Fixer-Upper

by Linda Seed

When she still didn’t move toward him, he said, “If it helps, I promise not to give you any more work once the kitchen is done. I’ll find someone else to do the rest of the house. Or I’ll just leave it as is. It’s not worth it if it’s going to be an issue for you.”

  “Well …”

  “Well what?”

  She grinned—she couldn’t seem to help it—and dropped the throw blanket she’d been using to cover herself. She lay back down and snuggled up to his warm body. “I don’t want you to replace me.”

  She said it as though she meant she didn’t want him finding a new designer. And she didn’t. But she didn’t want to be replaced here, in bed, either. That was something she worried about more than she wanted to admit. Because before Alexis, there had been others. And those others had been so much more polished, so much more smooth and rich and sophisticated than Martina.

  All of this—the relationship, the Cooper House job, Chris’s money—made her feel like she was trying on a life that didn’t quite fit her, like she was playing dress-up in her mother’s closet.

  Maybe I can make it fit, she thought. A nip here, a tuck there …

  She didn’t delve too deeply into the implications of that.

  Chris didn’t want to go to the Bay Area without Martina. But the moment his comment about not worrying about her income had come out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a critical error.

  Because the fact was, he had meant it the way she’d thought he did. He had meant he would ensure her income so she could go out of town with him, or stay in bed all day, or … whatever they wanted, really. What was the point of having all this money if he couldn’t use it to give both of them what they wanted?

  And what he wanted right now was to spend time with Martina.

  But she wasn’t like the other women in his life, women who considered it their birthright to be taken care of financially. If he treated her like she was one of them, she was going to pull back—just the way she had that morning.

  So, once she’d left for work, he packed a bag for his trip to the Bay Area and resolved to be okay with going alone. It was probably good, actually.

  He was falling into this thing with her so quickly, so completely, it would be healthy to have a little time to himself.

  That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  Martina had booked the venue for Sofia’s bridal shower—they’d be doing it in a private room at Neptune—but she still had to work on details like decorations and entertainment. Neptune didn’t offer special event cakes, so Martina had ordered one from a local bakery.

  She was also working out the last details of getting her deposit and down payment ready to make an offer on the Hall property. Martina had applied for mortgage preapproval, and that was still in process. She thought she would probably be approved—her credit score was excellent—but who knew? Owning her own business meant she didn’t have a guaranteed steady income. Money came and went. Her income over the past couple of years looked healthy, but there was no telling whether the lender would think it was enough.

  Noah was finishing a bathroom remodel for Martina, so she had to give her attention to that as well. She visited the work site, kept the client updated on progress, and prepared to do the final touches like selecting window treatments and paint color.

  She had a lot to think about, and that was good, because it distracted her from what Chris had said during that conversation in his bedroom.

  Had he really been suggesting he would support her so she could go running off to the Bay Area with him? Had he really meant now that they were together, she no longer had to tend to her job—her career—the way she otherwise would?

  So much about that bothered her. She tried not to think about it at Lowe’s as she picked out towel bars and soap dishes for her client’s bathroom. But the more she tried to push it out of her mind, the more it resurfaced.

  It’s just a misunderstanding. In any relationship, there are going to be misunderstandings.

  Hopefully, she had set him straight on it, and there wouldn’t be another problem. But what if she hadn’t? What if he didn’t get it?

  Her cell phone rang while she stood in the bathroom fixtures aisle, pondering the pros and cons of a particular style of towel rod.

  Benny.

  “Hey, Martina. Can you pick up toilet paper while you’re out? We ran out, and I’m on the way to work, and Sofia’s going to be at the office late, so …”

  “Sure. I can get some.” Martina was distracted, and she must have sounded that way.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Nothing. Why?”

  “Oh. I know what it is.” Martina could hear road noise in the background as Benny drove. “You miss your big, sexy, multimillionaire man toy.”

  She did, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “I do not.”

  “Do too. He went up north without you, and you’re wondering what he’s doing up there, surrounded by all those glossy society women.”

  “What makes you think he’s surrounded by glossy society women?”

  In fact, he probably was. The Alexises of the world gravitated toward men like Chris—men with more money then sense about interpersonal relationships.

  “Oh, just the fact that glossy society women love rich guys the way high school girls love Sephora. It’s a thing.”

  “Is it? Do you know everything about it? Why don’t you just call him, then, and suggest he go back to Alexis?” It had come out angrier and harsher than Martina had intended. Maybe she wasn’t as good at managing her insecurity as she seemed.

  “Hey, now. I was just kidding.” Benny sounded concerned, and that wasn’t what Martina wanted.

  “I know. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “Oh, boy. One fine is convincing. Two is an outright lie.”

  Martina put down the towel holder she was carrying and focused on the phone call, trying to keep her voice low so the man shopping for shower curtains halfway down the aisle from her wouldn’t hear. “He asked me to go with him, but I said no.”

