, imposing in his best man tux. “What are you talking about? What damage?”

As he grew closer, she was glad to be wearing three-inch heels.

Drawing herself up, refusing to be intimidated, she folded her arms across her chest and nodded at the wine rack. “Take a look at that.”

Before focusing on the wine rack, Derek’s gaze stopped for a moment on the empty doorway, a puzzled frown forming on his face. Then he moved on. “I don’t see any damage.”

The muscles in the back of her neck tensed, and her voice went up an octave. “Of course you don’t. Because you have no clue what we’re doing here.”

“I know exactly what we’re doing here. We’re renovating my restaurant.”

Candice stepped closer to the wine rack, gesturing to the base with an open hand. “Are you trying to waste money?”

“I’m trying to save money.”

“False economy.”

Derek’s full mouth curved up in a cynical grin. “How many millions do you suppose have been wasted using that logic?”

“You have trust issues, you know that?”

“I trust people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“As long as they’re within my sight.”

Candice pointed at him and then pointed to her chest. “You lied to me, remember?”

“And you threatened to waste my money.”

“Because you’d told us you were Derek Reeves—”

“I am Derek Reeves.”

“Being Derek Reeves is quite different than being Derek Reeves-DuCarter.”

“You never fessed up to being Candice Hammond, either.”

Candice had to admit, it was odd they’d gone two weeks without realizing each other’s identity. She’d heard about the Reeves-DuCarters all her life, had known they were in competition with her father, had even met Derek’s father at a party or two. Still, she hadn’t put it together.

“I never lied about who I was,” she said.

“No,” Derek agreed. “It was Tyler that kept that little tidbit to himself.”

“So pick on your brother, and leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re mad enough to waste my money.”

“I’m also professional enough to fix your mistakes.”

Derek shook his head, coughing out a cold laugh.

Candice shimmied into a crouch position, pointing to the base of the wine rack to prove her point. “You know the marble top’s precut?”

He crouched beside her. “So?”

“So, exhibit A, you had them build the base two feet off. That’s false economy, because we’re going to have to rip it out and start over again.”

“That’s faulty logic. Because I just moved the wine rack. I didn’t change the dimensions.”

“If you’d bothered to read the plans, you’d know we have to recess it into the wall.”

“I did bother to read the plans. They told me you wanted to rebuild an entire wall for the sake of two feet.”

She raised her eyebrows. There was a master plan at work here. Details mattered. Something Derek obviously didn’t grasp. “Your point is?”

He straightened and held out his hand. “You’re scary, you know that?”

She ignored his unspoken offer. But halfway up, her toe caught on the hem of her dress and she stumbled. He caught her arm to steady her.

The feel of his calluses against her skin sent an instant shock wave through her body. She gritted her teeth against the sensation. “You’re the scary one.” What with his drive-by style of executive interference, and…

She shook off his hand.

“Because I catch you when you fall?” His deep voice rumbled close to her ear.

She took a quick step away from him, remembering the last time he’d touched her, spoken to her in that vibrating, intimate tone that made her blood dance. It was three months ago, on that silly carnival ride, the Tunnel of Love. It was the day she found out he was a fraud. The day they’d found out Tyler was spying on Jenna.

She shook off the memory, rubbing his touch away from her bare arm. “Do you want a five-star restaurant or a diner?”

“Oh, definitely a diner,” he drawled, cocking his head sideways.

“Well, you’re well on your way.”

“You are so melodramatic.”

“You are so naive.”

His eyes widened at that one.

She began counting off on her fingertips. “We have an artist on retainer. We’ve consulted on the marble pattern. We’ve already bought paintings for the recessed wall. The lines on the marble will flow perfectly toward the pillars, emphasize the mini atrium and the windows—”

“You may have a heady, artistic vision, but I have an obligation to the other shareholders.”

“To ruin the renovation?”

“To make sure Reeves-DuCarter worldwide share prices don’t plummet when the financial markets hear how much you’re spending on a wine rack.”

“It’s the focal point of the entire room—”

“Hey, Derek.”

Candice clamped her mouth shut and drew back at the sound of Tyler Reeves’s voice.

“There you are,” said Derek. “I thought you’d died in the hallway.”

“Can I borrow your cell phone?” asked Tyler.