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“Technically?” Cher asked.
“Leave her alone, Cher,” I said, but I was still thinking about that time with Eli, and there wasn’t much force to it.
“You should definitely have a fling with Mitchell Harrington.”
For some reason, a rush of heat went through me at that. Was that… jealousy? I shoved that aside fast. If there was one thing I was adamant about at Heartbreaker Plumbing that I planned to weave into the ethos of Heartbreaker Trades, if it ever got off the ground, was that we supported other women. Always. There was no room for pettiness and jealousy when we had each other’s backs.
Still, picturing a growling Mitchell in the vicinity of any woman made something strange and hot course through me. “Yes!” I squeaked out. “Either him or Jamie.”
Sarah went beet red at that. “Jamie’s my boss,” she exclaimed.
Cher gasped, clapping her hands together.
“Cher,” I laughed, feeling a flash of guilt for siccing Cher on Sarah, but still relieved the attention was off me. “I was joking.”
“Why? Jamie’s a stone-cold fox.”
“Silver fox,” I said. Cher wasn’t wrong. Jamie was very handsome, and the nicest man to boot. But he was more than old enough to be my father. Sarah was older than us—late thirties maybe, but he was well older than her. His son Seamus was older than me by a couple of years.
“Wait,” Cher said to Sarah. “Is there something going on between you two?”
Just then my phone buzzed in the center of the table.
Sarah looked desperately relieved. Our eyes all went to the screen automatically.
UNKNOWN: There’s a leak in my kitchen.
My stomach lurched. I grabbed the phone, but not before Cher spotted it. “It’s him, isn’t it!”
I never gave out my cell phone number to clients. After hours calls went through our answering service. In fact, I never gave my cell number to anyone except close friends and family. Not since I got a call from Adam in prison, threatening my life. He’d called my mom’s uncle, who the boys had been living with when he was imprisoned, and discovered I’d taken legal guardianship of my brothers.
But this wasn’t Adam.
Only one man could get through to the private line my computer science majoring brother had set up for me, as easily as if it were a listed number.
I pushed away from the table with a scrape of my chair, the din from the bar suddenly fading.
WINONA: Who is this?
The response took only a moment.
UNKNOWN: You know who this is.
He knew I knew. My heart thudded. I didn’t bother asking how he got the number.
“Winona!” Cher exclaimed. Then she pinched her lips together, clearly remembering how upset I’d gotten before.
WINONA: This number is private for a reason, Mr. Harrington.
UNKNOWN: Tomorrow. Double what I paid last time.
My stomach flipped. Double the heinous overcharging from last time? That was unfathomable. No, it was insane. But he didn’t care about money, did he? Two commas, Winona.
That thought lit up a flame of anger. He couldn’t just get what he wanted by throwing money at it.
WINONA: I don’t work on the weekend. Try Miller’s.
Miller’s Boiler and Gas was my main competitor. I worked for them before branching out on my own. The place was reputable in terms of work, but Miller himself was an asshole. He was perfect for Mitchell Harrington.
