Corner-Office Courtship. Victoria Pade
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the front door. “The wall that needs work is in the dining room—be prepared,” he cautioned as he led Nati down the hallway beside the stairs.
Don’t look at his rear end…
Don’t look at his rear end…
Don’t look at his rear end…
Oh, but it was such a good one…
Because yes, despite her efforts to keep herself from doing it, she did look. And whether his impeccably tailored pants did it justice or his backside did the pants justice, Nati didn’t know. She only knew that Cade Camden had a very, very fine derriere….
“Nice house,” she said, forcing herself to glance at the big spotless kitchen that showed no signs of having been a mess earlier.
Cade tossed the dish towel on a kitchen counter. “I’ve been here almost a year but I can’t take credit for anything—the couple who owned the place before me had been remodeling it a room at a time. The dining room was last on the list and just as they were getting to it, they split up.” He took her through the kitchen, through an adorable butler’s pantry and into a formal dining room.
There was a long rectangular table with six chairs on each side and one at either head, a sideboard and a tall hutch—all in mahogany. The back wall immediately drew Nati’s attention. The gold-foil wallpaper printed with black safari animals riveted the eye.
“Oh, dear…” she said with an astonished laugh.
“Yeah, I know. Even if it wasn’t peeling off and ripped in spots, it would still be something, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you mind if I tear that piece off a little more so I can see what shape the wall is in behind it?” Nati asked, pointing to one section that was already coming away.
“Be my guest. It’s all gonna have to come down anyway.”
Nati set her things on the dining room table and got to work.
“The paper comes off pretty easily and the wall doesn’t look as if it’s in bad shape, so that’s all good. I’ll need a day to strip the paper and clean up the wall—whatever glue is left will have to be cleaned off so the surface will be uniform and smooth, and it’ll have to be primed. Then I can go to work on it.”
She glanced at Cade and found that he was staring at her, not the walls. “So it seems like something you can do?”
“It does,” she answered. “It will take a few days—this wall is big and there will have to be some overnight drying time between coats. But yes, I can do it.”
“Music to my ears,” he said as if he’d been worried that she couldn’t. “When can you start?”
“I’ll have to check with Holly to make sure she’ll watch my shop but I think I can probably sneak away tomorrow afternoon and get this paper down and the wall primed—that way it will have Sunday to dry and I can come back on Monday—does that work for you?”
“I have to go into the office tomorrow, but I can give you the code to the front door so you can come and go whenever you need to.”
That seemed very trusting of him. But Nati was trustworthy; plus, the Camden’s probably wouldn’t expect anyone to dare do wrong by them.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Then I can be here Monday until about one—I have to watch both shops Monday afternoon—and we’ll take it from there?”
“Sounds like a plan,” he confirmed.
“So let’s talk colors, textures and finishes,” Nati suggested.
He pulled out a chair for her, and then took the one next to it at the head of the table for himself. Sitting back in the seat, he brought one ankle to rest atop the opposite knee and held on to his shin with a big, powerful-looking hand. Then he laid his other elbow on the table. Nati had an inordinate awareness of the masculine forearm exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeve, of the thickness of his wrist. Of all things…
Thoughts—these are only thoughts, she reminded herself. They don’t mean anything. Just go on with what you’re supposed to be doing… .
She opened her notebook and set out her pamphlets and color choices, telling him what each texture entailed and how it would look.
“I can leave the pictures and the samples with you if you have someone whose opinion or input you might want—a fiancée or significant other.”
The thought that there might be someone else had just occurred to her. She’d been assuming that he was on his own because everything he’d said about this project, about this house, had made it sound as if it were his and his alone. But looking at him—nearly drooling over how gorgeous he was and having the mere sound of his voice send goose bumps up her arms—made her realize suddenly that he probably had any number of women he could pick and choose from, and possibly someone he’d already chosen in the wings.
And, yes, she was curious. Even though it didn’t matter to her one way or another if he were involved with anyone.
“It’s just me,” he said. “No fiancée, no significant other.”
Nati wondered if she might have stepped in it. “I’m sorry if that sounded like I was prying. I just thought that it’s a big house for one person and—” Then she had another thought and instantly said, “Oh, maybe you’re recently out of a relationship. Or a marriage. Maybe that’s why you bought this place—” She stopped herself when she realized she was really being nosy. “It doesn’t matter, I was just saying that if there’s someone you want to consult with, you don’t have to make a decision today.”
He was smiling. Her verbal scrambling was funny to him. “I bought the place because I felt like I was ready to take on a house. I liked this one, and it’s ten minutes from my office, from my grandmother, from most of my siblings and cousins. I’ll rely on your advice when it comes to what would go best in here—I can tell from what’s in your shop that you have good taste, I just don’t want—”
“Anything frilly. You want something understated and classy.” She was repeating what he’d said the day before.
“Right.”
“I can do that,” she assured him, and went on to make her recommendations, showing him pamphlets that displayed a variety of textures.
“Yeah, I think I like the Venetian plaster the best, too,” he said when she’d finished. “In the light gray. And you do the plastering, too, huh? Because this can’t be done with just paint, right?”
“Right. It’s actually paint, then a light layer of plaster applied just so, then some sanding and potentially more paint or polishing. And, yes, I can do it all,” she assured.
“Did you go to school to learn this stuff?” he asked.
“No. In college I studied art history and conservation. My grandfather was a housepainter, though, so I grew up helping him and learning the basics—and cleaning a lot of paint brushes.” She laughed. “The tole painting in the shop and the murals and stenciling and wall finishes sort of combine what I learned in college with what my grandfather taught me. And I do some restoration, too—like the frame on the mirror you saw yesterday.”
“So you got a degree in art history and conservation but you didn’t want to work as an art historian?”
“There aren’t a lot of opportunities in the field—it wasn’t the smartest choice in terms of degrees that can be translated into a job. When I graduated from college I went to work for a company that did art restoration but—” She paused, feeling as if she were talking too much. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do, though,” he said, sounding genuinely interested. “Did you get to restore paintings or—”
“I was mostly just the gofer—I