  “Okay …”

  “Because I had work! I have clients! I have things to do! And …”

  “And what?”

  “And, he suggested maybe, now that I’m with him, I don’t have to worry about little, petty considerations like work anymore.”

  Benny was silent for a moment. Then: “Holy shit.”

  “Right.”

  “What’s he getting at? He’s not planning to propose, is he? You guys have been together about five minutes.”

  “No, not that. At least, I really don’t think so.”

  “Then, what? He’s planning to make you his kept woman? Set you up in a style to which you’ll soon become accustomed so you can be available at his beck and call?”

  Now Martina was the one who was silent.

  “Holy shit,” Benny said again.

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” Martina said. “Because I’m not doing that. That isn’t who I am.”

  “I know it’s not. And if he’s not an idiot, he does, too.”

  24

  Chris was still at his Silicon Valley condo when Riley Whittaker called him. At first, he couldn’t remember exactly who she was. When she started trying to sell him real estate, it all became clear.

  “I was just wondering if you had any thoughts on those properties I showed you,” she said. “If none of those appeal to you, I have a couple of new listings that might be just right for you.”

  He closed his eyes. Ah, yes. The Realtor. The one he’d visited when he’d wanted to pump her for information about Martina.

  “I’m not in town right now,” he told her. “Maybe give me a call when I’m back in Cambria.” He didn’t really need to hear from her—he wasn’t in the market for property—but if Martina was still trying to buy that house on Lodge Hill, it might be wise to stay in touch.

  “Oh, of course. And when will you return?”

  They chatted about that for a mom
ent, and then, making small talk, Chris asked, “So, how is business going for you?”

  There was nothing a Realtor loved more than talking about which properties had and had not sold, and for how much. She launched into a discussion of which neighborhoods were hot, which were not, and the trends in property values.

  He was getting ready to wrap up the phone call when she said, “And, surprisingly, I’ve gotten an offer on that Maxwell Hall property we talked about—the one Martina was interested in.”

  “Really.” The way she’d said it, it was clear Martina was not the one who’d made the offer.

  “Yes! I couldn’t believe it. But, the offer was from someone who wants to raze the house and use the existing water meter to build new construction, so that makes sense. It’s a lovely location.”

  “It really is,” he said.

  She was still happily chatting about it when he excused himself, saying he had a meeting he was late for. There was no meeting—he’d already seen his accountant, and he had nothing else scheduled for the day—but Riley had shown no signs of slowing down, so he’d had to extricate himself.

  After he hung up, he considered the implications of the phone call, and he began to form a plan.

  A good plan.

  He actually whistled as he continued his day.

  Martina got her loan approval on a Thursday morning, the day Chris was scheduled to come back from the Bay Area.

  “I got it!” she yelled to the house at large before realizing everyone had already left for work and she was talking to no one. Impulsively, she jumped up from her seat on the sofa, where she’d been looking at her laptop, and did a little victory dance, shaking her hips and waving her fists in the air.

  She knew it was a bad idea for a buyer to deal directly with a seller’s agent, so she’d arranged days before to work with Joe Barkley, an agent she knew from her design work.

  She called Joe and got him on the first ring.

  “I want to make an offer,” she said before she’d even greeted him.

  “Martina?”

  “I got the loan approval. I want to put in an offer on the Hall property.”

  “Oh. That’s great.” She heard him tapping on his keyboard. Then she heard an ominous silence.

  “Joe?”

  “It’s in escrow.” He sounded both apologetic and dismayed. “Shit. It was still listed as available last night, but this morning … I’ve got it on the MLS as sale pending.”

  “No!” Martina exclaimed. “How can that be? Who would even want it? Have they seen the house? It’s falling down!”

  “Somebody did want it. Martina, I’m sorry. I told the seller you’d be making an offer soon, but I guess somebody else got in there first.”

  “But I have the loan approval!”

  “I didn’t expect this,” Joe said. “But, look. There’s no guarantee it’ll make it through escrow. A sale like this, with a damaged structure … You might still have a chance.”

  She got off the phone feeling crestfallen. All of this effort, all of this work—the loan documents, everything she’d gone through to get the down payment, everything Bianca and TJ had done to get her the money. Now, not only wasn’t she going to get the property, she no longer owned a part of her parents’ home. She had nothing but a pile of money and a worthless piece of paper from a mortgage company.

  She called Riley Whittaker before her outrage had dissipated.

  “Who bought the Hall property?” she demanded to know.

  “It’s confidential,” Riley said.

  “Confidential, my ass.”

  “Really, it’s an anonymous buyer. Even if I wanted to tell you, I don’t know.”

  “Well … shit.”

  “If you’re still interested in investing in some property, I have other homes I can show you. Even one on Lodge Hill that—”

  Martina hung up while she was still talking.

