Rory: Hope City, Book 7 by Maryann Jordan (golden son ebook TXT) 📗

she walked into her bedroom, she stopped at her dresser and unfastened the clasp on her diamond bracelet, her fingers shaking as she gently placed it into her small jewelry box. “A lady should always treat their jewelry carefully, showing respect to the one who gave it to them.”

A ragged breath slipped between her lips as she moved into the bathroom and stepped into the shower while the water warmed. Steam billowed over the shower curtain, but she ignored the little pinprick stings as the water pelted her skin. Dragging her nails through her scalp, she washed her hair.

Exhausted from the tumultuous emotions, she stepped out onto the plush bath rug to dry off. Wrapped in a towel, she glanced into the bathroom mirror as she pulled a wide-toothed comb through her hair. Her hand stopped its motion, comb still in the air, and she stared. No makeup. Pale complexion. Large blue eyes.

Her gaze stayed pinned on her reflection, and her chest began to move rapidly as her breath heaved. “What’s wrong with you?” she whispered toward the mirror. Her chin quivered, and she swallowed deeply again, trying to keep the tears at bay. “A lady never allows herself to wallow in self-pity.”

Anger flared and she dashed the moisture from her eyes. “Stop it,” she ordered her reflection. “He was never anything special. Rory is just a guy. Just like any other guy.”

Turning quickly, she moved into the bedroom where she dropped the towel and pulled on flannel pajamas before climbing into bed. Lying awake, she continued to tell herself that Rory McBride was no one special. Finally, hours later, she fell asleep to more words from her grandmother: “A lady might lie to others but should never lie to herself.”

6 Four Months Later

“Okay, team, it’s go-time.” Sandy glanced at two of her employees, Todd, another interior designer, and Barbara, an assistant and interior decorator.

The three stood on the sidewalk and lifted their gazes upward. Partridge Tower was one of the new jewels being completed in Hope City. Located downtown near the harbor, the owners had managed to buy two city blocks, one with a small warehouse and another with old row houses, and have them demolished. How they managed to get past City Hall’s historical preservation ordinances she had no idea. But that was not her concern. As soon as the building began, she’d angled to get the account for interior design.

A sixteen-story high-rise, the Partridge Tower had offices on the first eight floors and condos on the next eight. She knew the one and two-bedroom condos were already being sold at prices that were close to a million each. The upper luxury penthouses would easily be sold for almost two million. While interesting, those were not part of her portfolio. Her specialty was office design, and snagging the contract for the eight floors of offices was a dream come true.

The building exterior was complete as was much of each individual floor. The tile was laid, the outer walls and windows finished, plumbing and electricity installed. The designer for the condos was working to have them built to order for clients who had already bought and others built as models for future owners. Sandy was having to do the same with the floors for offices.

Looking at Todd and Barbara, she grinned. “Ready?”

“Absolutely,” Todd said. “I’d do a happy dance right here on the sidewalk if I didn’t think I might get arrested.”

Laughing, they pushed through the thick glass doors and entered the opulent lobby. The first floor was only partially finished at this time. When she’d interviewed for the office design account, she’d met with the elder Mr. Albert Partridge and his son, Anthony, at their headquarters. Now, the building was only open for those who needed to gain entrance, and the massive lobby was empty except for a receptionist.

Sandy’s heels clicked and echoed across the marble tile as they approached the polished wood and brass reception desk. An attractive brunette with a pin attached to her lapel declaring her name to be Heather smiled as she greeted the three.

“Good morning. Welcome to Partridge Tower. How may I help you?”

“Good morning. I’m Ms. Carmichael from Carmichael Designs, and these are my associates, Mr. Patterson and Ms. Scales. We have an appointment with Anthony Partridge.”

“Yes, Ms. Carmichael. He’s expecting you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to his working conference room, and he’ll be along in just a few minutes. He was called up to one of the floors but directed me to make sure you have everything you need.”

They followed Heather into a large, well-appointed room, obviously a transitional office space. After accepting bottles of sparkling water from Heather, they pulled out drawings and sketches, placing them on the large table in the middle of the room. Barbara worked quickly, while Todd preferred to make sure each sketch was presented in the order he wanted. Sandy smiled, admiring the way the two of them had quickly acclimated to each other.

Just as they finished, Anthony Partridge walked into the room. Tall and fit, his light brown hair was neatly trimmed, swept to the side. Knowing the type of men’s salon he probably patronized, he would have paid more for his one haircut than most men do in an entire year—or several years. His nails were buffed, as shiny as his shoes. And his navy suit was expensive. She recognized the cut and style, and once again knew no expense was spared in his appearance.

Anthony walked directly to her, his arms extended as he bent as though to kiss her cheek. Not her preferred method for being greeted on a professional level, but Anthony’s parents had socialized with her father at one time, obviously giving him the idea that a friendly greeting was acceptable. Stepping back, she smiled politely and stuck her hand out, catching him in the stomach as he bent forward. Jumping slightly, he clasped her hand in both of his, holding it longer than was