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Valerie folded her arms over her chest and canted her head. “I thought you liked men.”
“So?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but Leah doesn’t qualify.”
“So?”
“Equal opportunity player?”
He grunted. “I wouldn’t sayequal.” He finally pulled his gaze away from Leah. You want some tea? Made it myself. I’ve got the air conditioner on full blast, but the longer you stand here, the more you’re gonna sweat. Too many damn bodies in here…” His pale gaze tracked toward Leah yet again. “Writhin’.”
Valerie growled. “Yes. Thanks. Tea would be wonderful.”
“No problem. I take care of my guests.”
“Some more than others, I’m sure.”
“I’m being very, very good, Valerie. Trust me.”
“Trusting Dowds seems to be a questionable venture in my experience.”
“Why, because you don’t like the way it feels when you do?”
She didn’t dignify the question with a response.
“Mm-hmm.” Clay slung an arm around her shoulders and guided her through the open pocket door at the back of the room. He led her down a little hall, past the bathroom, and into a bright, roomy kitchen.
“Wow.” Her gaze hungrily devoured the refinished floors, the beautiful wainscoting, and the period window trims as he yanked opened the stainless steel-toned fridge.
“Yep. My pride and joy. This is the only room in that house that’s truly done, which makes sense, I guess. I spend almost all my time here, and when I’m not here, I’m on my porch, pondering my lot in life.”
“I’d love to see the rest of it. Architectural curiosity, of course.”
“Oh, for you, I’d throw open every door so you can ogle my deepest, darkest…” Letting the thought dangle, he snorted. “Deepest, darkest closets, of course. House is a fuckin’ mess. I don’t like folks seeing the worst parts of it, but I guess you’d understand. Feel free to poke around, but don’t tell anyone I told you that you could. They’ll think you’re getting special treatment or something.” He poured her some tea, handed her the glass, and winked. “Take your time. I’ll catch up to you in a bit. I need to greet my guests and reintroduce my hands to your little sister’s ass.”
“Clay!” Valerie gaped.
“What?” His expression was neutral as a sphinx. “I’m just gonna touch it. She doesn’t mind.”
“I know she doesn’t. That’s the problem.”
“Oh, honey, I’m theleastof her problems.” He wriggled his eyebrows as he backed to the door. “And besides, as long as I’m groping her, no one else is.”
“I’m not sure why you think that idea would bring me comfort.”
He shrugged. “Maybe it shouldn’t.”
Valerie sighed, took a long sip of the cold, mellow tea, and arced around to the opposite side of the room. She peered out the back door at what must have been the fields in the distance, and then looked down at the porch in front of her. It was an impressive wraparound, even to her standards, though she imagined many Southerners in the last century used their porches in the way some modern folks used their living rooms. Prior to the advent of air conditioning, home occupants often chose to sit outside in the shade and try to catch a breeze rather than penning themselves up in stuffy, uncirculated air inside the home.
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes and pondered why so few of the home models at Shora had more than a few square yards of porch. “Don’t even wonder,” she told herself, rolling her eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”
The guy who’d made the plans had basically lifted them wholesale from previous projects. The houses were more or less out of the firm’sGeneric Tract Housefile drawer. Valerie had never understood why they didn’t at least make a few unique styles available for each new community. They wouldn’t be taxing the contractors any more than they already were because they knew they were going to be building five or six different floor plans, anyway.
“But, whatever. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”
She was going to do the bare minimum to get by, just like everyone else in the company, until she could find something better.
She was done. Lipton could go fuck their collective selves.
