Lydia entered the building, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness. The hotel had been closed since the property had changed hands, and was a construction site. Lights were on in the lobby, but some remodeling efforts were already underway with the space torn down to the studs.
“Right this way, ma’am.” An older man dressed in crisp blue jeans and wearing a yellow construction hat gestured her toward the back of the lobby where plywood had been laid over the sawdust on the floor. “You must be here for the new owner’s meeting.” At her nod, he extended a hand. “I’m Rick, the foreman.”
She quickened her step, approaching to shake his hand and blinking at the bright white light dangling from an orange electric cord thrown over a nearby exposed rafter.
“Nice to meet you.” She’d learned early in her career to make friends with the site supervisor wherever possible since that person usually had a better handle on the job than whatever upper level manager was put on the project.
“We’ve got you set up at a table in the courtyard.” He gestured to two glass doors in the back leading to a broad space of smooth pavers and manicured landscaping open to natural sunlight. “Just through there.”
“Great.” She straightened the strap on her leather tote and smoothed a hand over her turquoise sheath dress. She wished she’d found a restroom before she left the News Café so she could have touched up her lipstick and checked her hair; she hadn’t expected the conditions at the Foxfire to still be so rough. “It’s a beautiful day to enjoy the outdoors.”
“For another hour, maybe.” Rick chuckled to himself. “You New Yorkers all like the heat until you’re here for a few days in the summer.”
Yes, well. There might be a smidge of truth to that. She’d probably be melting this afternoon. Thanking him, Lydia pushed through the glass door on the right, her eye already picking out a wicker chair off to one side of a large wrought iron table. She was glad to be early so she could pull over the wicker seat and save herself from sitting on wrought iron for however long this meeting lasted.
A small water feature burbled quietly in the open-air courtyard, sending up a soft spray of mist as it tumbled over smooth rocks and landed in a scenic pool surrounded by exotic plantings. Dwarf palms mingled with a few taller species that attracted a pair of squawking green parrots. High up, at the top of the building, a retractable canopy over part of the space dimmed the sun a bit without blocking it completely.
“Lydia.” She turned her head sharply to one side to find the source of the familiar baritone.
She hadn’t heard that voice in over a year. It couldn’t be...
“Ian?” She felt that breathless punch to her gut again, harder than it had been this morning when she’d thought of her lost pregnancy.
Ian McNeill stood in the far corner of the room beside a Mexican-style tea cart laden with silver ice buckets and cold, bottled drinks, his strong arms crossed over his chest. His slightly bronzed skin that hinted at his Brazilian mother’s heritage made his blue eyes all the more striking. His dark hair was short at the sides and longer on top, still damp from a morning shower. He was impeccably groomed in his crisp dark suit, gray shirt and blue tie.
Ian McNeill. The lover who’d broken her heart. The man who’d kept his profile on a matchmaker’s site while he dated her, prompting her to go into the matchmaking business just so she could try her hand at sending horrible dating prospects his way. She’d outgrown the foolish need for vengeance after she’d lost their baby. So it had been an accident when she’d paired Ian’s brother with that famous ballerina.
How much did Ian know about any of that?
“Nice to see you, Lydia,” he said smoothly, approaching her with the languid grace of a lifelong athlete. “A real pleasure to be working with you again.”
His eyes held hers captive for a long moment while she debated what he meant by “pleasure.” The word choice hadn’t been an accident. Ian was the most methodical man she’d ever met.
“I didn’t know—” She faltered, trying to make sense of how she could have taken a job where Ian McNeill played any role. “That is, Jeremy Singer never told me—”
“He and I agreed to exchange peer review services on a couple of random properties—a recent idea we had to keep our project managers on their toes and revitalize the work environment.” Ian brought a bottled water to the table and set it down before tugging over the wicker chair for her. “I was pleased to hear you were in line for this job, especially since you and I work so well together.”
He held the chair for her. Waiting.
Her heart thrummed a crazy beat in her chest. She could not take a job where she’d be working under Ian.
Oh, God.
She couldn’t even think about being under Ian without heat clawing its way up her face.
And, of course, those blue eyes of his didn’t miss her blush. He seemed to track its progress avidly as the heat flooded up her neck and spilled onto her cheeks, pounding with a heartbeat all its own.
When the barest hint of a smile curved his full, sculpted lips, Lydia knew he wasn’t here by accident. It had all been by design. She wasn’t sure how she knew. But something in Ian’s expression assured her it was true.
She opened her mouth to argue. To tell him they wouldn’t be working together under any conditions. But just then the glass doors opened again and the job engineer strode into the room with Rick, the foreman she’d met briefly. Behind them, two other women she didn’t know appeared deep in conversation about the history of the Foxfire, comparing notes about the size of the original starburst sign that hung on the front facade.
Lydia’s gaze flicked to Ian, but the opportunity to tell him what she thought about his maneuvering was lost. She’d have to get through this meeting and speak to Jeremy Singer herself since she couldn’t afford to walk off a job.
But there was no way she could work with the man who’d betrayed her.
Even if he affected her now as much as ever.
Doing his damnedest not to be distracted by the sight of Lydia’s long legs as she sat on the opposite side of the room, Ian paid close attention in the Foxfire meeting, appreciating the favor Jeremy Singer had done by letting Ian step in at the last minute. Having worked with the resort developer on a handful of other projects over the years, Ian understood the man’s style and expectations, so he would offer whatever insights he could on the job site. Since launching his own resort development company on a smaller, more exacting scale than his grandfather’s global McNeill Resorts Corporation, Ian wasn’t normally in the business of overseeing other people’s buildings when he was in a position to design his own. Yet he did enjoy having a hand in specialty public spaces like the foodie-centered resort Singer planned for the revamped Foxfire.
One of the drawbacks of running his own business was less day-to-day focus on his clients’ concerns, building restrictions and the inevitable permit nightmares. Being on-site now and again gave him renewed awareness of the obstacles in his work. So this brief stint at one of Jeremy Singer’s buildings was no hardship.
And the payoff promised to be far greater than the sacrifice of his time.
Ian’s gaze slid to Lydia’s profile as the meeting broke up. She remained in her seat on the opposite side of the room, speaking to a woman in charge of indoor air quality on the job site. The room was full of people who would only play a limited role in the renovation, but Ian had wanted to attend the meeting and get up to speed as quickly as possible. The enclosed courtyard was crowded, too, ensuring Lydia couldn’t walk out the door before he caught up with her.
Her turquoise dress skimmed her slight curves and was accented by a belt with a thin