Okaaay.
“Well, are there cheaper—”
He tilts his head, impatience smoothing his expression. “Bridges, honey, we’ve got to be decisive, and beautiful things cost money. Right now, we’ve got botanicals, but if that’s not budget-friendly, say that. I’ve got less elaborate wall coverings, from damasks to large-scale murals, medallions, and paints. Don’t even get me started on fabrics, baby, because silk is just the beginning of the textiles I can—”
CRASH!
The commotion came from downstairs, but Manny, Vincent, and I freeze, listening for movement to pinpoint which room the sound originated in.
At first, the entire manor seems still. Then a stampede of footsteps and voices groan through the floorboards.
The three of us dash into the hall and quickly descend the stairs, following the jumble of chatter until we enter the grand ballroom, and my heart stalls at the double doors.
“Mr. Bridges, we don’t know what happened. They just fell,” one of the guys says.
“We can fix it, no?” asks another.
I walk slowly to the center of the room and crouch down, mentally scouring my contacts to determine where I can, first, find a skilled artisan from whom I can source a half-dozen matching nineteenth-century hand-cut chandelier crystals that’ll preserve the original craftsmanship and historical accuracy of this piece. But then this savior’s got to fit us in—and complete the work—in less than eight weeks.
Give me abreak.
“Can someone get me a drop cloth?” I groan.
A horrified gasp sounds behind me, and all I can do is close my eyes.
“Ohmy goodness!” Ebony scurries into the ballroom and drops to her knees at the perimeter of the broken glass. “The legend—”
“Is still intact. I’m sure of it,” I say, with more confidence than I actually feel, taking the cloth from Manny and gently gathering the fragments. “It’s lasted a few centuries. We’ll replace these crystals and preserve the authenticity, just the same as the wood and plasterwork throughout the manor.”
Ebony looks at me, her eyes pleading, as if she’s asking if I’m certain.
“I’ve got an entire list of trade craftsmen.” I give her a reassuring nod, smiling. “I promise, I’m going to reach out to them right now.”And pray someone can work magic.
Relief sags her shoulders. “Thank you. It’ll really mean a lot to Hailey.”
“And Ellswood’s history,” I add, softly. “I want to preserve the legend as much as you do.”
For a beat, she stares at me, as if she’s reading the truth in my words. She knows what it’s been like for me—constantly relegated by the likes of the Livingstons to the outskirts of this community my ancestors built. Always fighting against the grain to preserve our history, reclaim my identity before they erase us completely.
“I know how important this is to you.” Ebony gives me a small smile.
She walks back to the billiard room with me, where I’ve been working lately. And, of course, my desk is buried underneath blueprints and piles of textiles that Vincent’s forcing me to wade through to “feel the richness” of the fabric.
Ebony laughs. “You can take the mess out of the office, but, uh…”
“Hey, I know it looks like chaos, but it’s organized.” I chuckle, scrambling to remove the clutter on top of my laptop, shoving fabric, tassels, and motivational paint swatches out of the way like I can pretend this isn’t the most usual state of my desk since—well, since she walked into my office in the Sterling building.
Once I’ve cleared the surface, Ebony settles on the edge, crossing her legs and giving me a glimpse of her smooth bronze thighs.
“…hard.”
My attention snaps up, guiltily. I gulp. “Wh-what did you say?”
“Workinghard,” she repeats, giggling, absolutely at my expense. “I mean, aside from the fact that a centuries-old legend might be in jeopardy, the whole place is really looking great, Linc.”
She knows what she does to me.
“Thanks.” I laugh. “Always working hard. But, uh, let me see who I can reach about the chandelier…”
