Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  Why is everything so damn humorous to him?

  “Everyone thinks it’s so easy. Buy it on the cheap, cut a few corners and double your money. I’m going to warn you, it’s hard work.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take it into consideration.”

  He crosses his arms in front of him, checking his watch and yawns. “I need a bed.”

  Can I join you?

  Bad Maddie.

  Rachel approaches the microphone. “I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen. Two more minutes. We’re about done.”

  “What are you into flipping for if not for the money?” he asks, though his eyes stay trained on the wall ahead of us.

  “To take something everyone thinks is ugly and past its prime and pull the beauty out of it so that people will love it again.”

  He says nothing but his eyes are burning a hole in the side of my head now.

  “I didn’t expect that,” he says.

  “What?”

  “An explanation so, I don’t know…profound?”

  “Just do me a favor and if you are going to take the time to redo a house, think outside the box. Don’t just go with whatever the latest trends are. Picture a family living there and do quality renovations, imagine what their life will be like while they’re enjoying each and every decision you made along the way.”

  “Man, you’re just full of advice today.”

  Rachel approaches the podium again, her assistant finding her spot right next to her with a stack of papers.

  “Sorry.” I cringe once the word leaves my lips.

  “I don’t offend easily, no need for apologies.”

  The fact he ignored the opportunity to take another jab at my people pleaser tendencies tells me he must have meant his earlier apology.

  “Property 3902 is up for auction.” A picture of the house comes up on the screen. “We’ll begin the bidding at fifty-six thousand dollars.” Rachel is all business as usual and I sit and wait for Property 1731 to be called.

  The property doesn’t get called until an hour later and though a lot of people have left, Mauro is still sitting right next to me.

  Rachel eyes me, knowing my go-to property type. “Property 1731.”

  Mauro straightens in his chair, abandoning his phone to the vacant chair next to him.

  No.

  He looks over at me with the same expression of disbelief that’s heating the blood in my veins. Forget the Oswald brothers. Mauro Bianco is my biggest threat?

  Then he raises his eyebrows as though this is a challenge for him.

  “Game on,” I murmur.

  “Don’t play nice.” He waggles his eyebrows and raises his hand. “Twenty thousand.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I put my own hand in the air. “Twenty-two thousand.”

  9

  Mauro

  If I could turn back time, I would. I’d go back to that board game cafe and keep my mouth shut about her letting me win because she has that fire in her eyes when she makes her ‘game on’ comment. You can tell this is her element, which probably means she’s got the advantage here.

  “Twenty-four,” I raise my hand.

  The auctioneer smirks at her assistant and points to me. We both know I won’t have the winning bid for long.

  “Twenty-six.” The spitfire girl next to me raises her hand like an eager teacher’s pet.

  Was she?

  With no one else coming in to bid, I figure it must be only us.

  “How high?” I whisper to her. “Twenty-eight,” I say.

  “What? Why? I’m not telling you.” Her head is twisting between me and the auctioneer, her hand already back in the air. “Thirty.”

  “Because we’re just raising the price up for one of us.”

  “That’s the point,” she says out of the side of her mouth.

  “We have thirty. Do we have thirty-one?” The auctioneer eyes me.

  “If we go too high one of us isn’t going to make a dime,” I say.

  “Then save me the trouble and bow out.”

  “Thirty-one going once.” The gavel is in her hand, her eyes silently asking me.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” I shrug. “Thirty-three.”

  “There’s no rule about going up two k.” She sneers her arm extended. “Thirty-four.”

  “Sorry, newbie and all.” I shrug.

  Her blue eyes narrow and she bites her lip. I shift in my seat from the concentrated effort it takes for me not to lean in and take that lip of hers with my own teeth.

  “Thirty-five.”

  She huffs, her shoulders deflating in defeat for the first time since the opening bid.

  We’re now way over the starting bid and if one of us wouldn’t have come, the other would have had it for twenty thousand.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispers.

  I can’t stop the cocky grin from forming on my lips. Not because I knew she’d bend to my way, but because she’s open to listening to my idea.

  “I’m thinking we partner up.”

  “WHAT?”

  Now, this is the type of woman I could get under.

  “I’m sure you plan on hiring a contractor.”

  “We have thirty-five on the table. Anyone else?” The auctioneer is not leaving me much time to convince her.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I can be our contractor. I know a million guys from the firehouses who are skilled at different trades. Not to mention, I told you I have good hands.” I hold them up for her to see.

  “Thirty-five going twice.” The auctioneer is being nice and going a lot slower than she did with previous properties. She seems to have a soft spot for Madison.

  “You’ll listen to me when it comes to budget and decorating decisions?” she asks, her eyes shifting from the gavel about to slam down making me the winner of the property.

  I hold out my hand. “Sure thing, but you show me the ropes. We’re partners. Fifty, fifty.”

  She stares into my eyes, for the first time not looking away. The softness of her hand slides into mine and I grip her hand. “Partners.” Her tone might not hold the declaration I was hoping for, but it’s a start.

