Suite Temptation. Anita Bunkley

an unknown who can bring a fresh perspective.”

      “You want me to recruit a novice architect who’s just launching a career? Why not go after the best, most experienced person for the job?” Riana wanted to know.

      “When I saw you on Community Business Focus this morning, I was very impressed with your story. I thought, ‘Why not hire an up-and-coming search firm to use on this project? And while I’m at it, why not go after a hungry architect who really needs the work?’ This is not one of my bigger projects by any means, but it’s a very important one, and whoever comes on board will get a heck of a lot of exposure. I want you to find me an unknown with talent. I’m sure you can locate a professional who understands what I need and who can deliver.”

      “Thanks for that vote of confidence. What’s your time frame?” Riana asked, swiveling back around to grab her pen and take notes.

      “I’ll be out of the office next week, but when I return, I’d like to meet with you and go over a short list of candidates. Think you can get some names together by then?”

      “No problem,” Riana replied, her mind already whizzing ahead to the recruitment resources she planned to use.

      “The design team won’t actually meet for at least ninety days at the outside, but I want to get the candidate—man or woman—on board right away. Sound like an assignment your firm can handle?”

      Riana took a deep breath, crossed her fingers and told George Allen, “Yes. Executive Suites will find the perfect match between your company and your project. You will not be disappointed.”

      “Good. Now, I’m going to have Pat, my human resources manager, call you with the job description. She’ll give you all the details and work with you to finalize the contract, now that you’ve accepted the job. She’ll draft your contract, go over it with you, and when it’s all set, I’ll talk with you again.”

      Immediately after hanging up, Riana turned to her computer and got to work. With the next day being the Fourth of July, the office would be closed, so she wanted to get a head start on this assignment. She pulled up the database of clients currently enrolled with Executive Suites and quickly highlighted the names of three architects whose credentials were impressive. However, she knew she could not stop there. On a task like this one, she would have to utilize all of her recruitment sources and screen a wide range of potentials. She could tell that Allen was a demanding man who expected the best from people he worked with, and she was going to deliver exactly what he wanted.

      After creating a folder to hold the information she found on the first three candidates, she turned to her database that contained the names of the presidents of professional agencies and organizations within the building and architecture industries who had helped her with her recruitment needs in the past. After carefully preparing an e-mail blast that detailed her requirements, Riana sent the announcement to everyone on the contact list, hoping that someone would give her a lead.

      So far, she had never failed a client, and it was this sense of confidence—her assurance that the ideal candidate was out there somewhere—that drove her to push so hard and to set her personal needs aside in order to make her company grow.

      So what if her sister, Britt, referred to Riana as a workaholic clotheshorse who would probably wind up a lonely spinster? Riana had no intention of slowing down, or of focusing on her social life instead of her company. Britt was just jealous, and she certainly had no trouble accepting the clothes that Riana offered her when she cleaned out her closet at the end of each season.

      Riana’s mother, Karleen, who had worked part-time during the summer months at the neighborhood ice-cream shop when her daughters were young, also accused Riana of taking her work much too seriously. Karleen wanted more grandchildren to spoil, a second son-in-law to pamper and another big wedding to plan. In her opinion, Riana was using her work to avoid commitment, afraid that a man would want to come in and take over her business under the guise of relieving her of the stress that comes with owning a demanding franchise.

      Even Riana’s father, Sam, now retired from his government job as a city health inspector, concurred. He worried that Riana might be sacrificing too much for the sake of making money. Getting rich was not that important, he often told her. A fancy car, expensive clothes and nice jewelry meant nothing if you didn’t have someone with whom to share and enjoy such perks. Money wouldn’t bring his daughter happiness, he would say, urging her to take a hard look at her priorities.

      Riana disagreed with all of them. She was proud of what she’d accomplished, and she thrived on the financial freedom that she had earned. She was content to immerse herself in the world of negotiations, contracts and deal-making to the exclusion of an endless and often frantic round of galas and benefits and shallow happy hours and boring stand-up cocktail parties just to search for Mr. Right. She gave generously to the charities that mattered by writing checks at the end of the year, and had long ago given up worrying about finding a mate. If it happened, fine, but she sure wasn’t going to lie awake at night worrying about when, or if, someone to love—who could fit into her world—would come along.

      Now, clicking through her e-mails, Riana saw that two of her professional colleagues had already replied to her request for leads for potential candidates to fill George Allen’s search. The first message, from the president of the American Association of Urban Planners contained the résumés of two of their members who were seeking projects: Sandra Morehouse of Oklahoma City and Robert Fountain from Dallas. Riana closely scrutinized their credentials, made a few notes about Sandra, who had five years of experience and a short list of clients, and then Robert, whose work was starkly simple and not very attractive.

      Impressed, but not quite satisfied, Riana moved on to the second message, from the membership chair of the National Association of Builders and Architects. The contact, with whom Riana had worked on two other assignments, was offering up only one name, and when Riana read the e-mail, she froze. Andre Preaux, of A. Preaux and Associates in Houston, winner of the prestigious 2003 Space City Improvement Award for his design of a low-rise complex for marginalized senior citizens in Houston. Heart thumping in her chest, she began to read aloud from the screen.

      “‘Andre Preaux, a newcomer to the industrial architectural and design scene, brings twelve years of experience in the construction business and a recent degree in architecture from the University of Houston to his innovative designs. In his award-winning project, Arbor Oaks, he grasped the big-picture demands of the problem of limited housing for elderly seniors on fixed incomes and was able to effectively tie the project to the goals and the needs of an underserved group of citizens. He cut through tangled red tape and finished the complex in record time while honoring city ordinances and following housing guidelines to achieve a final project that surpassed the original plans. His use of innovative design concepts for the handicapped and those with limited mobility, his incorporation of environmentally friendly materials, and his involvement of the local residents allowed him to prove that there can be equitable access to affordable housing for all members of the Houston community.’”

      It can’t be the same man, Riana kept telling herself, frowning at the photo of a professionally attired caramel-colored man in a business suit and tie. His hair was longer, his smile seemed brighter, and he looked more mature than the thirty-seven years she knew him to be. He also looked confident and polished, as if he possessed secrets to his rapid rise that he did not plan to reveal. She had never seen Andre wearing anything other than scruffy jeans or slacks and a shirt, never a suit. This man was dressed with ultimate care, sending a message of impressive style. Even the address of his firm was impressive: Prairie Towers, in the high-rent, Main Street, museum-district area. Apparently, he was doing quite well, and he was just as disturbingly handsome as she remembered. Even more so, Riana had to admit, wondering for the thousandth time if they could have made it as a couple.

      Frantically, she scrolled through his résumé, eager to read everything she could about his background, his work, his education and his future plans. She was stunned. How could this be the same man who had worn faded jeans and work boots to class, who had swept her into a whirlwind romance before she’d realized what was happening? Was this the same man whose heart she knew she had shattered four years