She leaned forward. “We couldswingby after this meeting. You could show me where they want them.”
“Sounds good. And I’m sure whatever you pick will knock their socks off.” He waggled his brows. “Just be sure to only knock off their socks.”
“Forget our collaboration of interior and exterior design. We can hone in on a niche. Our business name will be Fruit Forward Designs. We will cater to all your tropical . . . needs.” She sipped her latte, the creamy bitterness a pleasant contrast to the spiciness of their banter.
His bark of laughter caught the attention of a nearby table of women. Their appreciative glances went unnoticed by Max. Paloma moved to his side of the table—to talk business and not to stake a claim she didn’t have on him. At least, that’s the story she told herself.
“As much as I’d love to continue planning our risqué fruit-themed empire,” she said, glancing at her watch, “we should probably get ready for the Sterlings. They’ll be here any minute.”
Max nodded. “And I wanted to run a change by you before they arrive.”
She listened to his idea but was distracted by the deep timbre of his voice and how he rolled the sleeve of his shirt, showcasing his lovely forearms. His movements exuded confidence, something she was lacking at the moment and, therefore, all the more captivating.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Um . ..” Shit. She was too busy looking at him to hear him. This was why they couldn’t have business and pleasure.
He quirked an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Daydreaming about me again?”
“Only in your dreams," she shot back, taking a quick sip from her mug, hoping he thought her heating cheeks were from the coffee and not from being caught out. “Actually, I was thinking about ordering a muffin.”
“Want me to grab us some?”
“Maybe after. I'm nervous, and my stomach's in knots,” she admitted. “Please explain. I promise I’m listening this time.”
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and re-explained his change. She leaned into her chair, impressed. His idea was good—great, actually.
“Wow, Max. I love it.”
The door to the coffee shop dinged, opening. In strolled an older couple she recognized: the Sterlings. She and Max stood. He moved around the table to stand next to her.
“We apologize for being late,” Linda Sterling said, sinking into the plush chair across from them. “You wouldn’t believe the traffic!”
“Could I see the designs for the second level before the conservatory?” Roy Sterling asked though it sounded more like a demand.
Paloma nodded, keeping her professional smile in place. Not that it mattered since Roy was looking at Max. It seemed Roy was the kind of guy who assumed the man was always in charge.
Max shifted slightly toward Paloma. “You’ll have to talk to Ms. Wagner.”
Roy’s brow furrowed, creating deep lines that spoke of years of skepticism. “She doesn’t work for you?”
“We have separate companies,” Max explained. “But with these joint projects, like yours, she’s the lead, not me. I work for her.”
A flutterrippled through Paloma’s stomach. Damn, why did he have to say it like that? So confident, so unapologetic. She forced her gaze back to the Sterlings, needing to focus on the clients and business, not the inexplicably sexy way her partner made himself her subordinate.
Roy waved a hand like he was swatting away a fly. “I’m listening.”
Paloma took the lead, confident they’d win over Roy. She presented her vision for the interior spaces, giving them the minimalist beach-vibe, they requested. Then, with a graceful segue, she handed the floor to Max.
His eyes lit up as he gestured toward the blueprints spread across the table. “See how the conservatory flows flawlessly to Ms. Wagner’s design for the rest of the main floor?” He traced a finger along the lines. “It’s not just about aesthetics—it’s about functionality.”
“And here,” he pointed at the deck overlooking Grand Traverse Bay, “we’ll incorporate native plants to support local pollinators.”
“We’ll deliver a home that honors both the natural landscape and your vision,” she said, gathering the blueprints with practiced care and meeting Roy’s gaze. “The real gem won’t be only the house—it’ll be how it transforms your everyday living.”
Max nodded, adding, “Each element, from Ms. Wagner’s interior flow to my sustainable conservatory design, works in harmony. Like the bay sculpting the shore, your home will feel like nature herself designed it.”
Linda Sterling straightened in her chair, her earlier fatigue forgotten. “Roy,” she touched her husband’s arm, “did you see how they incorporated all your gardening spaces without sacrificing the water views?”
