Designing Paradise

Unexpected Detour

Great, just great!

I'm meeting Justus Almeida a lot earlier than planned. The resort owner, whom I'm about to spend considerable time working with on the redesign project, looks at me like I'm a crazy person, and, quite frankly, I feel like one.

Brushing a stray bloody hair out of my face, I take a moment to see him outside those professional photos in the files Monica, his PR agent, and my colleague had sent me. I don't know why I didn't recognize him. It could be because he's even more captivating in person: tall with striking features and a hint of amusement in those deep-set eyes. I mentally scold myself; this is NOT the time to appreciate the aesthetics of the man I just embarrassingly had a car accident in front of.

"Seems like we're off to a smashing start," he quips, the corner of his lips twitching up into a smirk. "No pun intended.”

Perfect, just what I need—a sense of humor just as striking as his face. I push my annoyance aside and try to find my voice, praying it doesn't betray the fluttery feeling.

"Quite the memorable first impression, huh?" I reply, cringing inwardly at the situation. This project is about to get more interesting.

"So, you mentioned you're on your way on vacation when you are really working?" His deep voice inquires.

"Semantics. I plan to stay as a guest for the weekend and start designing on Monday."

"That's hardly a vacation, Jillian."

"Three days is plenty," I respond, dismissing his remark just as the EMTs finally arrive and the police approach us. "I'll be ready to get to work on Monday, Mr. Almeida, I promise you," I assure him, hoping to alleviate any concerns about the project.

He gives me a gentle smile, but there's a hint of seriousness in his eyes. "The design can be discussed later," he says softly, his gaze flickering with concern. "Right now, let's focus on making sure you're okay."

As medical attention is directed my way, and I find myself being questioned by the police, I step away from Justus's commanding presence. But I immediately miss the warmth of his touch.

Nevertheless, he trails after me, answering some of the police officer's questions and narrating his part in the incident. As they prepare to tow my rental car away for repairs, I realize Justus is still lingering, and I haven't called for a ride to the resort.

"Please, don't let me hold you up, Mr. Almeida," I say, distancing myself from him.

"Hey, wait," he calls out, following me. "How are you getting to the resort?"

"I'll call my sister or a ride-share service."

"That won't be necessary, Miss Michaels."

"It's not a big deal. She can be here within an hour...or two, if there are no available rides in the area."

"An hour or two!? What will you do until then?" he exclaims, looking somewhat appalled.

I glance around, finding only a self-service gas station and a cluster of trees. I nearly forgot I'm in the Rocky Mountains in the middle of winter. If I wait for a ride here, I'll likely succumb to hypothermia before it arrives.

"Um, okay, I guess I could walk. The resort is only about a mile away, right?" I suggest, trying to maintain some semblance of independence.

His gaze drops to my feet. "In pumps?"

"What do you know about 'pumps'?"

"I have sisters," he reveals, his lips twitching with amusement.

It strikes me then that he hasn't mentioned a wife or girlfriend. "These are a low heel and—"

"You'll end up hurting yourself in those shoes if the cold doesn't get you first," he interrupts with a chuckle.

I lift my chin defiantly, unwilling to admit defeat. "Stop being stubborn. You know I'm headed to the resort; come with me," he insists, his tone gentle but firm.

The accident scene is clearing, and I find myself standing on the side of the road, alone, with him.

"I—"

"If you're trying to think of a reason to refuse my offer, I'd rather not hear it," he interrupts again, his expression softening with concern.

I arch a brow in response as he picks up my bags and starts walking toward his truck.

"Hey! I didn't say I needed you to give me a ride," I protest weakly.

"You didn't have to," he replies, placing my bags in the back of his truck. "I'm offering, hoping you'll be grateful to reach your 'vacation' before the weekend ends. Can I take your purse and laptop bag?" He reaches for the other bags on my shoulders, placing them with the rest of my luggage.

I resist the childish urge to stick my tongue out as he opens the passenger-side door for me.

"After you, Miss Michaels," he says politely.

"Thank you," I mumble, climbing into his truck's warm, spacious interior.

"You're most welcome," he winks, his tone teasing.

Right now, I'm far from pleased. To put it bluntly, I'm downright infuriated. I'm without my car, and the man sitting next to me, content and drumming his fingers on his steering wheel to the beat of the radio, is largely to blame. I can't afford to lose my cool, though, because, for the upcoming month, he's my client. And frustratingly, he's also incredibly attractive, and my traitorous body is taking notice of his nearness.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"I'm not exactly thrilled at the moment," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Why not?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.

I clear my throat, straining to find the right words to avoid being disrespectful. But forget decorum. I don’t care at this point. "You're quite confident in yourself, aren't you?"

"You make that sound like it's a negative trait."

"I mean it more as an irritation at the moment," I reply tersely.

He gives me a brief glance, his eyes flickering with surprise. "I'm doing you a favor, lady. I'm driving you to your 'vacation,' which in reality, is a work assignment, and you're going to insult me?"

"I'll keep quiet," I mumble, deciding it's not worth engaging in a heated argument. I had envisioned this as a short vacation followed by work; I didn't want to spoil it with unnecessary conflicts, especially not with a future client.