Passion By Design

By Rifi Strawn

She’s designing his home, but he has designs on her.

When Houston interior designer Shana Coltrane pursues her dream job in the prestigious River Oaks neighborhood, she has no idea the historic Mediterranean mansion she’s been dying to make over belongs to billionaire Terrance Kensington—the same jerk who crashed

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rifi Strawn
• Release date: May 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733715805

Book preview

Chapter One

Dark clouds hovered above Houston. Streaks of lightning flashed with claps of thunder loud enough to make her heart stop. Breaking news on the radio blared, Severe thunderstorm warnings until midnight with potentially damaging winds and hail. Interior designer Shana Coltrane gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Oh, God, please let this traffic move. I just drove off the dealer’s lot.

Sporadic raindrops triggered the automatic windshield wipers of her new BMW SUV. She blocked bad memories of torrential rains during the recent hurricane and searched the GPS for a faster route home. Damn. The side streets were congested too. If it rained nonstop, this time, she’d get stranded in a luxury SUV instead of her home.

Caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic, she groaned at the fresh bite marks around her red-painted nails. Her attempt at breaking a nervous habit seemed useless today. She’d rather watch the scary weather on TV, cuddled on her living room sofa than have to drive through it.

Her cell phone rang, but she ignored the unknown number on the navigation screen. It was probably the relentless furniture rep she’d chatted with yesterday. Her design firm didn’t have the money to invest or the wealthy clients to sell his high-end items to now that the River Oaks opportunity was lost.

She cringed at the constant ringing. Maybe the couple she’d interviewed with earlier had changed their minds to hire her. She couldn’t afford to miss any calls. God only knew how badly she needed a good paying job.

Hopeful, she pressed the button to accept the call. Shana Coltrane speaking, how may I help you? Her upbeat, professional greeting showed no sign of her distress or irritation.

I’m beyond help, baby, a sexy male voice moaned.

She let out a nervous laugh. Drew, is that you? Only her best friend and business partner joked with her like that.

He chuckled. Yes, it’s me. Ah-ha…I had you going there, didn’t I?

You big goofball, I almost didn’t answer your call. Where are you calling from?

I’m using my friend’s business phone while mine charges at his office. Did you get the job? He expected her to say yes. She’d nailed the mock sales pitch to him earlier at the showroom.

"No. The couple loved all my ideas, but I realized too late they wanted to barter my time in exchange for their high-profile job and some promised referrals. I can’t afford to barter; I’ve got bills to pay." She laughed with bittersweet emotions.

Barter? That’s a first. What a bummer.

I know. All that work for nothing.

She eyed the stack of furniture catalogs and fabric samples in the front passenger seat with disappointment. She’d spent countless hours gathering information and pictures for the presentation. Her customized ideas and plans for that house couldn’t be reused for another job.

Why do rich people always have strings attached to their jobs? And why is it the ones who really need our help the most resist it? If only those socialites would’ve turned us loose in their sad, outdated mansion with a blank check and our creative imagination, we could’ve turned their home into the neighborhood gem it deserves to be.

Oh, well…don’t fret, there will be others. Drew sighed. I don’t understand why they didn’t hire you; they have plenty of money to pay you without having a barter.

She ran her fingers through her long hair. Maybe my new Vuitton purse fooled them into thinking I was one of them like I didn’t need the money. She bit her tongue before revealing she’d also bought a new BMW to impress the socialites. Her plan to surprise Drew with the luxury SUV and a lucrative job had backfired.

In silence, Shana dealt with buyer’s remorse. Now she wished hadn’t gotten reeled into the new car salesman’s pitch to upgrade her successful designer image to get the high paying jobs. When the old Tahoe leaked oil this morning, she worried about it staining the wealthy socialite’s expensive driveway and had it checked out by a mechanic. He said the transmission was about to go out; she was better off selling it.

Before she got stranded on a busy street, she traded her old SUV for the BMW. The zero percent financing with no down deal that had enticed her was about to give her a panic attack with no new job on the horizon.

Honey, if you’d showed your hot lips and tits, the husband would’ve found a way to keep you on the job.

She chuckled. Drew always joked to cheer her up. What are you, my decorating pimp now?

Just giving you other options.

If only my loyal clients—who I love and adore—had the money to finish their jobs, I wouldn’t have to chase after the rich ones.

You know they can’t keep us in business forever. Next time collect the consultation fee in advance. As I’ve said before, you’re way too generous with your time. Don’t give away your creative ideas for nothing.