  “Jeez, that really does suck,” Benny told her that afternoon, when the two of them were at Jitters drinking lattes amid the afternoon tourist crowd. “You put a lot into getting ready to make an offer.”

  “I really did.” Martina looked glumly into her latte mug. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked hard to clear them. “I really wanted this, Benny. I wanted to restore it, to bring it back to what that house should be. And the land … I wanted to keep it just the way it is. It’s so beautiful! Whoever bought it is going to bulldoze the trees and the house and put up, what? A five-bedroom stucco monstrosity with a hot tub?”

  “Probably,” Benny admitted.

  “Well, that’s just bullshit,” Martina grumbled.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Me too.”

  Martina had known buying the property meant a lot to her, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much until she knew it wasn’t going to happen. The letdown was excruciating.

  She’d built an entire fantasy life for herself around the property. She’d imagined herself living in the restored house amid the trees and the wildflowers, deer grazing just outside her door, the interior of her home designed with her own aesthetic in mind, giving an artistic and tasteful nod to the house’s mid-century modern history.

  And, she had to admit, she’d imagined more, too. She’d imagined living there with Chris and their eventual children. It had been a beautiful dream.

  And now what did she have? The dream wasn’t going to happen. The house wasn’t going to be hers—and now, the house she lived in didn’t belong to her, either. Of course, she knew she could stay there as long as she needed to; she and Bianca had worked out a rental agreement. But that wasn’t the same as having something of her own.

  On top of that, she hadn’t realized how much she was going to miss Chris until he was actually gone, up there in the Bay Area with his rich friends doing God knew what.

  She didn’t really suspect he was doing anything that would upset her. If he’d planned to be with another woman, for instance, he never would have invited Martina to go with him.

  Still, that part of his life was another world to her, one she knew nothing about.

  Also, there was the emptiness in her bed with him gone. It shocked her how quickly she’d gotten used to waking up with him beside her. Her reality had shifted so fast she was left breathless. A gnawing ache in her chest pulled at her when he wasn’t around, and she didn’t like it. How was she supposed to get on with her life when every part of her hurt?

  She didn’t mind wanting him—that was fine. But the needing was another thing. She didn’t know how she felt about needing someone this way.

  Chris decided to come home via Highway 1 and Big Sur. He’d taken the S 65—a convertible Mercedes that was worth more than the house he’d grown up in—and the day was unseasonably warm for January. So he put the top down for the drive south on the winding, two-lane road. Pine-covered peaks towered above him to his left, and the rocky, crashing surfline frothed far below him to his right.

  He told himself to enjoy the drive instead of rushing to get home to Martina. Hell, that was why he’d decided to take the scenic route instead of the quicker, more direct inland route. It was an attempt to convince himself he could have a good time without Martina with him. Because he was beginning to doubt it, and that was a worrisome development.

  He’d taken his time during this trip, tending to things at his condo, having dinner with friends, and doing all of the things he would usually do if he didn’t have someone waiting for him in Cambria.

  But instead of enjoying all of it, he found himself counting the days and hours until he could go back down the coast and see his girlfriend.

  He was pretty sure if he ever decided to see a therapist about his relationship issues—which he knew he should do—he’d be told he needed to be comfortable with himself before he could have a healthy relationship with someone else.

  And yet, here he was, itchy inside his own skin, feeling this uncomfortable longing.

  A big misconception about weal
th was that a person stopped longing once they got enough money to do anything they wanted. He, himself, had harbored that same misconception. The truth was, the longing never went away. There was always something he wanted but couldn’t have, and having money didn’t change that.

  Right now, he wanted Martina.

  And, he had something important to tell her—something he thought would make her happy. Making her happy was going to make him happy as well, he was sure of it.

  If only he could change this feeling that he still wasn’t quite doing things right in his relationship with her. He had this nagging sense he was still making mistakes that might derail the whole thing—he just didn’t know what they were.

  On the way south, he stopped in Gorda and got a sandwich at a little restaurant overlooking the ocean. He tried to call Martina, but there was no cell service here.

  Damn it.

  Well, it was more practice being okay, wasn’t it? Another opportunity to master the art of spending a day by himself without feeling like he was missing a limb.

  It was a damned hard thing to manage.

  25

  As much as Martina’s day had sucked, at least she was looking forward to seeing Chris that night. He’d texted her when he got back into town, and she was set to meet him at Cooper House as soon as she finished work.

  After her last client appointment for the day, she went home, took a shower, shaved her legs, put on her best matching bra and panty set—white silk with lace trim—and selected an outfit.

  She wanted to look casual but not too casual, sexy but not too sexy. She wanted to look like she hadn’t gone to too much trouble to get ready but nevertheless had emerged all dewy-skinned and perfect from a mystical forest full of unicorns and wood sprites just to make his erotic fantasies come true.

  It was a lofty goal, and one she wasn’t quite sure she’d met. Still, he seemed glad to see her when she went into Cooper House and found him in the foyer, waiting for her.