Chapter 3: If the Sun Never Sets: Chapter 3

Farrah sent out eighty resumes in one week.

The number of responses she received? Zero.

Of course, it was early. The job market in New York was brutal; it could be weeks or months before she heard back.

That was the ugly truth and not one she was keen on sharing with her mom, which was why Farrah ended their weekly call with guilt twisting her gut.

It’s for the best.

Cheryl Lau was all about stability, and she would freak out if she found out her daughter had quit a safe job with nothing lined up.

“Here.” Her roommate and best friend Olivia Tang pushed a large milk tea across the counter. “This’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks,” Farrah muttered. She sucked on the sugar-laden drink and tried not to think about what a huge, horrible mistake she’d made. She’d felt so empowered, quitting on the spot, and had been gratified to see how hard Jane tried to get her to stay. Jane had even called Kelly, who’d decamped to the Hamptons until Labor Day. Kelly, true to form, had been furious and made it clear she thought Farrah was a selfish, ungrateful brat who’d be photocopying construction documents at a low-rent studio had it not been for KBI.

Needless to say, she hadn’t incentivized Farrah to stay.

But now, Farrah was having serious doubts about the wisdom of her move. Yes, she had a few months’ worth of rent saved up, but New York was one of the most expensive cities in the world. Even if she cut out all non-essential spending, the living expenses would eat into her rent savings until she only had a one- or two-month safety net.

“It’s only been a week, and you’re so talented. You’ll find a job in no time.” Olivia radiated confidence. “Don’t stress, babe.”

“You’re right.” Farrah’s resume blinked at her from her open laptop.

3.9 GPA from California Coast University. NIDA competition winner. Three top-tier internships. Three years of increasing job responsibilities at Kelly Burke Interiors, where she’d worked on several high-profile hospitality projects, including Z Hotels.

She was a catch. If only she could get someone to take the bait…

“You’re right,” she repeated. “I’m being silly. I just need to be patient.”

“Exactly. Now, since you have plenty of free time, how about going on a date with Ken?” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows.

Farrah groaned. Olivia had been pestering her to go out with her coworker for months.

“You know I hate blind dates.”

“I do, but I also know you haven’t had sex in…hmm, how long has it been again?” Olivia tapped her chin.

Farrah glared at her. She hadn’t had sex in a year, and they both knew it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She’d just been so busy with work, and dating in New York was freakin’ hard. It had been a long time since she’d found a guy attractive and non-douchey enough to want to sleep with him.

If she were being honest, the last guy she’d really been attracted to had been—

No. Don’t go there.

Farrah swallowed the lump in her throat and twisted her necklace around her finger, shoving aside thoughts of blond hair and devilish blue eyes. The pain in her chest wasn’t as great as it used to be, but it was still there, a lingering reminder of the boy she’d never been able to forget.

Perhaps that was why Farrah had such high standards. She’d experienced what explosive chemistry felt like, and everything else paled in comparison.

“Oh, that’s right. A year.” Olivia snapped her fingers. “Twelve months of no action, and no, your battery-operated friend doesn’t count. If you don’t break your dry spell soon, you’ll explode into a million pieces of lost orgasms, which is not okay. I just deep-cleaned the apartment.”

“You deep clean the apartment every week.”

They had a clear breakdown of house duties—Olivia cleaned and handled the bills (two of her greatest joys in life were the scent of Lysol and a zero-dollar payment balance), while Farrah handled home supplies and grocery shopping.

“Exactly.”

A sigh escaped Farrah’s lips. “Fine. Set me up.”

She was going to regret this, but once Olivia got an idea in her head, she was like a pit bull with a bone.

Besides, maybe it was time for her to be more proactive. She couldn’t experience explosive chemistry if she didn’t look for it, right?

“Yay!” Olivia tossed her empty container of boba in the trash and clapped in excitement. “I can’t wait. It’s about time your vagina got some love.”

Farrah’s drink went down the wrong pipe, and she coughed for a full minute before gasping, “Leave my vagina alone.”

“Honey, everyone has left your vagina alone for the past year. Your fault, by the way.”

“You’re fired as my best friend.”

“Not accepted,” Olivia said cheerfully. “I’ve never been fired in my life, and today is not the day to break that trend.”

This is what I get for living with my best friend.

She and Olivia had shared the same tiny apartment in Chelsea since they’d moved to New York after college. It was ridiculously expensive considering how small it was, but you couldn’t beat the location. Plus, it had one feature any New Yorker would kill for: an in-unit washer and dryer.

Olivia, who was a year older than Farrah, had lived here for ten months with a rocker chick she’d detested before said chick fled to Brooklyn and Farrah moved in. They’d been close in Shanghai, but they’d developed an unbreakable friendship over the past few years. Most of Farrah’s college friends stayed in California, and though she’d kept in touch with them, they weren’t as close anymore. Olivia was her ride or die, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Except in certain situations when she was tempted to speed up the “die” part, like now.

Farrah’s phone rang, interrupting her daydreams of strangling her roommate, even though everything Olivia said was true (hence why it was so annoying).

She didn’t recognize the number. It was probably a telemarketer, but even a cold call was better than discussing her lonely vagina. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Farrah?”

Her brows knit in confusion. “Yes. Who’s this?” The deep baritone sounded somewhat familiar.

“This is Landon Zinterhofer.”

The answer almost sent Farrah into another coughing fit.

“Who is it?” Olivia mouthed.

Farrah shook her head, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities. What the hell was Landon Zinterhofer doing calling her personal cell? Was there a problem with the hotel? But they’d already finished the project, and Jane said he’d been thrilled with the results.

“Hello?”

Farrah realized she hadn’t answered him yet. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, hi.” She swatted at Olivia, whose expression had morphed from curious to amused at Farrah’s fumbling response. “How did you get my number?”

