AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTERONE
Harley
Maybe I’m not the smartest of the Wood Brothers, but I know my limits.
And Charlotte Sinclair is stepping right over that limit at the moment.
“Come on, Mr. Wood. No one wants a garden tub anymore.”
I don’t dare look into those flawlessly made-up eyes and ask her what the heck is wrong with a garden tub. If I do that, I know what her response will be. Charlotte will squint those all-seeing eyes at me as if I’m arguing in favor of dog fighting or something.
I sip my coffee, buying time for my response. Charlotte tilts her head as her eyes survey me, her gaze traveling everywhere but my eyes.
She’s been weird with me ever since I asked her out. Awkward, like she doesn’t know where to look. And always calling me Mr. Wood, like I’m my dad.
She’s the one who turned me down, so I don’t know why she’s the awkward one. I’m fine.
Totally fine…to wait her out and obsess in the meantime.
When she cocks her head like that, her dangly earrings glint in the morning sunshine, swinging against her graceful neck. Her skin looks so soft and warm right there. She is as inviting and mouth-watering as a Boston creme donut. I’m probably not supposed to compare women to food, but what can I say? I’m motivated by both. That is to say, I’m motivated byCharlotteand food. They both drive me to make impulsive choices.
“I’m not taking out the garden tub,” I say with a too-arrogant chuckle. “Your client can take out the garden tub after they buy the house.”
Charlotte and I have been going back and forth about the Hilltop House for weeks. She should have sold it for us already—that’s how long it’s been finished—but her client keeps asking for more, more, more. I turn down one ridiculous contingency after another, but this client really seems to want the house.
If it’s not the garden tub, it’s the breeze block wall in the backyard that needs to come down. Or the custom bookcase that needs a television nook. Yesterday, Charlotte declared the distressed kitchen cabinets “cheugy,” whatever the heck that means. I lost my temper on that one and told her to go fly a kite.
She should be happy she can double-end her commission on all these properties. I know she’s an intelligent businesswoman, and she made a killing on all the houses we’ve rehabbed in Fate. Well, except for the Paget mansion and the Ingalls house—those my brothers bought for themselves.
Charlotte sold all the other properties we’ve fixed up this far before the homes went on the market officially. She’s a savvy business lady with business and money smarts. She’s everything I look up to—all the things I am not good at. I thought we’d make a good fit, but she only wants to remain professional to the point of being weird and stuffy.
That’s fine. Like I said, I can wait.
What I am good at is working with my hands.
My specialty is the stuff that nobody else at Wood Brothers Construction wants to do. Buck handles the administrative duties and clients. The middle brother, Wade, is great with a scroll saw and painstaking historical details. He’s also good with keeping contractors on budget. Me, I do the real heavy lifting. I might not know how to make things pretty or keep things under budget, but I can measure, cut, haul, and install fixtures faster than three people. If a crew member doesn’t know what they’re doing, the brothers send them to me to show them what’s up.
Charlotte knows all this about me, which is why I think she thinks I’m going to give in and rip out the garden tub for her client. She knows if she pushes me hard enough, I’ll give in. I never should have asked her out to begin with because she knows I have a soft spot for her.
“Come on, Harley. It’s not that big of a project.”
“That’s not the point,” I say.
“You won’t have to come down on the price if you just do this one tiny little thing for me.”
I growl in response. Not because I’m angry. The truth is I kind of like our little back and forth. She’s absolutely out of her gourd, but what can I say? If anyone is gonna waste my time, it might as well be the beautiful Charlotte.
Even if she won’t date me.
“Charlotte,” I laugh. “The house hasn’t sold because you keep coming back with this dumb shit client.”
The dumb shit comment was too far; I see that now. Charlotte purses those full, pretty lips together in a hard line, and her cute little nostrils flare.
“Harley. It’s a cheap fiberglass tub. It’s not even your brand.”
She knows full well that Hilltop House was my baby. My over-budget, historic arts-and-crafts money pit that I fell hard for. And now, I’m insulted because she knows I went cheap on that one fixture. So what? I didn’t cut any corners on the build itself; she knows that damn well.
“Everyone buying new these days wants a big deep soak tub. That will sell the house.”
