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“There, sit, please. Can I get you anything? A water? Gatorade? Mountain Dew Code Red? Really terrible coffee?”
Grace moves like warm honey into the chair, a leather portfolio perched on her lap.
“Did we have an appointment?” I ask, leaning against the edge of my desk.
Her glossy red lips fall open. “Um, no. Not exactly. I sent you an email a while back. I live here in Fate, and when I saw that Wood Bros. Construction was rehabilitating the old Paget Mansion, I was very interested in helping you stage it.”
There’s a reason this town is named Fate. For being a tiny place full of oddball characters—the mayor is a golden retriever, for starters—I’ve heard story after story about people moving here and instantly finding the love of their life.
I chalked up all those tales as an exaggeration.
Yet here I am—stuck without a staging company while I’m up to my neck in change orders on the biggest money pit project of my life. And wouldn’t you know it, in walks a bombshell of the highest order, claiming to be a professional stager.
“You’re hired, Ms. Winchester.”
Her eyes widen and she looks at me sideways like I’ve lost my marbles. “Don’t you want to look at my portfolio?”
She unzips the leather case, and my hands sweat as I imagine her pretty hands unzipping my fly.
“Sure, let’s see.” I take the portfolio from her and flip through it for five seconds. “Yep. Perfect. You’re hired.”
“Oh! Well, do you have any questions about my experience? My schedule? Timetables?”
“Nope to the first question, and when can you start?”
Shit, she caught me staring at her boobs, and now I’ve made her blush. “Um, well, that depends on when the construction is finished, I guess.”
She’s being too kind. “Shit, yes. Of course,” I laugh, embarrassed. Of course, I know how this works. My sister has done this job for us at least two dozen times over five years. “Obviously you can’t stage a house until it’s done or you’ll end up with sawdust all over everything.”
Grace’s tinkling laughter speaks to my soul. “Right.”
Damn, she’s sweet. So pretty my chest aches. I haven’t talked to a pretty girl like this in years, and my overeager cock hardens in response to Grace’s…everything.
When nobody says anything for several seconds, she says hesitantly, “So, should we set up a time to meet to go over the blueprints?”
Blueprints? Oh. Yeah, I know what those are.
“Yes, let’s meet tonight at Other Brother Ben’s,” I say, automatically naming the favorite date night spot in town. “Say, 7 p.m.?”
She blows out a sharp breath like she’s just shocked herself by winning a prize, a pink color filling her round cheeks. “Perfect! I live in a studio right up the street from there,” she says.
“So, yes?”
Grace laughs, and I’m relieved she doesn’t hate my forwardness. “Yes. Sorry. Um, here’s my address.”
I know the exact house she means, as I’ve had that one on my list for a while. It’s a beat-down three-story Victorian with a sagging porch and splintered shutters. I see so many people coming and going from that building; I should have guessed it was an apartment house. I mentally cross that off my list because I did not go into this business to put renters out of their homes.
But if Grace wants to come and live at my place while I fix hers, I’m into that idea all the way. No, Buck. Stop making up fantasies with your dick.
My brother Wade has the worst timing. “Whose clunker is blocking my parking spot?!” Wade shouts as he flings the trailer door open, letting in a rush of brisk autumn air. The sudden breeze flutters the loose hairs around Grace’s face, and I’m transfixed as some strands stick to her glossy lips.
Grace’s sweet face turns pale. “Oh, gosh. That’s me. I’m so sorry!”
She drives a clunker? We’ll have to fix that problem pronto.
In the meantime, my brother can kick rocks about a parking space for the truck he paid way too much for. The vain little idiot.
I reach out my hand to stop Grace from rushing out to move her car, and I snap at Wade. “Keep your panties on, brother. I’m in a meeting with a new staging contractor.”
