“See,” she said pointing out the drywall that already covered the walls of the main hall. “This is what I’m talking about. I need niches large enough to hold art with spotlighting above each one.”

“This isn’t your father’s hotel. Art isn’t something budget-minded patrons are looking for.”

“That’s crap. While I agree that those staying at The Morrison will stop to reflect on some of the art there, while here, they’ll simply enjoy it as they pass by. The niches will preserve the art from being touched as people walk by.”

Dean grunted and stared down the long hallway. “You couldn’t have told me this earlier this week?”

“I’ve only been here that long.”

“Right. And you couldn’t be bothered to dent your social life to come in until today.”

Social life? Oh, OK…she got it. Dean thought she was out partying and not taking her job seriously.

“I’ve been shopping.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great, like you need more shoes.”

“For the hotel. Designing color palettes and finding furniture that works takes time. Time I can’t spend here making sure this stuff isn’t going up.”

“Drywall. It’s called drywall.”

“Dry whatever! It needs to come down. Or some of it anyway so I can have my niches.”

“Fine!” Dean scowled and his gaze wouldn’t meet hers. “How many niches are you planning?”

She brushed past him and pointed. “The first one will go here.” She found a construction pencil on top of workbench and placed a small X on the wall. “Then we can evenly space them so we have ten down each hall.”

Dean leaned over and grabbed the pencil from her hand and marked the wall with an X the size of a toddler.

Katie crossed her arms over her chest and moved out of his way. He counted to himself as he looked down the hall and shook his head. “You can have five.”

“I can have five what?”

“Niches.”

“Why only five?”

“Each niche has to be framed, each soffit wired for a light. That increases cost. You can have five on the halls down here.”

“What about upstairs?”

He shook his head. “Not in the budget.”

“Then increase the budget.” Her design was slipping away before her eyes.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“But—”

“This isn’t a closet remodel, Katie…this is a hotel. You can’t make designs that require construction and expect it not to cost money. Working within a budget might be novel for you, but I’m sure you can do it.”

He spoke as if she were a child and it was starting to piss her off. The lack of sleep the night before wasn’t helping either. “Then give me a budget.”

His eyes narrowed and his pissed look slid into amusement. “You’re serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Dean’s head started to nod, slowly at first, then faster. “OK…I’ll do that on one condition.”

A lock of hair had come loose under the stupid hard hat so Katie thrust it behind her ear in frustration. She knew she looked ridiculous. And tired. Lord, just arguing with him was wearing her out.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense. Name your price, cowboy.”

He lifted his index finger and spoke slower. “I’ll give you a budget and you will not argue, debate, or ask for more. I’ll give you a workable budget any experienced designer would make work.”

“But I’m not experienced—”

“Ah! No excuses! Do we have a deal?”

“And if that doesn’t work for me?”

“Then you walk away now. Go home to Texas and take your niches with you.”

She tilted her head and took him in. His determined chin and eyes set in stone made her wonder…made her question exactly why he didn’t want her around. Then she finally noticed the stripe on his hat. Maybe he didn’t like the distraction or the hazing he was obviously getting with the men.

Or maybe it was her.

“Deal.” She shoved her hand in front of him and waited.

He hesitated, then his warm palm met hers. Sparks radiated up her arm and raised gooseflesh despite the dry heat filling the room.

She let go quickly and hoped he didn’t see her skin flush. “I expect my budget by the end of the day.”

Dean mumbled something under his breath as she walked away. “Oh, and, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice hat.”

Chapter Eight

Patrick Nelson’s appearance somehow met, if not exceeded, every preconceived thought in Katelyn’s brain about how a private eye should look. He had to be six two, nearly as tall as Dean. He looked thicker than a longhorn stud in a pen. Roped muscle filled in his black short jacket under a buttoned-up dress shirt. This man probably owned one suit and wore it only when he had to.

He screamed retired marine or ex-cop. His dark hair was peppered with gray and his brown eyes had a way of looking through you. If he were fifteen years younger, Katie might have found him attractive. Actually, he was attractive, but she wasn’t interested.

She met with him in her room to avoid anyone overhearing their conversation.

They discussed Savannah’s sudden appearance in Katelyn’s life in depth. They were on a second cup of coffee before he turned the conversation toward her personal life.