  She may not realize it yet, but she didn’t get the bad end of this agreement. I think she’ll be surprised by my skills.

  “Sold.” The auctioneer points to me, smiling down at our entwined hands.

  Madison retracts, and the air conditioning must have blasted on because goose bumps run up my spine.

  10

  Madison

  “Did you just pinch yourself?” Mauro asks next to me while we wait for the paperwork to be processed after we each supplied a check for half the amount of Mauro’s bid on my childhood home.

  I wrap my palm around the spot that I did, in fact, pinch myself at.

  Wouldn’t you think it was a dream if you just decided to partner up with your high school crush putting him in your proximity for months on end? My sixteen-year-old self is throwing confetti in the air and dancing the cha-cha. My current self is wary as much as she is excited.

  “I had an itch,” I lie.

  He smirks, his signature trademark that probably has women stripping their panties off, but I need to hold him back with titanium arms because he’ll railroad this project from me if I let him.

  “Congratulations you two. You’re proud owners of Property 1731.” Rachel holds the paperwork out and I snatch it from her hands.

  Mauro looks over at me incredulously.

  “I’ll keep everything organized.”

  “What makes you think I’m not organized?” he asks.

  Rachel shares a look with her assistant that reads more ‘aren’t they cute’ rather than ‘this property will be up for auction again in two months.’

  “I have a system.”

  “I’m sure you do and now I’m part of that system. Can you send me copies tonight?” His voice isn’t sweet and syrupy, instead, it’s almost accusatory as if I’d screw him over.

  “Do you think I’m going
to cheat you? Your name is on here.”

  “Just making sure we’re in this together.” A dimness dulls his eyes for a split second before they sparkle again. “No fights where you lock me out of the house or anything.” The one side of his lips tip and I can’t help the way my body melts under his flirtatious nature.

  “No worries.” I shove the papers in my purse. “Thanks, Rachel and Tracy. See you soon I’m sure.”

  I head out the door, hearing Mauro speak his own goodbyes and the ladies slight swoon back with we hope to see you soon, too. His footsteps loom behind me as I walk to the elevator.

  “Let’s go to breakfast, talk logistics.”

  “How about we pick up breakfast and go over to the house? The sooner we figure out our game plan, the better. I can have a dumpster there tomorrow to get all the crap out of the house.”

  He runs his fingers through his dark wavy hair.

  Stop it, Maddie. Do not get sucked in.

  “Okay. I’m off tomorrow and I can round up a crew.”

  “Hold up, stud. Let’s go over plans before we start demolishing everything.” I step into the elevator, the small box feeling even more claustrophobic with him sharing the space.

  “Stud? I like it.” His cocky grin appears—again.

  “Don’t take it as a compliment.”

  He steps forward, his hand landing on the silver railing at my side, his body so close to mine that my heart pounds in my chest as if it wants to reach out and touch him. “No?” he questions in a gravelly voice.

  I shake my head, I haven’t been this close to him since that night long ago and he still has the ability to paralyze my body.

  “Stop messing around.”

  He chuckles and steps back out of my personal space.

  Why would he even do that?

  Running another hand through his hair, he stretches, bending and twisting in every direction.

  “If you’re tired…”

  His gaze shifts to mine quickly. “No. We’re in this together remember?”

  “I know, but I slept eight hours last night and you…didn’t.”

  “It’s okay, I’m used to no sleep.”

  “If you say so.” I shrug.

  “Good, we should probably get some ground rules set,” he says.

  The elevator doors open. “Well, I’ll pick up some breakfast and I’ll meet you at the house. We can go over the business plan, talk about what we’re going to do with improvements, so we know what walls to tear down.”

  “I’ll grab the breakfast. What do you want?” he asks.

  We exit the federal building and a man is walking toward us with a mass of media behind him. I freeze. We both shift our bodies to clear a path and it isn’t until the suited man passes that I figure out who he is.

  He doesn’t see me, and just says “No comment” over his shoulder to the throng of reporters behind him before walking through the glass doors.

  “That must be about that big fire. I know our Lieutenant said the investigation as to the cause is almost wrapped up and they’re supposed to announce the findings soon,” Mauro says next to me.

  My gaze shifts to him because there’s something about his voice…that’s when I notice the flush that usually fills his cheeks is gone.

  “Probably. The DA is my neighbor. That’s him.” I nod in the direction where Reed Warner finds solitude away from the cameras. He doesn’t stop until he’s through security and in the elevator.

  “Good guy?” he asks, his eyes still on the media cluster that would make anyone think they’re following a celebrity, not the district attorney.

  “Really good guy. Did you know—”

  He nods before I finish my question. “He was my buddy.”

  I’d read the articles six months earlier about a horrible fire where a firefighter lost his life. Even saw the funeral procession on the news with shots of a blonde woman with a son in her arms crying as they walked behind the firetruck.

  My hand lands on his forearm, finding his skin cold and clammy and I don’t think it has anything to do with the start of fall in Chicago. “I’m so sorry.”

  My touch seems to shock him back to the present and his gaze darts up to meet my own. All I want to do is hug him to my body, he looks like a newly adopted puppy shaking with anxiety.

