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“You can send a consultant, but Oliver is still in charge. Also, I don’t want your decorators. I want to do my own decorating.” My tone is definite. I’m not willing to compromise on this. He knows my vision, and I already hired him.

“No,” the creative director snaps. “We have a vision and an idea of what we want this to be. We have experts in arranging visual appeal. We need to make sure we send the message with every piece and to get the audience to make an emotional connection. They know what works and doesn’t.”

“Well, she’s the talent, and these are her demands?—”

I hold up a hand to stall my agent. “It’s not only about that. I am going to be managing a lifestyle blogging channel. A lot is going to circle around me as the central figure.”

“I’m not doing this if it doesn’t look 100% authentic.”

“It won’t be organic if I’m in a fake homey environment that you create for me. I want to build this studio in a way the public feels it comes from me. When I sit on the couch and talk about the latest thing I want people to try, I want to do it from the place I built. When I have guests and sit to talk to them, I want it to be in the chairs I’ve chosen as they drink from the teacups I’ve selected for them. If I feel natural in my environment, that will translate.”

Everyone is silent, and my phone buzzes with a text from my agent. Well said. Ruthie has been doing that through the whole meeting.

The doorbell rings. Shit, Ollie is here.

“Let’s discuss this a little?—”

I cut off the creative director with a hand in the air.

“Please, hold on. My contractor is here. I’ll be right back.”

With the meeting on mute, I rush out of the room, pausing in the hallway mirror to smooth my hair and apply the lip gloss I’m carrying in my pocket. By the time I get to the door, the excitement courses through me. I’ve been having to postpone this meeting all week, and I so love looking at him. I pause at the door, take a deep breath, then open it.

And drool.

He’s standing there in a camel blazer, an olive-green shirt that plays beautifully against his skin, and jeans. The spicy notes of his cologne send currents of heat to pool past my belly, down my apex, and straight to my pussy. His gaze threatens to incinerate the clothes off my body.

“Hi,” he says and leans in to kiss my cheek. When his lips connect with my skin, I am thinking of other traditions—the ones that have existed for men and women since the beginning of time.

Naked bodies. Garden of Eden. Sex in front of a fireplace on Christmas Eve.

God help me.

“Hi.” I move out of the way. “Come in.”

“I have a lot of stuff to show you and discuss. I want to briefly go over the blueprint to make sure you okay the plans and see if there are any minor adjustments you want to make. Also, I’ve made some arrangements and—” His gaze lands on my pressed lips. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and no. I’m still in a meeting with Big Apple and my agent upstairs. Do you mind setting up over there at the dining table, and I’ll finish my meeting?”

There’s a fleeting frown, but he nods. “I just have somewhere to be in about two hours. I want to make sure we get through this.”

I nod and smile at him. “I’m sorry. I’ll be done soon. Don’t worry. I won’t take up that much of your time.”

His lips flatten. “Okay, no problem.”

“Be right back,” I say and run back up the stairs.

I need to get back soon. I unmute my mic. “I’m back, but as I said at the beginning of the meeting, I have an appointment with the contractor, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“We understand, but we need to iron this out so we are not doing double the work. I consulted with marketing and analytics while you were gone. They have an issue with this. They feel we need to be precise about the space, and while they understand your need for comfort, there’s also the need for profitability.”

“I’m not budging on this.”

A text comes through.

Ruthy

Let’s tread with caution here. You’ll get your way, but let’s not be downright antagonistic.