Page 45 of Misadventures of a Biker

I reached for her hand. “I need to ask you to trust me, okay?”

She squeezed my hand lightly. “Okay.”

“I’m going to take care of this,” I assured her. “Believe me. I will. But you’re going to have to tell me his name.”

“I don’t want you to—”

“Listen, Teddi. I like you. A lot. I want to fix this. Trust me when I tell you I can. But you’re going to have to tell me his name.”

“How are you going to fix it?”

“I’m resourceful.”

“Your biker friends?” she asked. “You’re going to have them beat him up?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

“I look at things this way. You’re my responsibility now. To take care of you, I have to take care of this.”

“I like being your responsibility.” She managed a soft smile. “His name is Britt Wescoff. He’s easy to find.”

“Thank you.” I leaned over the table and gave her a kiss. “You won’t regret this.”

I hoped like hell I was right.

Chapter Fourteen

Teddi

Being blindfolded by a man had been on my wish list for a long time. Being blindfolded and led into one of my listings didn’t quite qualify. Holding Devin’s hand in mine, I stumbled along the brick drive.

Upon stepping inside, I was met by a faint odor of fresh paint. “It smells like paint.”

“I took the liberties to have them do a little painting when they were in here,” Devin said. “I hope you like it.”

“I hope I do, too,” I said, surprised he’d take the initiative to paint without consulting me. After a few more steps, I paused. “Can you take this thing off yet?”

“We’re almost there,” he said. “I want you to look at it from the kitchen.”

Having promised not to visit the home until it was finished, this was the first time I’d seen the interior since the work began almost two weeks earlier. I hoped like hell the changes would allow me to market it to a wide range of clients. I had less than forty days to sell the home and save my career.

I tugged against his hand. “Are we there yet?”

He released me. I felt him fidget with my scarf. Then he pulled it free. When my eyes adjusted to the light, my mouth flopped open. “Oh. My. God.”

The hideously dark ornate trim—eight-inch crown and base moldings—had been either replaced or painted. The new color, a beige so light it was almost cream, was a perfect choice for blending with the cabinets and dark marble countertops.

“Good Oh My God, or bad Oh My God?” he asked.

“Good. Better than good.” I alternated glances between him and the newly painted trim. “You had them paint the kitchen? Can they come back and do the rest?”

“The entire house is done. Upstairs. Downstairs. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. It’s all done.” He gestured to the floor. “Look at the flooring.”

The new tile floor was gorgeous. Standing on it and looking down at the product, I would have never guessed it was made of vinyl. My expectations had been exceeded tenfold.

“I want to cry,” I said, walking the length of the kitchen. “This is remarkable.”