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This sucks.
The sound of a car wakes me from my sleep, and I sit up straight like a zombie.
He’s home.
I glance at the clock: 5:00 a.m.
Where the fuck have you been all night, asshole?
Unable to help it, I scurry to the window and spy through the sheer curtains. I watch as Henley slowly drives into his garage and gets out of his car.
He’s still wearing the suit that he wore to the wedding. I roll my eyes at my idiocy. What do you think he’s going to wear home, a bathrobe? You fucking idiot.
That is it!
I storm to the bathroom enraged with myself.
That is fucking it!
I dig my gym clothes out of my closet and put them on with fury.
Well . . . I’ve got news for him.
He can’t reject me . . . because I am rejecting him.
Who the hell does this jockstrap think he is? I’m going to be so damn hot that he will be begging, begging, for a speck of my attention, and I will be too busy dating hot men to give him the time of day. I’m going outside to wake up Barry, and then we are running fast, maybe even sprinting.
Screw him.
I march downstairs in my gym clothes, ready to fight a tiger and then chase a bear.
You want to play, fuckface?
Let’s go.
“Do you have an estimate of the costs?” I ask. It’s Wednesday, and Joel has sent me his notes and mood images for my house inspiration. I love everything about them.
“Well, depending on how quickly you want the work done, and the quality of the fixtures, I would estimate anything between thirty and sixty thousand,” Joel replies.
“Dollars?” I gasp.
“Heritage luxury is expensive, Juliet.”
Jeez.
I puff air into my cheeks as I think.
“Unless you want to change the brief and go for a less expensive quality.”
“No.” I think for a moment. I’ll find the money somewhere. “I want the best. This is my forever home. I guess we will start with one room and work our way through as the funds allow. Would that be okay?”
“That’s what I was thinking. Good idea. What room do you want to start with?”
“Definitely the living room. It’s the heart of the home and where everyone sees first. And besides, I really want a comfy couch to sit on.”
He chuckles. “Great, okay. I’m going to email you a selection of the couches that I feel would suit our style. Go through them, and see if you gel with anything. If you want to order it through me, I can get my thirty percent wholesale rate from these particular suppliers.”
“Oh, fantastic.”
