Page 21 of The Focal Point

Close to tears, I dragged my bags out of the trunk and locked the door. The street was quiet in the darkening evening light, the air hovering between warm and chilled. Only one other person was out, walking their dog, headphones in their ears and their gaze on their phone screen. They didn’t even look up as they passed, though the dog did give me a cursory examination.

My apartment lights flickered on as I dropped my bags by the door, too tired to do more, before I collapsed onto the couch. Misery weighed on my shoulders like a physical weight, the silence of being alone in my apartment more resounding than usual.

What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I push past my fears and reach out? Thomas and Liam had offered nothing more than a friendly dinner, the opportunity to spend my evening with people instead of alone. It was nothing more than that.

The silence became too much, and I turned the TV on just for the noise and movement before I forced myself into the kitchen to make one of the frozen meals stuffed into my freezer. It tasted plasticky and fake, and I realized I only wanted a hamburger.

Flipping through various shows provided no relief—nothing caught my interest—and social media made me feel lonelier. In a last desperate act, I scrolled through my contacts list, looking for someone to call. But the only viable options were Mom and Dad and Kristen. I knew what I would get from my parents, well-meaning but unhelpful platitudes, which I wasn’t in the mood to entertain. And Kristen’s phone went right to voicemail. As I hung up, I tried not to imagine all the fun she was probably out having.

But just before I replaced my phone on the coffee table, the screen lit back up. For a moment, I thought it was Kristen calling me back, but the name on the contact sent a jolt through me—it was Liam’s number.

Hand quaking, I unlocked my phone again, and the text popped up on the screen. It was a selfie with Liam and Thomas and their burgers, and wow, did they look good.

The burgers, not the guys. Although the guys required a second look, one in particular. In the light of the sunset, Liam was grinning, eyes full of laughter and warmth that made the loneliness constricting my chest ease. As did the line of text accompanying the picture: “Next time?”

Chapter 8

Bailey

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THE MORNING SUN WAS bright in an early autumn sky. So bright that the light glanced off the windows when I pulled up to Liam’s house, and I had to shield my eyes with my hand as I stepped out of my car. When I took my hand away, it was to Liam already waiting on the front porch.

“Bailey, hi.” He waved and jogged down the steps toward me. Surprised, I paused in yanking my bags out of the passenger seat. I’d never had a client open the door before I reached it, much less practically run toward me.

“Hi, Liam.” I returned his smile, managing to dislodge my enormous samples bag with a final tug.

“Here, let me get that.”

Before I could say anything, Liam had taken my bag of samples and the bag with all my folders, binders, notebooks, and computers. The only thing I had left was my purse.

“Thank you.”

He stood there grinning at me, the sun bright against his hair. One lock had fallen onto his forehead from his jog over, still slightly wet. I wondered if he had been swimming in the pool out back. He had mentioned something about being on the swim team in high school, and from how the breadth of his shoulders pulled his sightly damp T-shirt across his chest, I would say he had kept it up.

“Were you swimming?” The question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it—I didn’t even know where it had come from. The image of Liam in nothing but a pair of swim shorts—or something tighter and more revealing—had flashed into my head, and the question had come immediately afterward.

But Liam laughed, brushing his hand over his hair. “Yeah. Got a late start this morning. I was up until all hours working, so I slept in.”

I noted the slight chill in the air. It wasn’t enough for me to have put on a sweater that morning, but I imagined the water had to have been cold. Unless it was heated, and I imagined a billionaire wouldn’t put in a pool without a heating mechanism.

Liam was a billionaire, wasn’t he? I supposed owning a tech firm didn’t guarantee billions. I was pretty sure he was, though.

“Do you want any coffee?” Liam asked as he led me back inside. “I just got my beans yesterday from this little roaster in Guatemala. Family-run, rainforest-friendly, organic—that type of thing. I liked their coffee so much I invested in their plantation a few years ago.”

Yep, definitely a billionaire.

“It sounds wonderful, but I’ve already had my cup today. Can’t have more than one, or I won’t sleep.” I couldn’t help but smile back at Liam. His bright grin was so infectious.

He laughed. “Maybe that’s why I’m up all night.”

“That could be it,” I giggled.

The sound surprised me. Had I actually giggled? I couldn’t remember the last time I had made that sound. But Liam’s grin grew, and something sparked in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Well, let’s get started.” I turned away from it, unable and unwilling to spend time figuring out what it meant.

Over the following hours, I took careful measurements of every room he wanted included in the redesign and took preliminary notes on my ideas and his. Then we went through the house together, marking the furniture he wanted to keep, which I also noted in my notebook, and taking out a few samples I thought might work.