Just One Mistake
Book Eight of the Billionaire Barons of Texas Series
Chapter One
Some days the opulence of the Memorial Country Club reminded Rachel Baron that despite her ordinary job, her world was one of privilege and high expectations. The gathering of the county’s most elite members of society filled the air with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses and as always, the buzz of intimate conversation.
Under the warm glow of the massive crystal chandeliers, she moved gracefully through the crowds in a determined effort to cross the ballroom. Pausing every few feet to exchange pleasantries and air kisses with the Houston socialites who had known her since childhood, she willed her empty stomach not to grumble. Tables of what she knew would be delicious hors d’oeuvres, were getting closer and closer. If only she didn’t have to make nice with so many people. The professional upside of being the granddaughter of a former governor, and cousin of a current well-loved senator, included cutting through red tape and accessing hard to find supplies for any of her restoration projects. The downside meant that no matter how hungry she was, stopping to be nice to everyone who recognized her was her only option.
“Rachel, dear. That dress is simply stunning.” An older brunette, whose gray roots were well camouflaged and who had been a staple at her grandparents’ fundraisers for the many charities her family supported, smiled widely and stepped in for another of those air kisses that Rachel detested. “I love the way the color brings out the green in your eyes.”
“How sweet of you to say. You look quite smashing yourself.”
The woman puffed up like a peacock. “I had lunch this week at Emily Whitestone’s. You did a marvelous job on her remodel. The way you blended the old and new was seamless. Absolutely wonderful.”
Now that made her smile in earnest. The project had been a combination restoration of an outdated kitchen and dining room, including an addition that needed to blend in with the integrity of the 1930s home, as well as embrace a modern lifestyle. “Thank you. It was a fun project.” She really had enjoyed this particular project, enough to continue politely chatting about it despite the table of food calling her name.
By the time her grandmother’s friend had moved on to someone else, Rachel finally reached the table she’d been eyeing all evening, her gaze dancing between the bacon-wrapped shrimp, the caviar fountain, and a few things that she had no clue what they were, but she was hungry enough to sample all of it.
“Skip dinner again?” Her cousin Mitch, the senator, whom she simply adored, came up beside her.
“What makes you say that?”
He smiled. “You’re looking at everything the way a kid would eye a banana split.”
“Have you tried any of it?”
“The shrimp is quite good and Gwyneth loves the quinoa balls.”
Her gaze shifted to the crusty round balls. “Oh, that’s what those are.”
“One of these days someone’s going to serve pigs in a blanket and find a mad rush from us guys who like meat and potatoes.”
An eruption of laughter escaped her throat before she could slap a hand over her mouth. Looking over her shoulder, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t mind a few now myself.”
“I know of what I speak.” Mitch grinned at her. “Changing the subject, I heard that you finished up the restoration in Memorial you were working on.”
Rachel nodded. “I did. It’s already under contract. Should close in about ten days.”
“Have you heard about the Hartwig house?”
One of her passions was the architectural history of old Houston. The Hartwig House had been an opulent family home, a showpiece along what had once been referred to as Millionaire’s Row. That is, until the last Hartwig died off without heirs and the once beautiful old home fell into disrepair. “What about it? Did someone finally buy it?”
“Not exactly.” Mitch looked around. “The city condemned it.”
“Oh no.” Her shoulders slumped with disappointment. Rachel hated the way society so easily tore down older structures to bring in the new. If it were up to the local authorities, all the masterful constructions of Europe would be replaced with new century modern blocks. “That should be a crime.”
“That’s what I said.” Gwyneth sidled up beside her fiancé and ignoring the social norms of public displays of affection, gave him a quick peck on the lips before turning to face Rachel. “Lilian Prentiss told me about the, and I quote, ugly boarded up eyesore and magnet for every vagrant west of the Mississippi finally being removed from her neighborhood. So I checked with Councilman Bates. She got it half right.”
“What half?” Rachel resisted the urge to cross her fingers and say a prayer for the poor old house.
