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“Are you reaching that conclusion based on actual quotes you’ve received for painting and lights, or are you just determined to be difficult?”
“Unless you plan on getting Albert to do the work in exchange for a plate of cookies, I don’t see how the budget will stretch far enough to include the exterior. I’m basing that on experience, Ms. Reeves.”
My eyelid twitched. The know-it-all, arrogant, overbearing jerk. I took a step closer so we were nearly chest to chest. “If this is a pathetic attempt to intimidate me into rolling over and letting you have your way, you’re testing the wrong woman.”
Rex whistled. “Gloves are off already! Damn, girl. Show him how we do it in New Elwood.” He grinned at me, shadowboxing a few times, then glanced at his tablet. “The plans show two fire exits out back, so let’s check those out before we go inside.”
We circled around to the back alley, where Rex pulled out a measuring tape to check the compliance of the small exit stairs. He rattled off half a dozen numbers while he measured the treads and risers and width, then informed us they were noncompliant and would have to be changed before the place was approved for the event.
“No problem,” I told him, with a pointed look at the enemy. Anderson crossed his arms, tightened his jaw, and said nothing. His shirt stretched over his chest as he glared at the stairs, and despite myself, my gaze was drawn to the line of his jaw and the little bit of chest hair that poked up above his open collar. I resented how good he looked. He should’ve been ugly, like his soul.
Rex nodded at me. “That’s what I like to hear. All right. Let’s go inside.”
We circled around the front, where Anderson pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the lobby doors.
Rex paused when his phone rang. “Oh, I have to take this. I’ll meet you inside.”
I nodded and followed Anderson into the Monticello’s lobby. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Buttery popcorn, dust, and layers upon layers of history. It didn’t smell good, exactly, but it smelled comforting. As soon as I walked in, I remembered sneaking into R-rated movies with Abigail and Sophie when we were supposed to be in school, or watching the latest shoot-em-up action movie with my dad. My mom and I had watched Titanic together half a dozen times in this place when it came out. It was the first movie I’d ever seen in theaters.
I shuffled onto the faded red carpet, my gaze drawn up to the massive chandelier that dominated the space. It was at least four feet tall, with linear rows of crystals dropping down in an upside-down pyramid. It was gorgeous. The rectangular crystals were covered in dust, grime, and cobwebs, but those could be buffed right out.
To the left, a ticket booth stood empty. It would be the perfect place for councilmembers to cast their votes. Straight ahead, past the spacious open lobby under the chandelier, was a huge concession area. Perfect for a bar for the gala with space for caterers behind. On either side of the concession area were two sweeping staircases that led up to the theaters.
I clutched my hands at my breast and let out a sigh. This was the kind of space that was rare these days. Sweeping, dramatic, with gilded detailing on the paneled walls, rich carpeting, and cinematic lighting. It was perfect.
“What a fuckin’ dump,” Anderson said, and I whirled to glare at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse you? Excuse me! Look around you, Reeves. The carpet is threadbare, the chandelier looks like it’s about to fall and crush someone, and there’s no way that concession area could possibly pass a food safety inspection. It smells like a thousand people walked in and crop-dusted the place.”
I spluttered, fists clenched. “This place is romantic.”
Anderson recoiled, like the word triggered his gag reflex. “Romantic? What the hell is romantic about a run-down dump that I’m sure Rex is about to inform us is full of faulty wiring and malfunctioning fire suppression systems?”
“It’s romantic because people have felt joy here, Anderson. It’s baked into the walls.”
“Something’s baked into the walls, all right, but I’m not sure it’s joy.”
“How the hell would you know? I doubt you’ve ever experienced the emotion in your entire miserable life.”
He took a step toward me, and suddenly I realized how tall he loomed. I stood my ground by sheer force of will, but he kept advancing until I had to tilt my head up to continue meeting his gaze. His body was warm—warm enough that I could feel the heat of him all down my front. Despite myself, my heart began to thrum.
“Maybe the person who’s experienced joy here is you, Reeves. I could see teenage you sneaking into the back row with whatever boyfriend you’d decided to string along that week.”
“You are unpardonably rude.”
His voice dropped. “Did you have your first kiss in here, sweetheart? Which theater was it? Maybe we should go for a walk down memory lane together. You get to second base in Theater Four? Have your first orgasm in number seven?”
“You’re disgusting,” I said, but it came out breathy.
His chuckle skated over my skin, setting my nerve endings alight. Being this close to him, seeing the flecks of amber in his eyes as they softened, watching the shape of his mouth taunt me…it made breathing difficult. It’s not that I was turned on. God, no. At least, I didn’t think I was. It’s just that he was close enough that I could smell the scent of his cologne, could practically feel the fine weave of his button-down shirt against my front. All that masculinity bore down on me while I did my best to resist, my knees locking, my nipples tightening.
Oh, hell. I was turned on! I was turned the hell on! By the worst man I’d ever met!
I jumped back like he’d burned me, and the flash of triumph in his gaze ignited my rage.
“You did that on purpose,” I accused.