  “Hazards of the job.” His hand covers mine. “Thank you though.”

  I slide my hand from his arm realizing that I just touched Mauro Bianco and didn’t freak out.

  The cameramen disperse, some going back to their vans parked along the street, others set up shots for the reporters in front of the building.

  Wherever Mauro’s mind ventured off to must clear. “Breakfast, right? I know just the place,” he says.

  His attention moves across the street and I spot the sandwich shop before he even mentions it.

  “No one makes a breakfast burrito like my mama.” He nods in the direction of his family’s shop.

  I drag my feet. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your mom?”

  He stops and smiles which is a relief after the look on his face moments ago. “She’ll love you.” He shrugs.

  “Gee, will she approve of our shotgun wedding?” I laugh which spurs Mauro’s amusement.

  “You really are funny.” He stares down at me while we wait for the walk symbol to appear on the streetlight.

  “Thanks.”

  His eyes don’t leave mine and my breathing picks up under his scrutiny. “I think we’re going to make great partners.”

  I turn away first because I need to get a grip. Thankfully the pedestrian walk sign appears and I step off the corner before a hand grabs my upper arm and pulls me back as a blur of yellow streaks by me.

  My back presses against his chest. Firm and strong.

  “Watch it, asshole!” he yells at the cab driver.

  “Thank you.” I untangle from his grip as much as my body protests.

  “No problem.” His hand takes mine and he leads me across the street lightly jogging when the yellow hand replaces the white walking symbol.

  He doesn’t release my hand once we reach the other side of the street, like I assumed he would. Instead, he opens up the door for me to his parents’ sandwich shop and shifts his hand to the small of my back.

  He’s Italian, they’re touchy, I remind myself.

  “Ma!” he yells into the empty restaurant.

  It’s a typical deli where you order and wait for your number to be called. You can have a seat at the long tables with stools along the window or in the booths that line the back wall which is painted in thirds. One with the Chicago fire department symbol, one for the police and another for paramedic. It’s clear to me and their customers that their sons are their life.

  “Mauro?” A woman who is shorter in stature, a little plump with dark, wavy shoulder-length hair emerges from the back, wiping her hands on her white apron that says, My favorite hood is motherhood.

  “Hey, Mama.” He smiles then hugs her and kisses her cheek. She does the same, but her gaze is fixed on where I stand behind him.

  “This a friend?” she asks him in the cutest Italian accent.

  Mauro steps back from his mom, holding his arm out in my direction. “Ma, this is Madison Kelly. Madison, this is my mom, Maria.”

  A warm smile crosses his mom’s lips and her head tilts in a ‘I know you’ gesture. She points her finger at me. “Valedictorian?”

  A warm flush heats my cheeks and Mauro studies me.

  “Luca’s class, right?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I answer sheepishly.

  Her finger moves to Mauro and then back to me. “You two?”

  “No,” I quickly refute.

  Her smile dims. “Oh.” Her eyes shift to Mauro who shrugs like they’re having a conversation between them without words.

  “We’re going to be business partners,” he says after confusion masks her face.

  “Business?” she asks, sliding behind the deli case and sift
ing through some paperwork.

  “Remember Hunter and I were going to buy a house, fix it up and then sell it?” Mauro approaches the counter, his forearms flexing under the weight of him leaning over so his mom hears him.

  “Yes.” She doesn’t turn around. I can’t help but notice her curt demeanor after I said we weren’t a couple. She rambles something in Italian and Mauro looks over his shoulder at me for a moment.

  He responds back in Italian and before I realize it, she’s turned back around, her voice rising, her face red again.

  “Enough Mama,” Mauro says, his back rod iron straight.

  She tilts her head and I don’t need to understand Italian because her body language says it all. It’s a warning for him to watch how he talks to her.

  “I’m sorry, but this isn’t the time,” he says, slightly chagrined.

  “What is going on?” A man comes out from the back, taking plastic gloves off his hands and throwing them into a trashcan behind the counter.

  “Papa,” Mauro says.

  The man who bears Mauro’s light eyes, Cristian’s nose, and Luca’s mouth seeks the source of the reason for the high voices. “Hello.” He rounds the deli cabinet, his hand already extended to me. “Anthony.”

  “Madison,” I say and shake his hand.

  “I was just telling Mama that Madison and I are going into business together.” Mauro steps to my side, his hand finding the small of my back like he’s presenting me as a gift, or a girlfriend.

  I swallow past the dryness in my mouth and force on a smile that probably looks as awkward as this moment feels.

  “Business?” his dad asks, a crease between his brows.

  “The flipping houses thing? With Hunter…well, Madison already has her own business and we’re going to work together on a house.” His dad smiles down at me. I recognize it as the same smile Luca has, but his eyes are just as mesmerizing as Mauro’s.

  “Congratulations. That’s wonderful news.”

  The deli phone rings. Mauro runs over and answers it before his mom can. He whispers something and hangs up. Again, he and his mom have a silent conversation, their eyes move to me and then back to each other.