“The city finally has ownership of the property and the health department and city engineers all agree it’s not safe and has to come down. It is indeed on the list to be condemned and razed.”
“Shortsighted—” Before she could finish her unladylike thought, her future cousin-in-law cut her off.
“This is the half I think you’ll like. The city has a new program offering the opportunity for restoring abandoned buildings and saving them rather than have the city tear them down.”
Rachel frowned, running through all the government programs she’d dealt with, wondering which might come into play.
“Anyone willing to restore the homes within one year can purchase the distressed properties for one dollar.”
“Wait,” Rachel shook her head, “isn’t that for low-income neighborhoods? The ones that are prone to meth houses and gang hangouts?”
Still smiling, Gwyneth nodded. “It is, but there’s nothing in the program that specifies the size or location of the distressed home, so Mayor Borden is going to add it to the list of homes in the program, unless, of course, you can reach out to him before the list goes public.”
The allure of rescuing such a historic gem resonated with everything in her. All she’d seen in recent years was the jungle-like appearance of the old building hidden far behind the walled front gates. If the inside was as bad as the outside, the undertaking would be gargantuan.
“I recognize that glint.” Mitch rolled his eyes skyward. “Heaven help us, but I told Gwyneth you’d find such a project irresistible.”
Irresistible. He was certainly right about that, but deep down, she wanted more than to simply do the designs, or oversee the restoration. Rachel wanted full control of the project. To ensure that her designs were not vetoed by the owner and that she had the right to hire or fire anyone involved who didn’t live up to her expectations.
“Told you she couldn’t resist.” Mitch wound his arm around Gwyneth’s waist. “Am I right?”
Was he right? Could she pass it up? Could she do this on her own? Or was she completely nuts for even considering it? A hard smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “You’d better believe it.” Bringing that old girl back to her days of splendor and glory was going to be the most fun she’d ever had!
* * * *
The Texas sun hung high in the sky, casting its warm glow over the quiet suburban neighborhood where Dylan Schaefer had sought refuge from the relentless demands of corporate life. The canopy of massive oak trees and sprawling green lawns had drawn him to this area of older homes like a desert oasis offering refreshment to a thirsty man. Not that working sixteen-hour days had given him much opportunity to enjoy the lush lawns or blue skies.
Now, the scent of freshly cut wood lingered in the air as he studied the progress of the oak-paneled walls and built-in bookcases for his neighbor’s new office. Working again with his hands transported him back to his childhood and days spent helping his grandfather in the workshop. Not since his grandfather passed had he returned to fixing and making furniture, and not till recently did he have a clue how much he loved and missed woodworking of all forms. Especially now, it was nice to, even in the simplest of ways, feel closer to the old man he loved so much. Delighted with the progress, Dylan returned his focus to the task at hand – building a haven of tranquility and creativity for the woman who had been kind enough to notice his car had not left the driveway for weeks.
The sudden and tragic death of his coworker Jim had been the catalyst for changes—big changes. An associate and close friend, Jim was as fixated on the climb up the financial corporate ladder as Dylan. Overworked, and pushing too hard, Jim had succumbed to a stress-induced heart attack at the age of thirty-nine. The wake-up call had rattled Dylan to his core, prompting him to reevaluate the trajectory of his own life. Unable to focus on anything but the loss of his friend, he’d taken weeks of built up vacation time from the hedge fund and spent it rattling around in his own house senselessly until he’d pulled out his tool kit and began tinkering with the lopsided builder-grade cabinets in his laundry room.
From a simple fix-it effort, the project quickly turned into ripping out the cheap cabinetry and rebuilding the area to his liking with solid wood. His temporary departure from the high-stress world of finance had brought him back to a familiar place – the world of craftsmanship and creation. As Dylan measured, cut, and meticulously assembled each piece of wood, the process became a form of meditation, a way to channel his grief and frustration into something tangible.
That was when, warm muffins in hand, Meredith had wandered up the drive and into his yard where he’d been cutting and sanding the last wooden panel. “I didn’t know you did cabinetry.”
“I don’t. Usually.”
