Page 104 of One Wild Wish

I winked. “Seems to be the consensus today.”

His coffee-stained tie had already been tossed on the couch by the windows. I took a moment to enjoy the floor-to-ceiling views, the nicest of any office I frequented. Something about the Golden Gate Bridge awed me: the marvel of modern engineering, how man could connect land and people with ingenuity. Kind of how I felt at the Habitat site. Like I was part of something bigger than myself. Bringing people together, instead of splitting them up.

I rounded Felipe’s desk and held up the silk ties against his navy suit. The gray-and-burgundy stripes won, hands down. “Maybe try aiming for your mouth next time you’re drinking.”

He snatched the tie and had it fastened and tucked into his jacket in seconds. “I’ll try to remember that.” He tossed some folders into his briefcase, snapped it shut, then exhaled. “I hate being late.”

“Better late and well dressed, than on time and sloppy.”

“Which is why you’re a life saver. Gabriella mentioned needing dresses for our Italy trip. Can you fit her in?”

Like he had to ask. Felipe was a gem of a client. He’d also been my first. He’d hooked me up with many of his colleagues (although slimeballs), and even better, Gabriella happened to be his wife . He didn’t dally outside his marriage, as far as I knew. He worked long hours, invested time and money into outreach programs, and he made sure to treat Gabriella to a monthly romantic date.

“Consider it done,” I said, placing the remaining ties on his desk. “These are for next time. You should have spares handy. And a shirt. I’ll leave one with Cindy this week.”

He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down the wayward strands. “Like I said, you’re a goddess.”

“I prefer the Aphrodite of Fashion, but goddess will do.” I glanced at his desk again, at the engraved glass pyramid commemorating his donation toward a rec center. He’d helped outfit the place with TVs and a sound system, all procured from his brother’s electronics shop. Equipment the Habitat build would need, too.

That addictive pull to do more, give more, had me stopping Felipe before he left. “When you have time, can we talk about a community project I’m working on?”

“Sure.” He grinned at me, dimples flashing on his clean-shaven cheeks. “Nice to see you getting involved.”

He left, and warmth curled around my shoulders, better than if I’d pulled on a cashmere sweater. This do-gooder feeling should be bottled and sold.

* * *

Work was busier this week, which meant my two volunteer days had dwindled into one. Eight hours to make this world a better place, enjoy the swoopy feeling of philanthropy, and study Owen for signs of interest. I hadn’t seen him since he’d apologized to me and glimpsed my purple bra. Pranking me wasn’t cool, but he’d admitted the error in his ways, and the desolation in his furrowed brow spoke volumes. Plus, his hot factor put Emmett’s and Aazam’s to shame.

I’d also made a vow since then. I would not hit on him or ask him out or flirt shamelessly until I was sure he was straight. Two strikes were enough. This time I’d wait for him to make the first move.

Unfortunately, patience wasn’t my strong suit. My strongest suit was a cream Chanel number with pencil skirt and blazer, accented by zebra-print Louboutins. So upon learning he usually volunteered on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I aligned my schedule with his. Today I joined the volunteers for our morning meeting, making sure to stand next to my construction hunk.

He smiled down at me. “Hey, Ainsley.”

His grit-laced voice had warmth building under my vintage Levi’s. I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

I waited for his gaze to drop to my breasts, prominently displayed in a snug T-shirt. The inscrutable man never snuck a glance. I waited for his lips to curl suggestively while noticing my tight jeans. No cigar. Even when I’d flashed him my lace bra our last shift—the sheer material barely hiding my girls—he hadn’t focused on my chest. Maybe for a second, but the La Perla cradling my 38 DDs had been more than glance-worthy.

Most men would gawk. Not mysterious Owen, who had covered me up instead.

With his rock hard body.

Sighing, I focused on our meeting. Aside from Owen and Sherise, I didn’t recognize any other volunteers. Most shifts brought new workers, people helping out for one day only, or one or two a month. The site manager, Nick—whose thick mustache gave him a seventies porn star vibe—laid out the day’s plan and began dividing tasks.

He pointed to Owen. “You’ll be assisting me rough in a set of stairs.” I immediately raised my hand. Nick smiled at me. “Yes?”

“If you need someone to lay out the line for the horse and carriage, I could help.”

A muffled laugh came from Owen, and Nick snorted. “It’s a stair horse or a carriage,” our site manager said. “Not a horse and carriage.”

Details, details. “I could still help.”

Nick checked his clipboard. “Maybe next time. We need more people framing the roof.”

That left Owen working far from my prying eyes.

The sun was intense today, a late October heatwave that had us all moving extra slowly. And perspiring. Not like Step Class Hell, but I was pushing past a delicate glow. The nutty thing was, I’d stopped caring about my sweat stains after day one. It was hard to focus on that while trying not to hammer my fingers. It was also tough to focus each time Owen (who I’d begun calling unf —the uncontrollable sound I’d make when spotting his fine self) emerged to cut lumber on the circular saw.