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I shy away from the answer to that question. I’m not desperate, exactly. It’s just that this is Linc. And I’ve spent more time alone with him in the last 24 hours than I have in the last 20 years. Of course, my mind is going to wander a bit. I’m a living, breathing woman with two working eyes. And he’s gorgeous. Can I help it if everything he says sounds sexual?
Yes, you pervert. He’s not trying to be sexual.
Shaking off my dirty thoughts, I nod. “I’ll give him a call later today. Oh. Or maybe I should wait until tomorrow. It being Sunday, and all.”
Linc shakes his head as he makes a few notes in a small pocket notebook. He carries a tiny notebook. Of course, he does. Why is that hot? Right. Because I’m a pervert who finds everything he does hot.
“He’ll answer,” Linc says, pocketing the notebook. “Give him a call.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Good.” He gestures toward the sink. “I might be able to get a discount on the new sinks and chairs. Can you show me what you want?”
I grin, excited by the prospect of shopping, even if I hate the idea of how much it’s going to cost. I reach for my phone again and pull up the link I bookmarked last night.
“I’ve got it narrowed down to these two,” I say, swiping back and forth between two web pages. The two sinks are the same price, but I can’t decide which one I like better. They’re both gorgeous and functional. Linc studies the two sinks for several long moments. I don’t know why, but I’d expected him to be dismissive about my choice. Most men zone out when I talk about my work. But Linc leans in close to see the screen, his face inches from mine. I go still, even as my heart hammers in my chest. He's so close, I know I could easily kiss him if I turned just a little.
“What about the chairs?” he asks, startling me from my thoughts. I clear my throat and toggle over to another web page and show him the chair I decided on.
“This one is the perfect height and reclines to the perfect angle," I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound shaky. "Plus, all the reviews seem to be positive.”
He nods before reaching over to swipe the screen back to the sinks. Pointing, he says, “That one looks more comfortable. See the shape of the front of the bowl? It’s more ergonomic for your clients’ head to rest on. It’ll also work better with the chair you want.”
I blink at the phone screen. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sort of surprised that Linc did. He’s right, though. The chairs I picked won’t work with one of the sinks. I guess my decision is made.
“Huh. You’re right," I say, turning to face him. He's still dangerously close as he grins at me.
“It happens on occasion.”
That grin is dangerous to my health, so I try not to stare at it too long. Clearing my throat, I gesture toward my phone.
“Do you want me to text you the links?”
“Email them to the official company email,” he says. “Helps with the paperwork later.”
I nod. “Right.”
Linc tells me the email address and I send him the links. Now that I’ve made the decision to replace the sinks and chairs, I feel less stressed about the whole endeavor. I’ve never been what I would call impulsive. I usually worry over a major decision for a while before making it. But once my mind is made up, I always feel better and I tend to act on it quickly. I know this project is going to be expensive but knowing that Linc is going to try and get me better deals makes me feel less stressed over the financial aspect.
“Thank you, again,” I say. “I know you didn’t really sign on for replacing sinks. I can pay you for the difference. I doubt those tools are going to cover it.”
He waves a hand, dismissing my words. “Don’t worry about it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll say it again. That’s a shitty way to run a business.”
Linc barks out a laugh, catching me off-guard. What I said wasn’t that funny. And it’s not the first time he’s heard me say it.
He shakes his head, still smiling. “Let me worry about that, Harlow. For now, let’s focus on getting your new items ordered and on their way. Then we can worry about everything else.”
I nod, once again feeling a sense of peace settle over me at his calm, no-nonsense words. I’m so used to always being the one who needs to fix what’s broken that it feels strange to have someone else helping me. Not just helping but taking control of the situation. It should feel strange, but instead it’s comforting. I’m not used to having someone else take charge of the messes in my life. I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.
Chapter 8
Linc
I’ve barely left Harlow’s place before my cellphone rings. Grinning, I press the button on my truck’s steering wheel to answer the call.
“Prescott Construction. How can I help you?” I say, the words sounding obnoxiously cheery and upbeat.