You’re right, she sighed.

If it weren’t for Drew’s excellent managerial skills, she wouldn’t have lasted five years working in a job she loved. She’d rather tend to the clients, sell furniture, and stock inventory than pay the bills, collect the invoices, and file the taxes. She couldn’t have asked for a more perfect business partner and friend.

The mess of unpaid bills under the fabric samples in the backseat only added to her stress. I was counting on the River Oaks job to cover the mortgage and utility bills at the showroom. Do we have enough money in the account to pay them?

Yes. But next month could be tricky if we don’t get a new job soon…one that pays.

It was time to follow up on those client referrals. The small jobs paid the bills, but they needed the big ones to keep the business afloat. For once I’d love to have a project that gives us free rein creatively, one without a tight budget. I’m starting to doubt if there’s a perfect client for us in this large city.

Don’t give up. You know there’s no designer in Houston more talented, charming, or beautiful than you…

You’re biased.

Drew changed the subject. Enough about work. Come ride out the storm with my friends and me at Lupe’s; it’s still happy hour.

Don’t tempt me. I’m starving. I didn’t have time to eat breakfast or lunch today. I was too busy to take a break from work. She rubbed her growling stomach. I’m so hungry I could eat an entire basket of chips and salsa and a full order of beef fajitas.

Her plan to veg out on the sofa at home and watch TV quickly changed. The leftover pasta in her fridge from a new restaurant wasn’t going to taste any better today. She’d have a quick dinner and then go home to catch up on work.

Hurry up and get here. Drinks and dinner on me tonight.

You talked me into it. She smiled. Save me a spot.

Okay. Be careful driving in this rain. Drew ended the call.

~*~

She maneuvered the SUV toward the off ramp and settled into the far-right lane. After a quick check in the vanity mirror, she grabbed the makeup kit from her black Vuitton bag. Keeping a close eye on the traffic, she applied bright red lipstick to her full lips and brushed her hair to look her best for happy hour.

If she was lucky, Drew would bring his cute friend to happy hour again. Last time, they’d chatted and laughed until the restaurant closed down. Too bad he lived so far away or she’d ask him out. Hmm…maybe she was getting desperate. Had it really been six months since her last date?

Her exit was only a mile away when the traffic came to a complete stop. She hit the brake. A strong jolt slammed her forward and then back again amid the sounds of breaking glass and crushing metal. She sat dazed by a near knockout punch in the face from the steering wheel airbag. She blew out deep breaths to calm her nerves and pushed the billowing fabric away. What the hell! she cried in panic.

After a quick check in the rearview mirror, her worst fear confirmed. Damn it. She’d been hit! Had her luck run out? All those years in the old Tahoe and she’d never had a wreck. Cautiously, she opened the door into the busy traffic to assess the damage.

Soft raindrops pattered on her face and body as she walked to the back of the SUV. Devastated at the sight of her crushed bumper and tailgate, she glared at the grandiose Hummer that had rammed her. That big hunk of black steel and chrome barely had a dent on it.

Arms crossed, Shana waited for the jerk behind the wheel to get out. Impatient drivers drove their cars around her. Pinning herself to the side of her SUV, she yelped when a car’s brakes screeched as it dodged her.

~*~

Terrance Kensington slammed his hands on the steering wheel and glanced at the stunned woman standing in front of his hood. Why had he let that distress call from work distract him from his driving? A deal he’d counted on closing today had fallen apart and now this.

He stepped out of the Hummer to check on the driver as images of a devastating accident in his past flashed through his mind. Rain peppered his navy suit and wingtips as he approached her. You okay, miss? he asked in his deep voice.

Her silence made him nervous. She could’ve suffered a concussion. Hidden behind his dark Gucci sunglasses, he scanned her tall, fit body for broken bones or bloody wounds. As far as he could see she had none. He took another look at the smeared red lipstick on her mouth. Hmm…it was just makeup. Should I call 911?

No, I’m fine, but look what you’ve done to my new car. She glared at the phone in his hand. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d paid more attention to the road. You better have good insurance.

His head dropped in regret. I’m so sorry. Terrance refrained from defending himself since he was at fault. If he wasn’t careful, she could sue him for more than the car damages. Diffusing her anger with a promise to fix her BMW, he gave her his business card and insurance information. I’ll personally see to its repair as soon as possible. Just call my cell if you have any trouble with my insurance.

