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Chapter Three
Harper
“You’re all set,” Latham says, pulling my attention away from the plans Free and I are making.
I don’t even have the property yet, but that isn’t stopping me from envisioning just what I’d do to the space if my offer were accepted. When I made it, my realtor assured me I’d know whether it was accepted or if a counteroffer was made. The good news is she thought I was the only one being considered by ol’ Mrs. Morton.
The anticipation is killing me.
“That didn’t take long,” I say, spinning around and meeting him back over at the counter.
“It was a simple reinstall, thanks to your up-to-date backup. You can have a quick look, but it appears that all your files transferred easily enough. Your accounting software is finished, and the add-on for inventory is completing now,” he says, turning the laptop my way. “I recommend keeping it plugged in to the Ethernet cable while you’re here, but your Wi-Fi should work fine if you take the laptop somewhere else in the store or to your office.”
“I do like the idea of being able to take it mobile,” I concede, not really admitting he may have been right in his suggestion. I hate that. “How much do I owe you?”
Latham pulls a receipt out of his jeans pocket and hands it over. I glance at the dollar amount, inwardly groaning that I have to take the money out of what I’ve been saving for the property next door, but knowing it needs to be done. If I would have hired a computer expert to work on it, the cost may have been dramatically more.
“How much for your time too?” I ask, setting aside the boxing gloves—figuratively speaking, of course. Though, the idea of donning a pair does have some appeal… At the end of the day, I am grateful for his assistance, and he deserves to be paid appropriately.
“I don’t need your money, Harper.”
“I’m going to pay you for your time,” I retort, crossing my arms. His eyes immediately dip down to the cleavage I know is on display. Even though I covered up with this thin blue sweater, it still hangs dangerously low in the front. I may or may not have had that planned when I threw it on earlier.
“How about you pay me with a kiss?” he says breezily, offering me the stupid cocky grin that does things I try to ignore to my lady parts.
“I’d rather kiss a pig,” I throw over my shoulder as I head off to my office, leaving him standing there chuckling.
I write out the check for one hundred dollars over the amount on the receipt. If anything, he deserves a little payment for the Sunday time he spent here, fixing my computer issues, instead of doing whatever the hell it is he does on Sundays. I jot the check details down in the ledger and make my way back to the front of the store. Latham is standing at the counter again, casually leaning against it as he chats with Free. He’s smiling easily, and not that evil, demonic one he always gives me. It’s light and free, and I can’t help the slight bubble of jealousy that surfaces when I think about Latham and my best friend.
“Here,” I say a bit too hastily, thrusting the check in his hand. His eyebrows furrow together in question, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t even look at the check. He shoves it in his pocket, never taking his eyes off mine for a second.
“Thanks.”
Crossing my arms, I stand up tall and square my shoulders. “Aren’t you even going to look at it?”
“Do I need to?”
“I wouldn’t short you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I paid you more.”
“Why?”
“Because you spent part of your Sunday here instead of doing…whatever you would have done today.”
“You mean I was here, with you and Free, surrounded by lady’s lingerie instead of watching football in front of the TV, while drinking beer and eating chicken wings?”
“There’s no football in July,” I argue. I’m rewarded with a smile.
“You have a point, Harper. Then, my next option would have been of the entertainment variety, if you know what I mean. I have a list of lady friends a mile long.”
“Pig.”
He barks out a laugh, the sound going straight to my core. My panties are pretty much ruined by this point. “I guess you’ll never know,” he says with a wink and moves. As he slides behind me (I refuse to move, by the way), his warm breath fans against my neck and goose bumps pepper my skin. His lips are mere inches from me and heat floods my veins. “Just say thank you, Harper.”
“Thank you, Harper.”
