The Avoidance of Love (The Daniels' Sisters Book 2) (2 page)

I JACK-KNIFED UPRIGHT in bed. As usual, I was sweating and my hair was plastered to my forehead. For fuck sake! I’m thirty-one. You would think at some point I would stop having nightmares about the night my parents died twenty-five years ago. I couldn’t do anything about it then, and I sure as hell can’t do anything about it now. It’s life; shit happens. It happened to my sisters and me, it definitely fucking happened. However, life goes on.

I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. At 5 a.m., I could either stay in bed another hour, or I could get up and get the day started. I know there’s plenty of work on my desk that no one else will do if I just lay here. Ungracefully, I kicked the covers off me and onto the floor, so I wouldn’t be tempted to turn over and go back to sleep.

I looked at the wall opposite my bed and smiled. Post-it notes and pictures torn out of magazines covered the wall. They were images and ideas of my dream home. Daddy would be proud, I hope. He’d been a furniture maker, creating all types of things both traditional and out-of-this-world for the home. He had created beautiful furniture that people seemed so happy to buy. He always said you should put a bit of yourself and love into everything you created. Mum always said that’s why my sisters and I turned out beautiful.

I don’t know when I decided that I was going to build my own home, but once the idea had come to me, I had become fixated it on it. While I was at university completing my architecture degree, if I wasn’t studying, I was looking for a plot of land to build on. At the end of my final year, I found the perfect plot and with the help of my grandparents, who had raised us after my parents died, I was able to buy the land and begin planning my perfect house.

Above all my jumbled up thoughts and dreams was a picture of me with my sisters. I had three younger sisters. Dana was the youngest and the one I probably resembled the most. We were both short like our Mum, with dark brown hair and small facial features. I kept my hair shoulder length, which was practical, whereas the rest of my sisters were not happy unless their hair was scraping the top of their bum. I had very dark brown eyes whereas she had blue eyes like Lana, one of my other sisters.

Lana and Tara are twins. They are not identical except in height. Lana is the supermodel girl with long legs and blonde hair. None of us ever understood how Lana had blonde hair since no one else in the family had it. The family was mostly dark brown with the occasional redhead. Tara had red hair, but that was different. She dyed her hair. Tara had shied away from make-up and all the primping that Lana thought was essential to looking good. More often than not as a teenager, Tara had channeled the lanky dork look whenever possible.

Not long after her eighteenth birthday, Tara changed. She was still my closest sister and my confidante, but something had changed. She’d pretty much lived in Lana’s shadow most of her life, not because she was shy or quiet, but rather because Lana was always the center of attention and the life of any party even when it wasn’t her own. One day she came home, and that was it. She locked herself in a bathroom and dyed her hair in the sink. The next day she threw out most of her clothes and changed her image. She never explained why she had done it, and after a while, we gave up asking.

With that thought, I got up and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the workday. I had almost made it. Just a few more contracts and I’d be able to start building on the plot. I had drawn up the designs myself.

Lana had insisted that she deal with the interior design because she thought if she could dress people up every day to make them look like a million pounds then a house should be no problem at all. Lana worked as a personal stylist to the rich and powerful. A job she excelled at. She was constantly in high demand and able to pick who she worked for and when she wanted to work. All of us achieved nearly perfect grades at school, even Dana who had more reason than the rest of us to flunk out completely. When she should have been enjoying life with her friends she had become a mum with a dickhead of a boyfriend on top.

I WAS AT work and sitting at my desk within an hour, which was perfect since that meant I could get an early start. I had several meetings booked, making a very busy Monday. All I really needed was a cup of coffee to get going. A double shot espresso somewhere had my name on it. At this point, as if his ears were burning, my assistant, Will ‘Coops’ Cooper, popped his head around the door.

“Something told me I wouldn’t be the first one here this morning. I’m just going to drop my stuff at my desk and then run to get our caffeine fix.” Coops looked at me a little longer then frowned. “Nightmare?” I nodded at him with a weak smile. Coops was my assistant, but he was also a very close friend. He’d been with me since I opened my office nearly ten years ago. He’d seen me fall asleep at my desk after working too hard and have nightmares about my parents dying. “I’ll be right back and then you can dish and then we can get on with the day.” He winked before disappearing around the corner.

I had told Coops my parents’ story after the third time he caught me in the middle of a nightmare. It seems like the more stressed I am the more often they happen. After giving me a hug, he shrugged me off and told me at least he knew why I was such a cold, hard-assed bitch to people all the time.

He was my best friend, and he knew it. I was close to my sisters but I didn’t want to be the one to unload more crap on their already full doorsteps. I wanted to be the older sister that they came to and relied on especially since Mum and Daddy weren’t here for them.

I’d gotten so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even hear Coops come back until he was sitting in front of me with my coffee. It smelled so damn good.

“Thanks, Coops.” He was looking at me intently. “I’m fine, really. The usual. We have a lot of work to do. It stresses me out. I have a nightmare. The same cycle as always. You know I’ll be good once we’ve dealt with all the projects.” His look was unrelenting, and I sighed.

“It may be the same cycle, but it’s not a healthy cycle. You need to sort this shit out in your head. Deal with the death, Mara, and find something in your life other than work. It’s not healthy. I’m saying this as your friend. As your colleague, I’m telling you to get your bitch pants on tight because we have so much work to do today; it’s unreal. You’ve got some notorious macho assholes coming on to your books and word on the assistant grapevine is that they’re set on proving you’re not capable of doing your job because you have meat flaps and not a nine steel pole hanging between your legs. You’re pretty much back to back with meetings today and then for the rest of the week you’ve got designs to get finished. Chop chop!”

