Whatever it was, my jaw twitched with the need to put him in his place.
“Mr. McScroodge,”Rob started, noting the way Tristan and I were glaring at each other.“This is my son, Tristan. He has something to say to you.”
“Mr. McScroodge,”Tristan said, his arrogant smirk widening.“I’m sorry about what happened to your house. My temper got the better of me, and I acted without thinking.”
My fists clenched at the insincerity of his tone.“Doesn’t sound to me like you’rethatsorry, boy. Perhaps I should allow the police to proceed with the charges after all.”
Rob stepped forward, panic flashing over his face.“Please, Mr. McScroodge. Tris is sorry. He’sjustupset.”He glanced at his son, his eyes pleading as he silently mouthedplease.
Tristan sighed, briefly closing his eyes. When they opened again, he met my furious gaze before raising his hand, offering it to me to shake.“Mr. McScroodge, Ireallyam sorry for what I did to your house, and I’m gratefulthatyou didn’t press charges. I promise you, I will work hard to fix the damage.”
I glowered at him. There was a fraction more sincerity in his tone this time, but I was yet to be convincedthathe would fix the mess he’d made to a standard I was happy with. Ignoring his hand, he finally lowered it when he realized I wouldn’t shake it.
“I’ll accept your apology when you provethatyou’re sorry,”I barked.“You’ve got until the end of December to repair my property. I expect you here every day at 7 am sharp, and you will work until 7 pm. If I so much as get the feelingthatyou’re not pulling your weight,thenI won’t hesitate to go back to the cops and file a complaint. Do I make myself clear?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and I internally patted myself on the back for pissing him off the way he’d pissed me off. Hequickly schooled his features, and a beaming smile graced his face. My breath hitched, but I refused to acknowledge how damn handsome he was.
Tristan was a similar height to me, maybe an inch or two shorter than my 6ft 2, and with his broad shoulders and muscular arms, I wondered if he worked out like me. His mousey-brown hair was a mess, as if he’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered to brush it, and a few strands rested against his forehead.
Whereas Rob had a pale face, Tristan’s was bronzed, an indicationthathe’d spent the entire summer outside in the sun. His sharp jawline had smatterings of day-old stubble, adding to my theorythathe’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered shaving.
Long, dark lashes framed golden brown eyes, which sparkled with life; a far cry from my dull, almost black eyes. As I stared at him, a knot tightened in my stomach; one I’d felt only a few times before but had never acted upon, nor would I.
“Mr. McScroodge,”Rob said before his son could reply.“I know I’m pushing my luck here, but to expect Tristan to work every day for the next month is a little…unfair. He needs rest, you see, he has-”
I turned my furious gaze on Rob, snarling at his audacity to implythatI was being unfair, when Tristan beat me to it.
“Dad.”He gave his dad a subtle shake of his head, telling him not to divulge whatever it was he was about to. A silent conversation passed between them, and I watched, intrigue growing as to what Tristan didn’t want his dad to tell me. After several seconds, Rob’s shoulders slumped, and Tristan returned his attention to me, his grin still fixed firmly in place.“It’s all good, I’ll be here until the work is done.”
An unfamiliar feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach as my gaze darted between the two, and before I could stop myself,words fell from my mouth.“I’ll allow you to have Sundays off. But I still expect the work to be completed on time.”
Tristan’s brow quirked in surprise as Rob released a sigh of relief.“Thank you, Mr. McScroodge. I appreciate it.”He shuffled awkwardly before adding,“Well. I’ll be going, I don’t want to be late to the office.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Dad.”
Tristan patted his dad on the back as Rob gave his son an affectionate smile before getting into the carthatwas parked behind a van, signwritten with Crutchens’ Interiors. The two of us watched in silence as Rob started his car and headed down the driveway, leaving me alone with the menace who thought it was funny to break into people’s homes.
When his car was out of sight, Tristan turned to me, his dazzling smile reaching his eyes.“Right, I best get started.”
My mood never improved as the day went on. NotthatI was everreallyin a good mood, buttoday, something was irking me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Whatever was bothering me had kept me distracted as I tried to work through the mountain of paperwork I had, but my mind kept wandering.
Mainly to the irritating bug I’d left at my house this morning.
I didn’t trust him; he was too fucking happy and upbeat when he had no reason to be. It wasevident from his beat-up van, to his torn clothes,thathe didn’t makemuch money from his business, yet there he was, grinning at me like a damn Cheshire cat as I walked him through my house and instructed him on the repairs I wanted carried out.
My gut told methatby the time I made it home, he would have spent the day pissing aroundinstead of getting on with the work.Thatwas if he was still at the house in the first place.
When 6 pm rolled around and the office closed, I made it home in record time, shocked toseethathis van was still parked in my driveway. To my annoyance, though, the spray-painted word marring my drive was as clear as day, fueling my sour mood.
I parked my sparkling new convertible A-Class Mercedes behind his van and stormed into the house, pausing in the foyer when the beat of loud music filtered down from upstairs. It sounded like the little fucker was having a party rather than working as he should have been.
Jaw clenched, I marched upstairs, once again freezing in the doorway to my bedroom at the sight before me. Tristan had his back to me, one hand holding a tray of white paint, while he ran a paint roller over the wall. Dustsheets covered every inch of my room, and in the corner was the source of my irritation. A speakerthatmust have been at full volume, given the racket coming from it.
Anger pumped through my veins as I watched Tristan. He hadn’t heard me come in because he was too busy singing along to the music while gyrating his hips in time to the beat. Unwittingly, my gaze dropped to his ass, the tight cargo pants showing how firm it was.
Seconds passed, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off him, and when I did manage to pull them away, they traveled over his back,noting the muscles rippling under his shirt as he rolled the paint. I swallowed, suddenly aware of the knot in my stomach pulling tighter.
Worse thanthat, though, was the way my cock twitched the longer I stared at his muscular physique.
