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“I have two questions,” Jayda said, peering at the screen from between her fingers. “The first one is, why do you get those and I don’t?”
“Do you want them?”
“Shit—please, no.” She snorted. “My next question is, why do they keep coming to you? What’s in your profile that isn’t in mine?”
“Dunno. Do you think it’s the builder thing?”
“Maybe. Mr. Kinky Sub sound like he wouldn’t mind you screwing him into a wall.”
I stilled.
Turning to slowly meet her eyes, the twinkle in them killed me within seconds. We both burst out laughing, and I reached for my now-empty wine glass.
“Damn it.”
Jayda waved the bottle. “I’ll pour it if you tell me about the new guy in town.”
“Brantley Cooper?”
“Is he the twins guy?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Jesus,” she muttered. “Even his damn name is hot.”
I snatched the wine out of her hand. “You should see his ass.”
“Do you need, uh, an assistant next week?”
“His kids were fighting when I got there, then drew on the walls right before I left.”
Jayda wrinkled her nose up. “Hmmm. Let me know on the assistant thing. I mean, I might be busy.”
Imagine that.
Chapter Four
After a week of running back and forth between my booked jobs and taking measurements at Brantley’s, I was more than ready to get to work on Ellie’s room today.
I’d worked out a full game plan with my dad at Friday dinner and seen his plans for the beds. He’d been thrilled to work on some stuff for little kids, and had promptly reminded me that he’d been married to my mother at my age.
My stepmom had then reassured me—out of earshot—that there were way more fuckboys in my generation and not to worry about it, but babies would be nice soon enough.
So, with the little nugget of information that my parents wanted me to house a human being in my uterus pretty soon, I got into my truck and headed toward the Cooper house.
I was armed with all the things I needed to soak off wallpaper. Not only was eight-twenty practically the middle of a night on a Monday—and certainly not a time my brain was able to function past “coffee”—but removing wallpaper was the worst. Tedious, messy, and time-consuming, I hated it.
Nobody tell my dad.
Still, I was ready. At the very least, the monotonous scraping against the wall would hopefully do the same thing to my brain. Scrape away the dreadful and slightly painful messages I’d been receiving.
Oh, that’s right.
Mr. Kinky Sub as Jayda had named him wasn’t in fact the worst.
Nope, that was Mr. Hammer, who messaged me a very slick, “You’re a builder. I’m a builder. Wanna hammer a hole the wall together?”
And to think—I’d almost been excited about the acknowledgment that I was, in fact, a builder, and not a secretary.
I should have known it would be too good to be true.
I took a deep breath as I pulled into the empty driveway of the Cooper’s house. It didn’t look as if anyone was here, and that had been par the course for the past week. We’d collided once, briefly, and that hadn’t even been at the house. I’d been using the spare key under the pot of flowers next to the door all week.
I hated that. I always felt like someone was watching me pick it up and put it back.
This morning was no different.
I hopped out of the truck and checked my phone. I’d barely glanced up from it when I saw Mr. Ackerman walking his elderly Doberman, Dixie.
“Good morning, Kali,” he said in his throaty, shaky voice. “Working for our nice, young neighbor?”
“Good morning, Mr. Ackerman.” I smiled. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Good, good. Lovely young man. Cute kids, too. He’d be good for you.”
Ahh, there it was. “That would be completely unprofessional of me.”
“Only when you’re working for him.” He cackled, winked, and tipped his ever-present tweed cap at me. “Have a good day, Kali.”
“You, too, Mr. Ackerman.” I smiled as he walked past the car, a whistle filling the air. When he’d gone far enough that he couldn’t see me and nobody else was around, I bent down and retrieved the little, silver key from beneath the almost-empty flowerpot.
It clicked in the door, and when I pushed it open, I dropped the key in the blue dish on the side table and headed back for my things. Since I knew it would take me the best part of the day to strip off the walls and figure out the state of them beneath that paper, I’d only brought that stuff with me.
I dragged the box inside, shut the door, and headed upstairs. I was used to the house being quiet—a Barbie doll on the stairs? Not so much.
“Fucker!” I snapped, hissing as the sharp feel of the doll’s nose dug into the ball of my foot.
You know what? Everyone always said about Lego being hell to step on—they never said a damn word about Barbie’s face.
