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There is a tiny little mirror on the far wall, which I polished yesterday when I cleaned the window. I stand back to look at myself, realizing in two seconds flat that I forgot a bra.
“Shit!”
“Victoria? Hello?”
That deep, sexy voice rumbles through me and the house, and we both quake to our foundation. Screw the bra. I need to get downstairs before this guy goes through the porch in a different spot and sues me for injuring himself. That would suck. I doubt he’d want to fix my house after that. I really don’t want to get sued. Also, shit, why didn’t I remember a bra?
I careen down the stairs and race to the front door. I throw it open, leap over the hole in the porch, catch myself with one of the sagging porch roof supports, and smile a big huge smile. I remember, yet again, that I’m sans bra over here, so I quickly drop my arms and cross them over my chest, hopefully hiding the perky breasts issue.
I have no doubt they’re perky. Just like yesterday, Atlas’ eyes are fixed on me, and his gaze sears through me, still shocking me because I feel so seen. I don’t feel invisible or even near to it like I always have.
“Hi,” I squeak. I’m so effing glad you didn’t bail on me. “I’m really glad you came. I have my budget ready if you have the quote.”
His eyes, bluer than gray this morning under the early golden sunlight, sparkle as he approaches the porch. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious in a tight black T-shirt, worn jeans, and brown work boots that look brand new. Lined by the golden rays, his thick mahogany locks are shot through with copper. His jaw seems so much squarer and shinier, and his hard features are that much harder. He’s straight-up gorgeous.
“I brought more than a quote. In under an hour, this whole yard is going to be full of people of the trade. I got a plumber, an electrician, a carpenter crew coming for the porch, a guy who does drywall, and a guy who specializes in vintage appliances to make sure they’re working right. But the wood stove guy can’t come until this afternoon. I hope that’s alright. Oh, and the landscapers will be here around one. I wanted them to take a look at the yard to get the whole picture.”
I’m more than astounded. I can feel my mouth gaping open, and out here in the country, there’s a far better chance of swallowing bugs than in the city, so I quickly slam it shut. I blink hard at the ominous sting in the corners of my eyes. “I…I can’t possibly pay for all of that.”
“Don’t worry,” he reassures me as he sweeps his hand through his luscious hair. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Do you want to come in and go over my budget?”
He steps up to the porch and passes me a sheet of paper. I assume it’s the quote, so I’m super confused when I look at it to see it’s just a blank piece of paper. “I said I’d work to your budget, so we can fill the quote in later.”
I want to tell him that I don’t know why he’s being so nice, but I feel like it’ll be utterly rude. Maybe this is just all about his business and nothing else. How many times have I tried to tell myself that? When he grins at me with his teeth all nice and white and straight and his lips just a little too lush and full and so, so freaking attractive, it’s still hard for me to believe it.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. A small, point-and-shoot camera. “Is it alright if I take some before photos of the place? I want some exterior shots of the yard and whole house, then some interior shots as well.”
Right, yup. It’s all about the house.
I don’t know why I’m so disappointed when this is going to make my living situation habitable at a fraction of the price. I’m basically hitting the lottery here. It might be strange, but my sudden crashing disappointment is like kicking a gift horse straight in the teeth.
“Y—yeah,” I stammer. “Whatever you need.” Now I know the real meaning of dashed hopes. The kernel of hope that this ghost pepper hot guy might actually see me as…as… Get a grip here. Disappointed? Why are you disappointed? Because he’s not asking for your number? Because he’s not asking you on a date? Why would he even be single? He’s smoking hot, and he’s beyond handsome. He’s built like he really can lift up the whole world, just as his namesake implies. Anddddd he’s nice on top of all that. Oh, and he owns his own business. He obviously has his shit together. Guys like that—the whole package and then some—they’re never single. What was I thinking?
