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“Careful, you’ll make me blush,” he murmurs against my mouth.
What a flirt. “Shouldn’t you be at work already?” I ask.
“I’ve been at work since 6 a.m.”
“And you stopped to get me? That’s how much you hate my car?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth and wanted to see you.”
I shouldn’t let him turn me on but it’s getting tough now, especially when he talks about my mouth.
“And you needed coffee.”
“Right. And I needed coffee.”
After five, six, seven more kisses, our shared heat begins to fog up the windshield.
“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, Grace. And you smell amazing. And you taste…”
I moan into his mouth and feebly push at his chest. “Don’t I have to do some measuring and let you get on with your day?”
Buck groans, pulls away, and reaches past me to buckle my seatbelt.
“Yeah, we’d better get going.”
When we arrive at the Paget Mansion, Buck takes me through each room, and I record all the measurements I will need.
Other than making shit up as I go along, what I’ll do with these measurements is beyond me.
He guides me quickly through the parlor, the kitchen, the butler pantry, and the downstairs guest area. The place is buzzing with activity. Painters cut in with tiny brushes around the restored window frames. Carpenters work to painstakingly fix hand-tooled trim. A plaster conservationist oversees workers as they reinstall a stunningly restored ceiling medallion. All the intricate, skilled work on this jewel of a home is sinking in, and the imposter syndrome is real. Probably because I’m a legit imposter? Geez.
I keep going, though. One thing at a time. One space at a time. The upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms are straightforward enough. But there’s so much extra space that I have no clue how to handle it. The landing on the second floor is more spacious than my whole apartment. One room downstairs seems to be a main rec room but then the second floor boasts a game room, and on the top floor is a ball room and a bar. This house is massive from the outside, but the practicalities of filling this place with furniture and decorations are—well, I’m plumb over my head.
Fake it ’til you make it, babe. Don’t fuck it up now.
“So, what do you think?”
Staring off into space at the third-floor landing Tiffany windows, I wonder how I’ll stay under budget. A trip to Ikea won’t cut it. I suddenly snap out of my musings to find Buck, Wade, and Harley staring at me.
“Oh! It’s a gorgeous space.”
Wade looks at me expectantly. “And?”
I get the feeling he asked me a question while I wasn’t paying attention. “And…This will be a challenge, but it’s a dream project. I have tons of ideas.”
Harley stares at me like I have a third head. “He asked about your timeline to start staging. What’s your availability?”
Damn, they caught me spacing out. I glance at Buck, and he nods encouragingly for me to keep going. “I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I’m sure I’ll be able to start as soon as you need me.”
“She’s starting today,” Buck says.
All three heads turn to him. “What?” Harley is incredulous and Wade looks wary.
I stare at him, wide-eyed, and he says, “I didn’t tell you guys, but this is an exclusive contract. We have her working under us, and us alone, until the project is finished.”
What follows is a chorus of shock and surprise.
“We do?”