She ran her fingers down the side. “New kitchen?”
“Laundry. Time for a change.”
“May I see?”
At the time he wasn’t really looking for company or conversation, but just because he had been in a perpetually crappy mood didn’t mean he had to take it out on Meredith. Inside the new laundry room, her eyes had almost fallen out of their sockets. “Holy cow.” She ran her hands over the custom cabinetry as if they were made of solid gold. “This is amazing.”
He shrugged.
“What kind of countertops are you going to use?”
“Those.” He waved at the butcher block counters in an out-of-the-way corner of the adjacent kitchen.
“Where’d you buy them? I have a friend who does restoration work and she’s always looking for new sources.”
“Didn’t buy them.”
Her eyes widened, exposing the big white circles around startled brown eyes. “You made those too?”
He nodded.
“Dang. And here I was worried about you.”
“Worried?”
“Your car is never in the driveway. You work more hours than Santa’s elves on Christmas week.”
That particular analogy was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.
“Then suddenly your car’s in the driveway for weeks. Honestly, I was afraid I’d find you dead on the floor.”
Immediately his mind turned to Jim and how shocked everyone had been to learn he’d been found dead. He wouldn’t wish finding his body on anyone, especially not a concerned neighbor. “Taking some vacation time.”
She bobbed her head and stepping into the laundry room, fingered the newly glued and sanded countertops. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance I can talk you into doing some work for me?”
Work for her? Doing carpentry? The possibility of extending his vacation and working for someone else hadn’t occurred to him. To his surprise, the thought wasn’t a hard no. As a matter of fact, it seemed to sit well with him. Next thing he knew he was nodding at her and as soon as he was done with his laundry room, his vacation time had turned into an indefinite leave of absence and here he was doing a custom office.
With every day that passed, he better understood that the decision to take a hiatus from the boardrooms and corner offices had been necessary for his sanity. When the office was finished, he’d have to re-examine his choices. At this moment, going back to sitting behind a desk, confined within four walls, held very little appeal. Then again, was he really ready to give up everything he’d worked so hard for?
Some days the opulence of the Memorial Country Club reminded Rachel Baron that despite her ordinary job, her world was one of privilege and high expectations. The gathering of the county’s most elite members of society filled the air with the sound of laughter, clinking glasses and as always, the buzz of intimate conversation.
Under the warm glow of the massive crystal chandeliers, she moved gracefully through the crowds in a determined effort to cross the ballroom. Pausing every few feet to exchange pleasantries and air kisses with the Houston socialites who had known her since childhood, she willed her empty stomach not to grumble. Tables of what she knew would be delicious hors d’oeuvres, were getting closer and closer. If only she didn’t have to make nice with so many people. The professional upside of being the granddaughter of a former governor, and cousin of a current well-loved senator, included cutting through red tape and accessing hard to find supplies for any of her restoration projects. The downside meant that no matter how hungry she was, stopping to be nice to everyone who recognized her was her only option.
“Rachel, dear. That dress is simply stunning.” An older brunette, whose gray roots were well camouflaged and who had been a staple at her grandparents’ fundraisers for the many charities her family supported, smiled widely and stepped in for another of those air kisses that Rachel detested. “I love the way the color brings out the green in your eyes.”
“How sweet of you to say. You look quite smashing yourself.”
The woman puffed up like a peacock. “I had lunch this week at Emily Whitestone’s. You did a marvelous job on her remodel. The way you blended the old and new was seamless. Absolutely wonderful.”
Now that made her smile in earnest. The project had been a combination restoration of an outdated kitchen and dining room, including an addition that needed to blend in with the integrity of the 1930s home, as well as embrace a modern lifestyle. “Thank you. It was a fun project.” She really had enjoyed this particular project, enough to continue politely chatting about it despite the table of food calling her name.
By the time her grandmother’s friend had moved on to someone else, Rachel finally reached the table she’d been eyeing all evening, her gaze dancing between the bacon-wrapped shrimp, the caviar fountain, and a few things that she had no clue what they were, but she was hungry enough to sample all of it.