Okay, I will. She tossed his cards in the BMW’s backseat to keep them dry.

He checked out the damage to both vehicles. Her rear bumper and tailgate were completely smashed in, and his Hummer had a few dents and scratches on the front chrome grill. This could’ve been a lot worse had I been driving faster.

Easy for you to say, she huffed.

He picked up her wet temporary license tag that had fallen off her rear bumper. Glancing at today’s date, he felt a pang of guilt. Sympathetic to her loss now, he justified her anger. He’d act the same if someone hit his new car on the first day he bought it. Miss, I think this belongs to you. He gave her the soggy tag.

Asshole, she yelled and took it.

There’s no need for insults; I said I'd fix your car. No amount of money or a potential lawsuit was worth losing his dignity over.

I wasn’t talking to you. She pointed to the sleazy driver slowly driving by, staring at her body.

Douche! Terrance shouted in the direction of the car.

He shook his head in disgust and glanced at the angry woman. The poor lady was soaking in the rain. No wonder the driver checked her out. Her short skirt and silk blouse stuck to her hot body like glue. What man didn’t like a beautiful woman getting wet in the rain? From what he could see, she had it all including a fiery temper. Huh. She was just his type.

Harnessing his distracting thoughts, Terrance turned his head the other way and called the police. Okay…thank you. He ended the call.

Shana stepped forward with her crossed arms. When are they coming?

He slipped the phone into his suit coat pocket. It’ll be a while before they get here for this fender bender. The officer on the phone suggested we should file the accident report ourselves at the police station for faster service. It’s two miles down the road. Why don’t you follow me there?

No, thanks. I’d rather wait here for the police. She’d seen enough news stories and scary movies to know better than to follow a stranger anywhere.

Suit yourself. Waiting here is dangerous. An out-of-control car could spin and hit you on this slippery road. You have my information. I’m filing the report at the police station with or without you. He took a few pictures with his phone for evidence.

Shana waved both hands to stop him when he slid behind the wheel. She couldn’t let him flee from the accident scene. What if he was lying about going to the station? Better follow him. Hey! Wait for me.

She knew the police station he referred to. Last month she’d upgraded a law firm’s offices close to it. After a quick glance at his expensive clothes and shoes, she let her guard down a bit. He dressed like those attorneys and drove a modified Hummer that Tom Cruise could’ve driven in a Mission Impossible movie. Maybe she could trust him.

Before sliding behind the wheel, Shana brushed her sopping wet clothes and eyed the pristine leather seat. Just her luck today, her black skirt could run dye and stain it. Without another thought, she grabbed a fabric sample from the front passenger seat and spread it out. A piece of linen would be a hell of a lot cheaper to replace than reupholstering the leather.

Cold, hungry, and wet, she followed him to the station. The new car scent she’d loved earlier was a reminder of her misfortune. She wiped tears from her cheeks. Why does this have to happen to me? she cried.

~*~

On the way to the station, Terrance brushed the rain off his suit with his hands. It was probably ruined. He reached for the clean golf towel in the backseat and dabbed dry his hair and face. He checked the rearview mirror to see if the woman still followed him. Blinded from the glare of her bright lights, he flipped it. She must not know she had them on since she just bought her SUV.

In case she was being hostile and planned to sue him, he needed legal advice on how to handle her at the police station. He made the call. After assuring his attorney friend he wasn’t injured, he gave him the facts about the accident. She’s a real piece of work.

Is she hot?

"Oh yes—she’s hot, sassy, and feisty, and no, I’m not getting her phone number for you. He smiled at his recently divorced friend. I don’t care how hot she is; I’m not letting her run all over me. What’s the worst-case scenario? I don’t need another prolonged problem on my schedule."

The only thing she can get you for is whiplash. She can sue you for it anytime. It’s hard to fight because doctors can’t disprove the pain. She can claim a stiff neck or chronic sore back muscles that keep her from working, sleeping, or sitting for long periods of time. Here in Texas, she can make a claim up to two years after the accident.

Are you kidding me?

Nope. Just don’t get chummy with her at the station, or she’ll figure out you have money to drain in a big settlement, he warned.

Thanks for the advice. I’m at the police station; I gotta go.

~*~

Shana eyed the long line in the brightly lit room at the station. Phones buzzed, and officers took statements from witnesses and victims. Tempted to leave, she avoided eye contact with seemingly shady characters.

