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Seeing my stricken expression, Horvat shakes his head and checks his phone as if I’m taking up his precious time. “This is why I don’t like to do business with women. You all have unreal expectations and no idea what it takes to do a job right.”
“Apologize to her,” a low growly voice orders from somewhere behind me.
Horvat looks past me and pales. I don’t need to look to know who is standing in the doorway. I look nonetheless. And…oh no, he’s got his favorite murderous expression on, Roxy obediently sitting next to him with a quizzical look.
Apparently Horvat is not a football fan because the clouds in his eyes do not part, no dawning whatsoever appears on his face. What I do see, however, is the exact moment Horvat makes the decision to turn this into a pissing contest with a man two times taller and three times heavier.
“This is private business. You need to get off the property or I’ll have one of my guys escort you off.”
One guy? Try ten. “It’s fine, George. I know him.” Horvat’s expression flashes in mistaken understanding, his mouth twisting lewdly. Not possessing the patience or the desire to correct him, I ignore his reaction and push on. “Can we get back to the important stuff? When can your guy fix the handicap access?” The shake in my voice can be heard from a mile away. I’m positive Grant did because his frown deepens.
“Not till the end of the week.”
“I said apologize,” the man filling the doorway growls. “I won’t tell you again.”
Horvat shoots Grant a narrowed-eyed sneer and motions with his chin to one on his guys to “handle it.” This turns borderline comical when the guy takes a good long look at Grant, who looks like the instrument of God’s wrath, gulps, and shakes his head. Horvat levels Grant with a deep scowl. “Fuck off.”
Wrong answer, dude. I hang my head, knowing this spells disaster. Grant makes a beeline for us, and now I’m legitimately worried.
A: Grant is still healing. I don’t think Titans management would take kindly to hearing that he’s bare-knuckle brawling on his time off. B: He could get sued, or worse, arrested. C: I need Horvat to finish the job.
“Grant––don’t.”
Reaching me, he hands me Roxy’s leash and grabs Horvat––who struggles to land a punch, hitting empty space instead––by the seat of his pants and his shirt. I wish I was making this up.
“Grant, please don’t.”
I’m summarily ignored while he shoves Horvat to the door. I run to the doorway and find Horvat fixing his pants, adjusting the waist from the wedgie he undoubtedly has. He catches sight of me and snarls, “I fucking quit!”
“Mr. Horvat, I am so sorry.”
“Good luck finding someone to take the job in the middle of summer, you dumb bitch.”
Grant starts for him and Horvat hustles away. Inside the studio the three guys who were working at a snail’s pace put down their tools and silently file out the door.
I’m gonna cry. Hands planted on my hips, I aim my despair on the one responsible for this. “Have you lost your ever lovin’ mind? What am I gonna do now?”
“Hey––I just did you a favor, lady.”
“We’re back to that, are we?” It’s my turn to glare. “Why thank you, klutzy-knight-in-no-armor. This favor may have cost me the business I’ve spent every waking minute building for the past two and a half years. You sure saved the day!”
“That guy was an asshole.”
Roxy looks up at him with the same disgusted look I’m wearing. I laugh without humor. It’s high and erratic, and sounds a tad manic. “Tell me something I don’t know. You think this behavior is rare? For weeks, I’ve put up with his condescension and filthy leering to get him to finish the job.”
Pink tinges his sharp cheekbones, his slanted brows pulling together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m an adult and can take care of myself! Done it most of my life. I was handling it––until you charged in.” Fisting my hands, I dig them into my eye sockets to relieve some of the pressure. I’m soon on the verge of real tears of frustration. “I’m twelve days from opening. Where am I going to find another contractor?”
“I’ll fix it.”
I drop my fists to look at him. His cheek muscle ticks, otherwise he’s stone-faced. But the turmoil, the whirlpool of deep dark emotion, is there, just below the surface, barely hidden to me.
I imagine not many other people can see it. Maybe they don’t take the time. Maybe it needs someone with their own pile of turbulent emotions to recognize it in another.
“Grant––” My anger drains. I’m so bummed I don’t have the energy for anything else.
“I said I’ll fix it.”
“Don’t fix anything else, please. I can’t afford your help.”
Sam is due back any minute now from spending the day with Ronan. As much as I want to walk out and not look back, I can’t.
