There were no walls. Hell, there was seldom anyone there but him. He’d set up desks and drafting tables for various project managers. They only came in during the day if they required a surface larger than a clipboard and smoother than a hunk of cardboard flattened on the bed of a truck. Every one of the desks and tables were covered. Blueprints, project plans, checklists, and swatch books. There were before, during, and after photos tacked to strips of cork, and messy timelines scrawled on white boards bearing the marks of past projects. Laney hung back, but the moment she saw him turn to look for her, she sprang to life. Back straight, chin up, and her gaze set on something beyond him, she strode into the room as if she owned the space. He quickly turned away so she wouldn’t catch his smile. She was using her runway model strut. He loved that one. It ranked right up there with her spoiled rich girl pout and the ice queen stare. She never simply walked through the door.
