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“It’s not?” Easton asked.
“No.” But she still didn’t tell us what her name actually was. Instead, Betty hefted the bottle I’d handed her into the air by the neck and spun on her heel. “And now, gentlemen, I bid you good day. I have a bottle of whiskey in my hand and a couch calling my name.” Pushing the door open, she flashed us a wicked smile, before backing out the door.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Easton let out a low whistle, looking at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Please tell me you’re hittin’ that,” he ground out. “Because if you’re not, can I have a try?”
Taking a deep breath, I counted to five, trying to remind myself why punching my best friend and business partner in the face was a bad decision.
“I literally just met her.”
“But youwantto be hittin’ that, am I right?”
Was he?
I wasn’t sure. Betty was attractive, no doubt, with that dark hair and gorgeous olive skin, and big brown eyes that seemed to be perpetually narrowed at me in annoyance. There was no denying the fact that I liked looking at her.
But, was it smart to get involved with a woman who lived in the building I was starting a business in?
Probably not.
Was that going to stop me?
Probably not.
“Let’s just focus on what we need to do here,” I said instead of answering him, his knowing smile making it very clear how transparent my deflection attempt was. “I’ve almost got the last shelf installed. It would have gone a fuck of a lot faster if I’d had a second set of hands to help me out, but my partner was somehow missing in action. Again.”
“Hey,” he defended with a laugh. “Lunch is the most important meal of the day.”
I opened my mouth to offer some sort of witty retort, but a sudden noise and a scream from the front of the building drew us both up short.
“Was that—” Easton began, but a second scream cut him off.
“It was.” I sped past him, practically elbowing him out of the way in my haste to get to the door.
I may have only just met her, but I had recognized Betty’s voice—and the rage that scream contained.
Chapter nine
Ricki
Shelookedatmelike I was nuts.
Hell, maybe I was.
Because who knew what the hell I was thinking.
When I’d first seen her there, staring at me through the window in the pouring rain, I hadn’t been quite sure what to make of her.
I mean, come on. She’d been a bit of a hot mess, standing there, soaking wet, her dark hair plastered to her face and her makeup smudged under her eyes.
I shouldn’t have found it so damn hot.
But, growing up the way I had, I didn’t often see women getting messy like that. Perfection always seemed to be the name of the game for them. Didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight, the women I’d known in my life were always more concerned with their appearance than anything else. Because God forbid any one of them bothered to cultivate any kind of personality.
No, they let their push-up bras and their daddy’s bank accounts do all the talking for them.
It was fucking exhausting.