“Skip dinner again?” Her cousin Mitch, the senator, whom she simply adored, came up beside her.
“What makes you say that?”
He smiled. “You’re looking at everything the way a kid would eye a banana split.”
“Have you tried any of it?”
“The shrimp is quite good and Gwyneth loves the quinoa balls.”
Her gaze shifted to the crusty round balls. “Oh, that’s what those are.”
“One of these days someone’s going to serve pigs in a blanket and find a mad rush from us guys who like meat and potatoes.”
An eruption of laughter escaped her throat before she could slap a hand over her mouth. Looking over her shoulder, she leaned in and lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t mind a few now myself.”
“I know of what I speak.” Mitch grinned at her. “Changing the subject, I heard that you finished up the restoration in Memorial you were working on.”
Rachel nodded. “I did. It’s already under contract. Should close in about ten days.”
“Have you heard about the Hartwig house?”
One of her passions was the architectural history of old Houston. The Hartwig House had been an opulent family home, a showpiece along what had once been referred to as Millionaire’s Row. That is, until the last Hartwig died off without heirs and the once beautiful old home fell into disrepair. “What about it? Did someone finally buy it?”
“Not exactly.” Mitch looked around. “The city condemned it.”
“Oh no.” Her shoulders slumped with disappointment. Rachel hated the way society so easily tore down older structures to bring in the new. If it were up to the local authorities, all the masterful constructions of Europe would be replaced with new century modern blocks. “That should be a crime.”
“That’s what I said.” Gwyneth sidled up beside her fiancé and ignoring the social norms of public displays of affection, gave him a quick peck on the lips before turning to face Rachel. “Lilian Prentiss told me about the, and I quote, ugly boarded up eyesore and magnet for every vagrant west of the Mississippi finally being removed from her neighborhood. So I checked with Councilman Bates. She got it half right.”
“What half?” Rachel resisted the urge to cross her fingers and say a prayer for the poor old house.
“The city finally has ownership of the property and the health department and city engineers all agree it’s not safe and has to come down. It is indeed on the list to be condemned and razed.”
“Shortsighted—” Before she could finish her unladylike thought, her future cousin-in-law cut her off.
“This is the half I think you’ll like. The city has a new program offering the opportunity for restoring abandoned buildings and saving them rather than have the city tear them down.”
Rachel frowned, running through all the government programs she’d dealt with, wondering which might come into play.
“Anyone willing to restore the homes within one year can purchase the distressed properties for one dollar.”
“Wait,” Rachel shook her head, “isn’t that for low-income neighborhoods? The ones that are prone to meth houses and gang hangouts?”
Still smiling, Gwyneth nodded. “It is, but there’s nothing in the program that specifies the size or location of the distressed home, so Mayor Borden is going to add it to the list of homes in the program, unless, of course, you can reach out to him before the list goes public.”
The allure of rescuing such a historic gem resonated with everything in her. All she’d seen in recent years was the jungle-like appearance of the old building hidden far behind the walled front gates. If the inside was as bad as the outside, the undertaking would be gargantuan.
“I recognize that glint.” Mitch rolled his eyes skyward. “Heaven help us, but I told Gwyneth you’d find such a project irresistible.”
Irresistible. He was certainly right about that, but deep down, she wanted more than to simply do the designs, or oversee the restoration. Rachel wanted full control of the project. To ensure that her designs were not vetoed by the owner and that she had the right to hire or fire anyone involved who didn’t live up to her expectations.
“Told you she couldn’t resist.” Mitch wound his arm around Gwyneth’s waist. “Am I right?”
Was he right? Could she pass it up? Could she do this on her own? Or was she completely nuts for even considering it? A hard smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “You’d better believe it.” Bringing that old girl back to her days of splendor and glory was going to be the most fun she’d ever had!
* * * *
The Texas sun hung high in the sky, casting its warm glow over the quiet suburban neighborhood where Dylan Schaefer had sought refuge from the relentless demands of corporate life. The canopy of massive oak trees and sprawling green lawns had drawn him to this area of older homes like a desert oasis offering refreshment to a thirsty man. Not that working sixteen-hour days had given him much opportunity to enjoy the lush lawns or blue skies.
