together. “I’m available almost 24/7.”
He let out a mock groan. “Aw. No three a.m. blueprint reviews? I’m not on my own yet. You do realize that I still sometimes work odd hours?”
Liza laughed. “If that’s what it takes to get the project done, I’ll brew a thermos of coffee and adjust my schedule.
“I know we’re probably running out of time, so let me show you a few more.” She pointed to the second design. “This one was for a technology start-up in Austin. They loved it, but sadly they lost all their funding the day before we were going to sign the contract.”
Dr. Marbet shook his head and whistled through his teeth. “Better before you put pen to paper than if you’d already started.”
“Tell me about it. We were very wary of working with start-ups after that fiasco.”
He folded his arms. “Don’t worry. Money won’t be an issue with this project. This is a private clinic, funded by myself and a few key and very wealthy investors.” He gestured toward the table. “Tell me about this one.”
Liza felt a burst of pride. “This is one of my favorites. The design was for a high-concept restaurant by a famous farm-to-table chef.”
He leaned one hip against the table. “What happened to this project?”
“Food poisoning in the chef’s other restaurant. A lot of people got very ill, and one almost died. My former firm actually pulled out of that deal first.”
Liza shook her head, remembering the stern warnings from their corporate counsel. “We didn’t want to be associated with the bad publicity.”
Dr. Marbet made a face. “Smart move. I don’t blame them.”
“Yes, and that experience was so awful that it cemented my dream to break away from corporate and start my own business.”
His grin was slow, easy and smoldered all the way to her heart.
Dr. Marbet turned back to the table and examined each rendering again. When he was finished, he turned around. Moments passed. Though his expression didn’t reveal anything, she remained inwardly confident.
And this is the part where you tell me I’ve got the project.
He crossed his arms, his tough-guy stance reappearing, and her confidence began to waver.
“Ms. Sinclair. Although these designs are very good and I appreciate you showing them to me, since none of them have actually been built, it appears that you have no real track record in commercial design.”
Though his tone wasn’t harsh, Liza felt the snap of his words in her heart. But she wouldn’t take things personally—this was too important. She calmly took a big breath, thankful that she’d already prepared for this moment, the not-so-subtle accusation.
“Since I started my own firm a few years ago, my focus has been on residential design. As you’ve seen in the renderings today, when I worked at Begley, Stuart and Harris in Denver, I assisted on many commercial projects. But as time went on, I quickly realized that both my residential and commercial designs were, and still are, for clients who are more open-minded to an aesthetic that is typically unconventional.”
He stared at her, and she felt as though he was testing her in some way.
“It sounds like you and I may have a similar vision,” he began, sounding strangely hesitant. “However, you should know, I still have a few more architectural firms who will also be pitching this project over the next several weeks.”
Liza’s heart sank, and she felt her willpower start to lag.
Competition. Something she loathed and welcomed at the same time. Although she was dying to know the names of the other firms he was considering, she wouldn’t dare ask.
“I understand. Thank you for your time,” she uttered.
Her voice felt muffled to her ears, as if her throat were lined with cotton. Rejection always hurt, whether personally or professionally, and she didn’t think she would ever get used to it.
Liza turned her back on him, put her renderings in her portfolio case and zipped it up. When she turned around, his eyes were curious, leaving her to wonder what he truly thought about her.
Dr. Marbet walked her to the door but stopped short of opening it.
“You know you can try to hide it, but I can tell you’re disappointed.”
She parted her lips in shock at his words, and at his gentle tone, but he was completely right. There was no use in denying it: she’d wanted to walk out of his office with the project, not empty-handed.
“You can?” she asked, raising a brow. “How can you tell?”
Dr. Marbet chuckled. “I’m not a mind reader, but I can read faces pretty well. When you’re disappointed, your lips turn down at the corners just slightly.”
She felt her face get hot with embarrassment, and she covered her mouth with her hands. “They do not.”
He chuckled a little. “Defend your lips all you want, but I know you thought you’d be the only one I’m considering for this project.”
Though his words hit hard, his voice was light and teasing, causing her to wonder if he was playing with her feelings.
Liza smiled and shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “That’s because I know I’m the best. I’d like to prove it to you. One can always hope, right?”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled, opening the door. “I’ll be in touch. You’re not out of the running yet.”
Yet.
That lovely three-letter word left her future hanging by a string, but instead of making her quake with fear, this time she felt empowered because it meant she still had a chance to succeed.
She started to walk out, and then turned around to catch him watching her again.
“I probably shouldn’t be asking this, but what made you change your mind about interviewing me in the first place?”
“Let’s just say it was a promise I made to an old friend.”
The waves of the Pacific Ocean tumbled onto the sand as Anthony jogged along the Bay Point shoreline just after sunrise. He’d pulled a double shift at the hospital and had been on his feet over twenty-four hours. His muscular thighs screamed for relief through the first mile, easing up only slightly during the second.
The beach was one of his favorite places to run, and lately, to escape.
He took in deep gulps of air as his feet kicked up wefts of sand. Running, no matter what the surface, usually cleared his mind and relieved the constant stress that went with the job of being a physician. His demanding schedule at the hospital meant he didn’t have a lot of bandwidth for himself, so he treasured his time alone.
But today he wasn’t alone. She was in his thoughts.
Liza Sinclair. The attractive architect had impressed him with her confidence, her design portfolio and her never-ending curves. And if he’d had the opportunity to sleep in the hours since he’d met her, he figured she would have invaded his dreams, too.
There wasn’t a picture of her on her website, which he thought was a bit odd, and he hadn’t been sure what to expect when she arrived for her appointment. So when he opened his office door and saw how beautiful she was, he instinctively knew he was in trouble.
Liza’s clear, mocha-hued skin looked fresh and appealing. To his discerning eye, she was a natural beauty. The kind of looks his patients paid thousands of dollars to achieve with expensive fillers and invasive surgery.
He remembered staring into her eyes. The