Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

Driving the familiar route home, my brain goes into autopilot. I try to focus my thoughts on the new project, but thinking about work does nothing to get Olena off my mind. Having looked at her portfolio, there’s no denying those before and after photos were truly impressive—unlike anything I’ve seen before. And I’ve worked with plenty of designers. Those images were not what I was expecting. Or, if I’m honest, what I was hoping for.

What I was hoping for was to be able to justify ignoring the undeniable pull drawing me to Olena, from the first moment she stalked angrily over to my truck in the rain to her rambling apology after Charles left. I was hoping to discover she was, well, uninteresting. Just a pretty face. I’m a grown man with self-control, after all, and I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women without losing my senses. On top of that, I know professional relationships need to be kept at an arm’s length so the job runs smoothly.

But a stunning woman with a stunning mind? That’s going to be much harder to ignore.

If anything, knowing she’s brilliant just makes me want to stand a bit closer, stare a bit longer… It makes me want to get to know her, to figure her out. I think about watching her absentmindedly fidgeting with her pen while Charles talked, as well as the adorable way she couldn’t shut up when trying to explain all the reasons she’d lost her mind this morning in the rain. I’m smiling again now, picturing that fiery intensity under very different circumstances.

Realizing with a jolt that I’ve nearly missed my turn, I pull the truck sharply onto the sleepy rural road that leads to my house in the woods. Fuck. Get it together, man.

I run a hand over my beard. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve driven this route home from the Harwoods’ on Dogwood Road a thousand times. I give my head a shake and blow out a breath. Right, the Harwoods… Thinking of John and Susan, I make another mental note to thank them for the referral. This is going to be a pretty lucrative project for me and my crew. And with Olena’s unique talent on board…

Olena. She flashes in my mind again. Her flushed cheeks as she bit her lip… My rational brain is failing miserably at keeping my thoughts professional.

Oh God. I’d only met her this morning and I already want to do unspeakable things to her.

I pull the truck into the driveway of my secluded log cabin home and kill the engine. I take a moment to look at the place, wondering, before I can stop the thought, what Olena would think of my house. It’s beautiful here, overlooking the river’s edge. Would she like the rustic, cabin-in-the-woods vibe?

I shake my head. Why does it matter? She’s just your colleague.

Gathering my notes and sketches, I climb out of the truck and exhale a long breath, rubbing my forehead. I’m going to have to find a way to work with her—very closely, as Charles had said—without letting myself get distracted. For weeks.

Locking up the truck, I head for the front porch. My ten-year-old Golden Retriever, Murphy, lumbers toward me slowly from his semi-permanent perch there. I crouch down, giving him a good scratch behind the ears.

“Thanks for waiting, buddy. Let’s go get some lunch.”

He yawns.

I unlock the front door and Murphy trails inside behind me. I hang my keys on the hook and kick off my work boots, heading to the kitchen to grab some leftovers. Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for my food to reheat. The microwave buzzes, the dish inside rotating hypnotically. I stare past it, frowning, trying yet again to get my head on straight about this new job.

Lunch in hand, I settle onto the couch and let out a sigh as I look around the room. I like my routine here, just me and Murphy. Our life is predictable and comfortable. Uncomplicated.

But, after this morning, something tells me I’ll need to figure out how to keep Olena from becoming a major complication.

8

OLENA

“Glad you could make it; was the commute hellish?” Sam winks at me, reaching out for a hug. I embrace him tightly, rocking us side to side in the small apartment hallway. Balloons and streamers hang from the corners of the ceiling in the kitchen and living room nearby.

“Oh, just brutal, all ten feet from my bedroom.” I pull back, sporting a sarcastic deadpan expression, then break into a grin as I squeeze his hand. “Happy birthday, darling. You don’t look a day over twenty-five. What’s your secret?”

Sam’s youthful glow is enviable. “Asian genes and overpriced skin care products.” He adjusts his Happy Birthday tiara with a coquettish pout and smooths down his silky black hair.

We crack up and head over to the kitchen where Wyatt is busy using every pot and pan in our possession, stirring and flipping a variety of dishes. The aromas wafting through the apartment are already making my mouth water.

“Wyatt, you’re killing me; it smells so good in here.” I put my arm around his shoulders and give him a squeeze.

He glances at me quickly before returning his attention to the multiple pans and bowls sprawled out in front of him. “Beats crackers and cheese, right?” he teases me pointedly with a raised eyebrow. I’m famous for treating every meal like a picnic.

“Oof, shots fired,” says Sam from behind us as he loads a small plate with appetizers from the kitchen table. “Let’s save the drama for hearing about Olena’s new hunky lumberjack.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively at me, grinning.

“Sam!” I exclaim in alarm. “He’s not my hunky lumberjack!” I try to keep my cool. “He’s not my anything, either. Except maybe my coworker,” I say primly.

Sam rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s a landscaper, too, by the way, not a lumberjack,” I add, a bit defensively.

“That’s not what I heard from Wyatt,” Sam says.