The jerk walked in the door, brushing the rain from his hair and suit. His presence gave her comfort, knowing he’d suffer with her in line. It was a little consolation. He’d ruined her SUV, and if it wasn’t for him, she’d be at happy hour right now enjoying a margarita, chips, and salsa, and having a good time with friends.

Terrance stood behind Shana in line. She ignored him with a stiff upper lip. Good. He didn’t want to talk with her either. Her sweet perfume surrounded him. It reminded him of the blooming orange blossoms in his garden that he loved. Too bad he couldn’t hold her in his hands like those fragrant flowers to enjoy her scent.

Hands tucked in his pockets, he gazed at the back of her damp hair and toned, fit body. If she looked this good at her worst, she must be a real knockout all dolled up. No doubt, she was the most beautiful woman he’d seen all day…maybe all month. All year?

At the sound of a growling stomach, he rubbed his flat belly. Nope. It wasn’t him; it must be her. Smiling, he leaned forward with a whisper in her ear. May I get you something to eat or drink from the vending machine? I’m hungry too.

Without looking back at him, Shana gasped. No, thanks.

Arms crossed, she waited her turn. When the officer called their names, she rushed to the counter, nervous about losing her place. Hurriedly, she filled out the forms and submitted them. Can I leave now?

No. We may have more questions for you to answer. You can’t leave until Mr. Kensington is done. The busy officer pointed her to an empty chair where she could wait.

Lips pressed together, she sat staring at him. He chatted with the officer as if they were old friends. Are you kidding me? He wasn’t even filling out his forms. How come no one offered her the same service? Skeptical of his sunglasses still on his face, she gave him an overall look. Who wore them inside a well-lit room at night? What was he hiding?

She sighed with relief when the officer released them both.

Be careful driving home, Mr. Kensington, said the policewoman. My eyes are sensitive to dye after a routine eye exam too. You’re legal to drive with eyes dilated, but that doesn’t mean it’s a smart thing to do.

Terrance adjusted his sunglasses. Thank you for the warning.

Shana sighed. The blind bat probably didn’t see her when he hit her. She noticed him shake hands and thank everyone who helped him with the forms. What was he—a politician? If he was after the female vote, he could forget about hers.

She heard his footsteps follow her in the parking lot. She had nothing nice to say to him on an empty stomach after a bad day. He better not hit on her. Quickly, she opened the car with a remote and slid behind the wheel. A hand prevented the door from closing. What are you doing? Leave me alone!

He leaned forward to face her. For the record, wrecking your new BMW wasn’t on my agenda today. Again, I’m so sorry I hit your car. He released the door.

Shana slammed it shut and drove off. If he thought he could charm his way out of this accident with good manners and an apology, he could forget about fooling her. Not the least bit tempted to join her friends for happy hour, she drove past the exit for the restaurant and went straight home.

She was in no mood to socialize in wet clothes. It was a good thing Drew didn’t insist on her coming when she texted him about her change in plans. She would’ve ruined his happy hour with her bad news.

~*~

That night, Terrance sat up in bed drenched with sweat from a nightmare. In the dream, he saw a woman begging him to save her life at the site of a head-on collision. The scene repeated over and over again until he woke up. Shana was in his head. Oh, God, he’d almost killed her too.

Chapter Two

Shana woke up around three o’clock in the morning with a severe headache. Gently, she pressed the swollen bump on her forehead with her fingers. Goodness. It had grown to twice its size. Maybe she should’ve listened to the jerk and gone to the ER.

After standing in that long line at the police station, she didn’t have the patience to wait again for a busy doctor to examine her. She’d hoped the over-the-counter painkillers would help, but this was something much more serious.

Just her luck today, her gamble with her health could end up killing her. If she died of a rare brain aneurysm in her sleep tonight, Mom and Dad would be devastated to lose their only child. Drew would miss her every day at work.

Shedding a tear, she attended her small but thoughtful funeral with her overworked imagination. Mom cried inconsolably, and Dad held her in his arms with a sad face that would never smile again. Drew’s heartwarming eulogy even made her cry. Okay…if her headache didn’t go away by morning, she’d visit a doctor at one of those urgent care places. It would be selfish of her to deprive the people who loved her of her existence.

Hmm…Maybe the bump was turning her into a narcissist.

Obsessed with fixing the BMW, she studied the jerk’s insurance card. She’d never heard of his company. What if he’d given her bogus information? She grabbed the laptop from the top of the nightstand and tucked two pillows behind her back for support. It could be a long night.

