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And plow into a solid body with an oof.
“I’m so sorry, I …” My tongue stalls when I look up into Garrett’s handsome chiseled face. “Oh. You.” I take a step back to appraise him in a crewneck sweater and dark-wash jeans. Still expensive, but far more casual than his usual city chic.
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “Hi, Justine. How long has it been?”
“Can’t recall.” Four days, sixteen hours, thirty-six minutes since I had him in my mouth.
He studies my lips, and I know what he’s imagining, because I’ve caught myself replaying his guttural moans and trembling body more than I’d like—while in bed, in the shower, at work. Basically, all the time.
We’ve crossed a forbidden line where we’ve both unraveled beneath the other’s touch, and there’s no turning back.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?” There’s a thick manila envelope in his clutch. Ned warned me that he was taking the deal.
“I have a commitment letter and a draft contract for your boss to review.”
“Don’t you guys wait until closer to the end? Or at least until you have permits?”
Garrett shrugs. “Peace of mind for Ned and shows him I’m serious.”
“Especially since your variance and building permits aren’t approved yet.”
“Yes, of course. You’ve caught on to my wicked plan.”
He’s mocking me. “Just so you know, I’ll be going through that with a fine-tooth comb for any employee gag order.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you. But don’t worry. In this case, it’s a straight-up contractor pricing contract. No gagging involved.” Again, his gaze drops to my mouth. “Though that wouldn’t be a problem for you.”
I swallow. This is not a side I’ve seen of Garrett yet. I’m the crass one. He’s always been so prim and proper in public. Normally, I’d see his lewd comment and raise him tenfold, but I can’t seem to find the words. “Ned’s in the office.”
Garrett’s eyebrows furrow with concern. “You’re off your game.”
“I’m not off my game.” I so am. “I’m just not playing your game.” The one where we get into a verbal sparring match that ends in us meeting in the apartment upstairs over my lunch break to fuck, because things between us are escalating quickly.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” The microwave-hater peers around the corner. “We’ve got a couple of questions.”
“Be right there.” I smile at Garrett. “If there’s nothing else, I need to try to sell a radioactive death box to a conspiracy theorist.”
“Have fun. Wait”—he holds up a finger—“there is one thing. I’m looking for a good plumber. Do you have anyone you can recommend?”
“What for?”
He leans in as if to whisper a secret, his lips inches from my ear. “To fix a broken toilet in the temporary office.”
It’s the most unsexy answer, and yet a shiver runs down my spine. “Curt Shapiro.”
“Curt Shapiro,” Garrett repeats, watching me closely. “Nah, I’m getting to know how you work, and that was too easy. What’s wrong with him?”
With a reluctant sigh, I admit, “He overcharges and fixes problems that don’t exist.”
He chuckles, my attempt to steer him wrong not upsetting him in the least. “Okay, do you have another name you could offer? A good one. I’d appreciate it.”
With another—louder—sigh, I say, “Hank Lazarro. He’s the best in the area.” Turns out Shane was right—there was a clamp missing from Stuart the Second, and the manufacturer said it was on back order, so Hank built a perfect replica and had the appliance running in under an hour. “His number’s on the list pinned to the wall. Go on back there and Ned’ll give it to you. And make sure you tell Hank we referred you.”
Garrett smiles. “That wasn’t so painful, was it?”
“Excruciating.”
He moves for the office, but stalls. “Oh, by the way, I negotiated a truce with Todd on your behalf.”
“Why would you do that?”
He falters on his answer. “Because I’m trying to fool you into thinking I’m a good guy, so you’ll back off this variance issue.”
“Clearly. It’s a good thing I’m not easily fooled.” Again.
“Right. Either way, you’re allowed to go back in there, just so long as there’s no more talk about the development or him selling the property. No more guilt trips. That’s his rule.”
“I don’t want to go back there.” My stomach growls in protest.
Garrett shrugs, his back to me as he walks away. “He mentioned something about double-smoked bacon.”
The usual garlicky fragrance is absent in the butcher shop today, replaced by a mixture of something less pungent and decidedly sweet.
I inhale as I edge in, savoring the aroma, my apprehension growing. Maybe this is a joke and Garrett is setting me up to be kicked out again.
Todd is at the counter, ringing up a customer. I can just make out his sparse, electrified hair through the spaces in the condiments.
“When’s the big move to the new location?” The graying man slides his wallet from his back pocket.
