Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) Read Free

wrist and clasp it closed, my eyes surveying my surroundings. I’m still getting used to this space—my home.
    I purchased this house at the beginning of the year, a couple of weeks before my scheduled relocation. When I first saw it, it was really nothing more than an old structure on a beautiful stretch of road. The shell, a brick-faced exterior, was certainly pleasing to the eye, but the inside was never going to work for me. I remember walking around, my realtor giving me the history as she knew it, pointing out all of the details that gave it the charming character people envied. I wasn’t really paying attention; I was too busy worrying about the bones of the place—knowing that if I bought it, that was all I ever intended to keep.
    This house on Mountain Avenue had just the right amount of potential. It was only the third available home I had seen, but my head was so full of ideas, I couldn’t turn it down. I made the offer, screwed my realtor in the kitchen that is now no longer, and then headed back to her office to start the paperwork.
    I kept her number until closing. She was very flexible.
    For my first three months in Fort Collins, I stayed in a hotel—The Archibald, a remodel project that I had overseen for Eddalyn’s Interiors over a year before my stay. I gutted my new abode, making it uninhabitable, and had it rebuilt and designed to my specifications. Now, three months later, I find that I still have moments when I’m impressed with all that I’ve manage to accomplish in my thirty-one years—including my home.
    My first home. It belongs to me, and I won’t deny that I’m proud of it.
    I take one last look around, sliding my billfold into the back pocket of my grey khakis before tucking away my phone. I reach for my light jacket, shrugging it over my shoulders, covered by my navy polo shirt. Sliding my feet into my loafers, I reach for my golfing shoes, and then head for the door.
    In the garage, I load my clubs into the back of my Land Rover before sliding into the driver’s seat. My drive is a quiet one, the streets almost bare at this time on a Saturday morning. Before I moved to Fort Collins, I wondered how much I would miss Denver. The city, while not the biggest I’ve ever lived in, definitely has a different personality than this seemingly quaint, college town. Though I’ve found, aside from my brother, Benjamin, and my favorite restaurants and bars, I don’t mind the change. My work challenges and sustains me, my bed is full when I wish it to be, and I’m starting to feel at home here.
    I’ve been working for my Aunt Eddalyn since before I graduated from college. She always told me I had a designer’s eye—my attention to detail something she noticed and praised as I grew up. Even from a young age, I felt most comfortable in places that were esthetically pleasing. When it was time for me to decide on a course of study, I didn’t even have to think twice. Especially considering Eddalyn’s Interiors was already a reputable company by which I could enter the designing world.
    Contrary to what people might believe, every position I’ve ever held for Eddalyn has been based on merit and hard work. We may have the same last name, but that only ever got me as far as the front door. I’ve worked my ass off for the last ten, almost eleven years. The forty-nine percent of her company that I own—I fought hard for that shit. I didn’t even contemplate discussing a buy in until I had made her millions.
    When she offered me the position of managing partner in her Fort Collins office, I knew exactly what she was doing. I didn’t bat an eyelash before I agreed. I know that she’s grooming me. One day, when she’s ready to step down, the company she built from the ground up—it’ll be mine. I look forward to that day; but in the same breath, I will admit that I’m not in any hurry for that day to come. Eddalyn St. Michaels is a genius. It is my privilege to work alongside of