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“So, I see you’re going with all white and stainless steel for the kitchen. I’d like to do something to make it cozy. Can you build a shelf in front of this window here, for some small herb pots? Something in a nice warm wood.” She pulls a rolled-up magazine from her bag and turns to a page of sleek kitchen photographs. “And I was thinking about these window finishes. Modern but also sunny, don’t you think?”
“Anything you want, Grace. We’ll be done with major reno next week, so after that, the place is yours.”
She smiles and sips her wine. “I just want to make sure we don’t go over budget.”
“Trust me, we won’t go over budget.”
She looks like she wants to say something important, then changes her mind. “You’re putting a lot of trust in someone you’ve never worked with before,” she says.
Is she trying to talk herself out of a job?
“I have an instinct about people. You’re perfect for me.”
This has the intended effect. Grace’s cheeks turn pink, and she sits back and crosses one leg over the other. “For you? Or for the house?”
“Both,” I say.
We stare at each other for a long moment, and finally, she says, “Buck, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me—”
“So why don’t you tell me more about yourself.”
I’ve flustered her by being so forward. But I need her to understand I want to get to know her. As wrong as it is to strike up a romance between a contractor and a client, I absolutely do not care.
“Oh, um. Okay. So, I grew up here, in Fate. My childhood was more or less normal. My parents are lawyers and recently expanded their practice, and now live in Phoenix. My two sisters live on opposite ends of the country. I moved back here because it’s one of the few places on the planet where the cost of living isn’t crippling to a new college grad.”
Oddly, she’s leaving out the parts about how she got into staging homes, but I don’t care. From what she’s shown me, I wholeheartedly believe in her.
“And that’s about all there is to know about me.”
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Tell me your biggest, boldest dream, and I’ll make it happen.”
Confused, she asks, “For the Paget Mansion?”
“Sure, why not. Let’s start there.”
She thinks for a moment. “Well, I think what would help it sell at the best price for you would be—”
“No, girl. Tell me what would make you, Grace Winchester, fall in love.”
“Excuse me?”
“In love with the house.”
Hesitating, she points out, “But…it’s notforme. I can’t afford to buy this house.”
“But you love it.”
“Sure. Everyone loves that old place.”
“I am trying to get to knowyou. So tell me what you love.”
Our server approaches with the steaks, and I clear the table of the papers.
I never knew watching a woman eat could get me stiff, but here I am with my cock straining against my zipper.