She winced. The question came out ruder than she’d intended.

“I called KBI, and they told me you no longer work there. I had them give me your personal cell.” Landon sounded apologetic. “I realize I may be overstepping my boundaries, and I’m sorry for calling so late on a Friday night.”

“It’s ok. I…decided to pursue other opportunities outside KBI.” Nonexistent ones. But he didn’t need to know that. “Is something wrong with the hotel?”

“No, the hotel’s great. In fact, you did such a good job I wanted to see if you’d be willing to help a buddy of mine. He just moved to New York and his apartment’s looking a little sad. The guy can’t decorate to save his life.” Landon laughed. “Anyway, he needs an interior designer, and I think you’d be a great fit. If you have time, of course.”

Farrah clutched her phone so hard she heard it crack. Every word out of Landon’s mouth sent her spiraling down another tunnel of shock, disbelief, and excitement.

“You want me? Not KBI?”

What are you doing? her mind screamed. Don’t sabotage yourself!

But she didn’t understand why the heir to one of the country’s largest hotel chains was seeking her out for a project. KBI had plenty of amazing designers, and she didn’t even specialize in residences.

“It’s unorthodox,” Landon acknowledged. “But like I said, you stood out on the hotel project, and your personality is, er, better-suited for this than your colleagues.”

Now that, she believed. Neither Kelly nor Matt would win Miss or Mr. Congeniality any time soon.

“I realize this is short notice, but my friend will pay twenty percent above your full rate and—”

“I’ll do it!”

Farrah’s shout caused Olivia’s head to pop up from the couch, where she’d retreated with her latest erotica book.

Farrah cleared her throat. “I mean, I think I can find the time.”

“Great. Are you free for a lunch meeting on Monday? One p.m. at The Aviary. I’ll introduce you to my friend and get the ball rolling. Meal’s on the house.”

The Aviary was the signature restaurant at Z Central Park—the same hotel Farrah helped redesign. An average meal there cost several hundred dollars a pop.

“Yes. Sounds good.”

Farrah hung up and pinched herself. Ow.

Holy shit. This wasn’t a dream. Landon Zinterhofer just called her and offered her an interior design gig—at twenty percent above her full rate.

She didn’t know what her full rate was, but she’d figure it out.

Farrah had no plans to freelance full-time, but this was the perfect project for her to sink her teeth into while she waited for callbacks from design firms.

I’m not going to be broke and forced to move back home!

Farrah couldn’t hold it in any longer. She squealed and did a little happy dance that had Olivia staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head and antenna.

“Who was that? Is everything ok?”

“Yes.” Farrah grinned from ear to ear, breathless with exhilaration. “Everything is perfect.”

Farrah spent the weekend researching the nitty-gritty of how to be a freelance design consultant, from standard hourly rates to drawing up a client contract. She also threw together a portfolio and brought it with her to the lunch meeting. Even though Landon had all but guaranteed her the job, she wanted to make a good impression on his friend. He was, after all, the one who would be paying her.

Farrah strode into The Aviary. Natural light flooded through the domed glass ceiling and the walls of windows overlooking the park. It was one of her favorite rooms in the hotel, and the one she’d worked most on.

Confidence coursed through her as she took in the sleek gray chairs, sculptured tables, and strategically placed plants. An indoor waterfall cascaded over a sheet of black slate, providing a soothing white noise soundtrack for the business negotiations and high-society gossip sessions taking place throughout the restaurant. She could see Central Park through the windows—a vast, rolling green carpet speckled with patches of lakes and encircled by a forest of sun-drenched skyscrapers.

She could do this. So what if she’d never tackled a project from start to finish by herself? She’d figure it out. She had the design chops, and that was what mattered the most.

Farrah zeroed in on where Landon sat by himself at the prime table in the corner.

A broad grin stretched across his face when he caught sight of her. “Farrah. Thanks for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Zinterhofer.” She shook his hand. With his wavy black hair, deep brown eyes, and bronzed skin—not to mention that tall, muscular body—Landon could pass for a male model. Farrah recognized this, but she didn’t feel one flicker of attraction. Maybe she needed to take her libido to the repair shop. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Please. Call me Landon. And of course. You’re one of the best interior designers I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” Landon winked at her. “Don’t tell Kelly that. She doesn’t like being second.”

He thought she was better than Kelly Burke?

Farrah tightened her grip on her portfolio to prevent herself from screaming like an idiot.

Thank God Landon was a hands-on management type of guy. He hadn’t micro-managed their project, but he’d made it a point to learn everyone’s names and listen to their ideas, no matter how junior they were.

Landon Zinterhofer, you are a thousand blessings in one.

“Are we waiting for your friend?” Farrah smoothed her napkin over her lap. She hoped the friend was as friendly and easygoing as Landon. She’d dealt with nightmare clients before at KBI; sometimes, she still woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat as faded screams of “I said eggshell white, not ecru!” echoed in her head.

“He’s already here. He went to the rest—ah. There he is.” Landon nodded at someone behind her.

Farrah put on her most professional smile and turned, ready to knock her new client’s socks off.

But her greeting died a quick death when she saw the tall, gorgeous blond striding toward them.

No.

Cold tendrils of shock slithered down Farrah’s spine as the temperature plunged to sub-zero levels. She was imagining things. There was no way that was him. The universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

But there was no denying those ice-blue eyes. The cut-glass cheekbones. The deep dimples that faded as disbelief replaced his smile. He looked as stunned as she felt.

The twist in Farrah’s heart confirmed what her brain refused to acknowledge.

That was him.

The first—and only—man she’d ever loved.

The one who broke her heart.

The one she thought she’d never see again.

Blake Ryan.