Now, the scent of freshly cut wood lingered in the air as he studied the progress of the oak-paneled walls and built-in bookcases for his neighbor’s new office. Working again with his hands transported him back to his childhood and days spent helping his grandfather in the workshop. Not since his grandfather passed had he returned to fixing and making furniture, and not till recently did he have a clue how much he loved and missed woodworking of all forms. Especially now, it was nice to, even in the simplest of ways, feel closer to the old man he loved so much. Delighted with the progress, Dylan returned his focus to the task at hand – building a haven of tranquility and creativity for the woman who had been kind enough to notice his car had not left the driveway for weeks.
The sudden and tragic death of his coworker Jim had been the catalyst for changes—big changes. An associate and close friend, Jim was as fixated on the climb up the financial corporate ladder as Dylan. Overworked, and pushing too hard, Jim had succumbed to a stress-induced heart attack at the age of thirty-nine. The wake-up call had rattled Dylan to his core, prompting him to reevaluate the trajectory of his own life. Unable to focus on anything but the loss of his friend, he’d taken weeks of built up vacation time from the hedge fund and spent it rattling around in his own house senselessly until he’d pulled out his tool kit and began tinkering with the lopsided builder-grade cabinets in his laundry room.
From a simple fix-it effort, the project quickly turned into ripping out the cheap cabinetry and rebuilding the area to his liking with solid wood. His temporary departure from the high-stress world of finance had brought him back to a familiar place – the world of craftsmanship and creation. As Dylan measured, cut, and meticulously assembled each piece of wood, the process became a form of meditation, a way to channel his grief and frustration into something tangible.
That was when, warm muffins in hand, Meredith had wandered up the drive and into his yard where he’d been cutting and sanding the last wooden panel. “I didn’t know you did cabinetry.”
“I don’t. Usually.”
She ran her fingers down the side. “New kitchen?”
“Laundry. Time for a change.”
“May I see?”
At the time he wasn’t really looking for company or conversation, but just because he had been in a perpetually crappy mood didn’t mean he had to take it out on Meredith. Inside the new laundry room, her eyes had almost fallen out of their sockets. “Holy cow.” She ran her hands over the custom cabinetry as if they were made of solid gold. “This is amazing.”
He shrugged.
“What kind of countertops are you going to use?”
“Those.” He waved at the butcher block counters in an out-of-the-way corner of the adjacent kitchen.
“Where’d you buy them? I have a friend who does restoration work and she’s always looking for new sources.”
“Didn’t buy them.”
Her eyes widened, exposing the big white circles around startled brown eyes. “You made those too?”
He nodded.
“Dang. And here I was worried about you.”
“Worried?”
“Your car is never in the driveway. You work more hours than Santa’s elves on Christmas week.”
That particular analogy was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.
“Then suddenly your car’s in the driveway for weeks. Honestly, I was afraid I’d find you dead on the floor.”
Immediately his mind turned to Jim and how shocked everyone had been to learn he’d been found dead. He wouldn’t wish finding his body on anyone, especially not a concerned neighbor. “Taking some vacation time.”
She bobbed her head and stepping into the laundry room, fingered the newly glued and sanded countertops. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance I can talk you into doing some work for me?”
Work for her? Doing carpentry? The possibility of extending his vacation and working for someone else hadn’t occurred to him. To his surprise, the thought wasn’t a hard no. As a matter of fact, it seemed to sit well with him. Next thing he knew he was nodding at her and as soon as he was done with his laundry room, his vacation time had turned into an indefinite leave of absence and here he was doing a custom office.
With every day that passed, he better understood that the decision to take a hiatus from the boardrooms and corner offices had been necessary for his sanity. When the office was finished, he’d have to re-examine his choices. At this moment, going back to sitting behind a desk, confined within four walls, held very little appeal. Then again, was he really ready to give up everything he’d worked so hard for?
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