Luc rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated. “In every movie ever made, what happens when a beautiful woman walks by a construction site?”
“She gets cat-called,” I say.
Wait a minute. Am I the beautiful woman in this scenario? Did Luc just imply that I’m beautiful?
I ignore the thought when he throws his hands up in exasperation. “Exactly.”
I frown. “You want me to be careful,” I repeat his earlier comment, “because you think I’m going to be cat-called for leavingmyunderwear to dry inmylaundry room.”
He shrugs. “Basically.”
My spine straightens and my shoulders square. “So it’s up to me to make sure I don’t get sexually harassed in my own home, is that it?”
Luc’s posture stiffens. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, but you did.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“You said I might want to move my drying rack,” I say, ticking off his points on my fingers. “You wanted me to be careful because stereotypes existed for a reason, implying that the location of my drying underwear might invite sexual harassment. You’re saying now that’s not what you meant to communicate?”
During this little speech, Luc Valencia has gone rather red in the face. “I’m saying—”
“Because if any one of your workers sexually harasses me—”
Did I say red? The look that overtakes Luc’s face is black as pitch. I’ve seen hurricanes less scary. “If any one of my workers sexually harasses you, he will be out on his ass, Miss Delacroix. I’ll see to that.”
A smile breaks across my face. “Then I think you should be having this conversation with your staff, not me.” I bat my eyelashes at him because I can’t help myself. “And we’ve already established that it’s Millie.”
If we were cartoon characters, this would be about the time when my over-the-moon gorgeous contractor would have steam coming out of his ears. His nostrils flare.
“Millie,” he growls my name through clenched teeth. “Do you lock your doors at night?”
I know exactly where this is going. I sigh in resignation. “Of course I do, Luc.”
A wicked smile quirks his mouth. He thinks he’s got this argument in the bag. I hope he can handle disappointment well. Whenever he lost an argument with me, Carter would pout for the rest of the day. It was so annoying.
Wait. Why am I thinking about Carter? Luc’s not—
“So you take measures to protect yourself against victimization.”
“I do,” I say, nodding emphatically. “The difference here being that I don’t have a contractual relationship with burglars, and I do with your company. Therefore, I expect professionalism.”
Luc’s mouth falls open and his eyes bulge.“Professionalism?”He’s staring at me like I’ve just slapped him across the face. Then his mouth and eyes close at the same time. I watch him press his lips together and frown. He raises a hand to his brow, and to my surprise, he laughs.
I have no idea what’s going on. He laughs with his eyes closed, his head hanging, and it’s the most disarming sight in the world.
“Professionalism,” he says again, almost to himself. Then he straightens up, drops his hand, and grins at me. “I’ve been an ass again. Please accept my apology.”
I grin back. “Apology accepted.”
Carter never used to apologize. He’d just sulk for a few hours and then pretend like nothing happened.
STOP COMPARING HIM TO CARTER! HE’S NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND!
It’s all I can do not to palm my forehead, but that would look really dumb right now. Instead, I turn and point to the pile of dismantled cabinets on the lawn.
“It looks like you guys have been busy.”