I smiled and realized he was right. I needed to get on with work. I could deal with issues around my parents death another day, when all my work was done. In the back of my mind, I knew that I always had work to do. I shut the door behind Coops and got to work.

The rest of the day flew by. I was actually buzzing. Most of the meetings were productive and resulted in a few new projects. It was nothing that would give me the dream house, but definitely a step closer. I had one more meeting with a Mr. Bryce, who apparently wanted to discuss a barn conversion somewhere in Essex. I hoped he wanted to do something tasteful. I absolutely hated seeing beautiful buildings torn down and replaced by some completely contemporary monstrosity.

He was already twenty minutes late, and I can’t stand late people. They have no respect for my time and therefore none for me. I have more than enough work to be doing. Another ten minutes passed before Coops popped his head in the doorway. He winced at the look on my face. We did have a telecom system, but we had learned that sometimes, when clients were late, I wasn’t always diplomatic about what I said over it about a client.

“Mr. Bryce is here, Ms. Daniels.” Coops always called me Miss Daniels if a client was present. We both thought it sounded a little odd calling me that between friends, but I had to remain professional. It was bad enough being a female in my field; I didn’t need to give anyone an excuse not to take me seriously.

“Are you still going to see him?” It was a valid question. I’d refused to see people over less. Growing up, Granddad had taught us to never compromise our integrity and lower our standards to please someone else. I leaned back into my chair and sighed.

“Send him in.” Coops face broke into a huge smile, and he rushed back to the reception. It would take Coops a couple of minutes to get back to his desk and show Mr. Bryce in, so I continued reading through my notes.

I heard my office door open, but I didn’t look up until I had finished the paragraph I was reading. Mr. Bryce was . . . well . . . I didn’t really know quite what to say. Normally, clients who walked through my door were older—as in OLD. They were usually the type who had worked hard all their life and were working on projects close to their hearts or simply to expanding on the substantial property they already owned. Mr. Bryce did not look like my usual client.

He couldn’t be much older than I was. I took in the strong chin and perfect nose, and I lost myself for a good minute in his chocolate eyes before finally noticing his matching brown highlighted hair. He was tall and lean with the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen. They made me think about my legs wrapped over them and the things his mouth could do to me, but I quickly shrugged off that depraved thought.

He wore jeans that fit him like a second skin. This was normally not something I found attractive on a man, but it looked very good on him. He had a basic black T-shirt on that molded to his body perfectly; I could see every damn muscle through it. The man was gorgeous. No, he was definitely not my typical client.

When my eyes refocused, he was smiling in amusement at me. I guess it was obvious that I had checked him out, but I really couldn’t care less. Getting to check him out compensated for the thirty minutes he’d made me wait for him.

“Mr. Bryce, please, have a seat.” He remained standing for a moment, staring at me as if he was studying me. Finally, he took a seat, pulled it in as close as possible, and leaned in. I’m not sure if he was trying to intimidate me, but if he was, he really didn’t know whom he was playing with. “How can I help you Mr. Bryce?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Obviously, since you were late, I can’t give you the full consultation that you originally booked, but you are free to leave and make another appointment.” His eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead, no doubt surprised at my curt tone but this was my domain. He quickly recomposed himself and put his smile back on his face.

“I apologize, Miss Daniels. My previous . . . appointment detained me.” Whatever that appointment was, it seemed to amuse him no end by the grin that appeared on his face. As gorgeous as I’d admit—to me—this man was, something about him irritated me more by the minute.

“Why don’t we cover as much as we possibly can in the next thirty minutes and we will see if we need to meet again or not?” I pulled out the emails from Mr. Bryce that Coops had printed off for me. He’d bought a very large plot of land in the countryside and wanted to build a modern mansion on the land, along with what looked like a racetrack. How did I miss that? What the fuck?

“Mr. Bryce, my expertise lies in designing houses. Not race tracks. You might be better off finding another architect to help you. You would need two designers to collaborate and I don’t play well with others.” I put his emails away and stood up to indicate his time was up. It was a shame because his ideas for the actual house seemed interesting, something I would love to sink my teeth into. However, he wanted to incorporate a racetrack on the plot that somehow tied in with the house. The very idea was ridiculous. “Before you leave, ask Mr. Cooper and he will provide you with a list of architects that we recommend.”

He looked confused, but stood regardless. I escorted him to the door and went to shake his hand. Taking my offered hand, he slowly raised it to his lips. I knew what he was about to do, but I didn’t attempt to take back my hand before it happened. He slowly turned my hand over and grazed his lips across my knuckles before kissing it softly. His lips were a caress that I’d never experienced before. I hoped I managed to smother the gasp trying to escape my mouth.

The intercom buzzing behind me suddenly whipped me back into reality and I pulled my hand abruptly from his grasp. “Goodbye, Mr. Bryce.” Before he had a chance to say anything, I shut the door in his face.

I leaned back against the door, scrubbed my hands over my face, and then laughed to myself a little maniacally. It was humorous that the guy had flirted with me like that. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t sorely tempted, but I was too busy to even entertain casual sex at the moment. Things were way too busy. . The smirks he gave me while I was assessing him gave him a slight air of arrogance and confidence that I found less than appealing.

I didn’t do relationships. The occasional encounter maybe, but they were on my terms and conditions. I think if Lana were here, she’d call me the female one-hit wonder. I never saw the same guy twice. More often than not, it was my choice rather than his, but I’d learned that sex made things messy and I didn’t need the complications. There were more important things to life than filling up your head with foolish notions of romance and intimacy. Patrick Coulson had taught me that lesson quickly.