After browsing every search engine, Shana closed the laptop with a sinking heart. There was no mention of his insurance company anywhere. He’d conned her. Why hadn’t she confirmed his verification document in front of the enamored female police officer? He’d probably distracted her with his charm and smooth talking so she wouldn’t pay attention to his details. It was a good thing she didn’t buy his sugar coated apology.

Shana put the insurance card aside to call during work hours on Monday and hoped for the best. She picked up his business card and gave it a skeptical look. It could be fake too. He’d spared no expense on the embossed lettering and the custom company logo. Tempted to call his cell, she punched the numbers on her phone but changed her mind. Not a good idea. At this time of the night, he might think she was hitting on him.

An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she lay back in bed with his business card in hand. She scoffed at his fancy title. Big deal. I’m CEO of my interior design firm too. She tossed it on the floor and removed the warm comforter. Pretending to sleep was useless. Her troubled mind wouldn’t let her relax.

She stood in a hurry, and the room spun. Whoa. This had never happened before. She sat back on the bed. When she felt better, she went to the bathroom medicine cabinet and grabbed the painkiller. The directions said to repeat the dose every six hours. No wonder her head hurt. She’d taken the last pill eight hours ago.

Shana took the required dose with a full glass of water. Feeling weak, she considered she might be hungry and dehydrated. Had it really been a day since she’d eaten? She ate the crackers she’d picked up from the restaurant in her purse. Twenty minutes later, she was feeling better again.

Searching for a distraction from her troubles, she picked up the neglected to-do list off the vanity counter and prioritized it. First, she must trim the overgrown climbing roses next to the garage. Last night, their thorny branches scraped against both sides of the BMW when she parked it inside.

If she had to do it over, she wouldn’t plant those roses so close to the garage. She’d tried to copy the house from the River Oaks garden tour. She liked how the door framed with flowers looked. What was she thinking? She didn’t have a full-time gardener to maintain the look.

Comfortable in her baggy jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of old sneakers, Shana pushed the back door open. No one was up at four o’clock in the morning in her quaint and historic neighborhood.

Arms crossed, she rushed to the detached garage of her twenties red-brick cottage. The eerie quiet gave her the creeps. She’d always worked outside in daylight when the neighbors mowed their yards, children played, or barking dogs chased passing cars in the tree-lined street.

The garage door creaked open. The BMW sat jammed packed with her home improvement tools and garden supplies. Her old-style garage wasn’t built for large SUVs of today. She barely fit it in the small space with a low ceiling.

She dragged the old wooden ladder from the garage to trim the unruly thorny branches posing a hazard to her new car. Her foot secured on the top rung, she snipped away. Ouch, she yelped and picked out a big thorn from her thumb.

Just like her design jobs, the fragrant pink clusters of roses came with their challenges to enjoy too. She slipped her hands in a pair of leather gloves before stuffing the sharp clippings into garden bags. An hour later, five bags sat next to each other by the curb. Wow. She had some trimming to do.

From the street, she admired her newly painted turquoise front door. It complimented the green slate roof and made her house stand out among the rest of the cottages in the neighborhood. Even the drab red brick she’d considered painting over now popped with the bright colors. It was flattering that some of the neighbors had asked her help to spruce up their homes too.

Shana returned to the garage and got busy organizing. Dumping old paint cans and tools she didn’t need, she created more space to park the BMW. It couldn’t sit out in the driveway like the old Tahoe. She’d signed four-years of her life away to pay for this investment.

She tucked the ladder back in the garage next to the other, wishing she didn’t have to keep either one. The ten-footer with the paint splatters came in handy to reach the cathedral ceilings and change light bulbs in the house. The six-footer with the caked-on mud, she used to trim the tall hedges. If she didn’t do the home improvements herself, she couldn’t afford to live in a nice community so close to town and work.

Her heart beat faster from the loud rustling in the neighbor’s bushes. Something or someone was hiding in them. Hand on her thumping chest, she froze. Where was old Barkley when she needed him? Daily, her eighty-year-old neighbor’s gray and white schnauzer woke her up with his barking at five in the morning like an alarm.

Swallowing her dry throat to moisten it, she worked up the nerve to take a closer look at the bushes. Suddenly, a fast-moving dark object lunged at her. Too shocked to scream, she ran backward, tripped on the uneven old concrete driveway, and fell on her butt.

Get out of here! She tossed a pebble at the hissing