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Chapter Eight
Latham
Come Friday morning, I realize I have a problem. A big one.
Namely, Harper Grayson.
And the fact she increased her bid on the property between us.
I guess, technically, that’s two problems.
The first one creeps up right about the time I go to sleep. And wake up. And shower. And hear someone humming one of those stupid-ass boy band songs she’s so fond of. Basically, she’s a big problem I can’t seem to eradicate from my mind. It’s like she pitched a fucking tent in my head and is in it for the long run. Speaking of tents, I seem to be pitching one regularly too. Every time I think about her, things start to happen in my pants.
That second problem is the reason I’m at work early on Friday morning. I put in a call to my realtor, Pete, who said I’ve made the best offer I could and that it was a waiting game. Two offers on the table, and it was up to Mrs. Morton to decide which way she wanted to go. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to grease the wheels a little, if you know what I mean. That’s why I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Morton’s place this weekend to see if there’s anything I can help with around the house. You know, maintenance shit. She only has granddaughters, so I’m sure she’d appreciate a big strong man stopping by to help her mow her grass or mend the fence. Plus, Mom’s making me one of her famous carrot cakes to take with me.
No one can resist Mom’s carrot cake.
That deal is as good as mine.
So, by the time lunch rolls around, I’m in a damn good mood. Even dealing with Felicity can’t dampen this day. She prances around, flirting with the customers in a way that would make my grandpa spit nails, and always finds herself “busy” when it comes time to actually check out the customers. But today, not even her constant touches get under my skin.
Today, is a good fucking day.
“Latham, you have a package!” Felicity hollers from the front counter. I’ve slipped into the office to get started on the payroll, something else that won’t even dampen my good mood.
I get up and head up front, wishing Dale hadn’t taken the first lunch break today. Felicity’s there, a wide smile spread across her pink lips, as she waves a cylinder in front of my face. It’s about a foot long and has no distinguishing markings to tell what it is.
“What’s that?” I ask, reaching for the package.
“I’m not sure, but it has your name on it,” she replies, stepping forward and placing the cylinder against my chest, running her nails along my pec as she goes.
“Thanks,” I grumble, stepping around her claws and setting the package on the counter.
There’s no company name on the return label, just a PO Box address. Most of our shipments come to the back door, and I don’t have anything outstanding that I’m waiting on. It must be a sample. We get them occasionally from distributors and companies hoping we’ll carry their product.
I slice through the tape and apply a little pressure to the plastic lid. It’s not easy to get it to move, but once it does, it pops open.
It. Fucking. Pops. Open.
And I’m showered in something tiny.
I blink, my ears ringing from the noise the canister made when the lid blew, and realize I have spots in my vision. It’s like there’s shit stuck to my eyeballs.
“Oh my God!” Felicity exclaims, laughing hysterically behind me.
“What the fuck,” I grumble, swiping at my eyes and finding my hands covered in tiny pink flecks of…
Glitter.
“You’ve been glitter-bombed! That’s the best gag ever,” she continues, cackling and carrying on. “It’s pink too! You should see your hair.” Turning around, I glance her way, only to have her burst out into a fresh wave of laughter. “Holy shitballs, it’s in your beard too!”
“What the hell is this shit?” I ask, running my hands over my face and seeing little pink particles rain all over the counter and floor.
“It’s a glitter bomb. Haven’t you heard of them?” she asks, earning a growl in response from me. “So anyway, you send an anonymous glitter bomb to someone and it explodes, raining glitter all over the place. That stuff is horrible to clean up,” she adds, making no movement to retrieve a broom.
“That’s just fucking great,” I grumble.
“Oh, it was great,” she says as I shake out my hair. “It’s stuck everywhere. I think you have it in your ears.”
