Besides, she had a business to run. No matter what, she couldn't lose sight of that fact.
"I'll have to think about it. Give me a few weeks and I'll contact you.” She gave him her sexiest smile before turning her back on him, silently dismissing him.
"Weeks? Ah, come on, Syd. I can't wait weeks,” he drawled. Trevor leaned casually against the file cabinet and presented her with a look that suggested he wasn't just talking about a job, either. Well, he'd be waiting until the North Pole moved South before she let him love her and leave her. She took a deep breath and decided the best course of action to take was simply to ignore him. She busied herself by searching for a file—any file.
Of course, she did relish the prospect of making him sweat. And there would be plenty of time to make Trevor Vanden Bosch sweat under her thumb if she gave him the job and she was his boss this time. The idea posed major possibilities.
"Don't make me beg,” he said. “I do have my pride."
Was that exasperation she heard in his voice? A grinch-like grin spread across her lips and she faced him. “Oh, but it's so much fun to watch a man beg for a change. And I'm afraid if you really want to work here, you're going to have to do some serious begging. I've got more than a hundred applications of highly qualified candidates piled on my desk."
"All right,” Trevor said, dropping to his knees. “You've got your wish. I'm begging, Syd.” His lips were level with the fly of her Levi's. He glanced up at her. Desire flamed to life in his eyes. Hot tingles raced through her veins. She swallowed hard.
Now who was making who sweat?
Remember what this guy did to you. This could be your chance to get even.
"All right.” She stepped away for her sanity's sake. The cool metal of the file cabinet pressed into her back, clashing with the heat of her skin. “You want a job so bad. You've got it."
"Great.” Trevor got to his feet. “My tools are in the truck. I can start—"
"Under one condition."
"And that is?"
"This is my company. What I say, goes. Under no circumstances whatsoever shall you question me or my partners’ authority or orders. Is that clear?"
"Sure, Syd. Whatever you say. Where do you need me to go first?"
Sydnie's gut clenched, certain she'd made one serious mistake here. Trevor was being far too agreeable. Either he was working on the sly, or he'd had an out-of-body experience and was now an alien. She sure as hell hoped she didn't wake up in the morning to regret this scheme like one of her sudden, stupid urges to do a color-at-home job on her hair.
"Let's find out,” she said as she led the way out of her office and to a desk in the lobby. Terri, her other partner, sat inputting data into the computer. “Terri, we've got ourselves a carpenter."
The brunette glanced up from the computer screen and gazed at Trevor over the top of her half-glasses. Her mouth dropped open. She snatched off her glasses and tossed them into a creeping philodendron adorning one corner of her desk.
Trevor gave Terri one of his devilish smiles. She stood, sending her chair racing backward across the floor mat. “Oops,” she said as she grabbed the chair and wheeled it back up to the desk.
"Are you all right?” Trevor asked with concern in his voice.
"I'm fine.” She gave him a weak smile.
"Name's Trevor Vanden Bosch.” He offered her a hand. Terri wiped her palms down the length of her jeans before accepting his gesture.
"Welcome to Studs for Hire, Trevor,” Terri said warmly.
"Call me Trev."
She licked her lips. “What a nice name. I had a rabbit named Trevor once."
"Had?” Trevor quirked a brow. He let go of her hand and propped one lean hip on the edge of Terri's cluttered desk. Syd couldn't help but notice the way his rigid muscles strained against his tan skin. And there was no way any male-hungry female could miss them, either.
"He passed away,” Terri continued.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh, it's okay. I knew it was coming."
"Had he been sick?"
"Well, yeah. He got ear mites from my neighbor lady's cat, and I didn't figure out what was wrong until his equilibrium was off. By then it was too late,” she said with a soft sniff.
"That's a tough break."
"Yeah, it was. But, I've had lots of animals over the years and—"
"Terri,” Syd said firmly, interrupting Trevor's charming session. He hadn't changed one bit when it came to enticing a woman into his harem. Trevor's uncanny knack of making a woman reveal her life history within seconds of their first meeting, was his clever way of sneaking under her skin. And when he did, look out. A woman quickly lost all common sense and fell into his lap, begging for more. “Do we have any pressing jobs we need a carpenter for? Mr. Vanden Bosch is anxious to get started."
"Ah, sure. We've got a few,” Terri said, still distracted. Syd frowned at the puppy dog look of longing on her friend's face. Great. Just great. Terri was drooling over the man like a bloodhound over a simulated beef treat.
Enough. Syd snatched the waiting list from the desk and scanned the dozen or so names on the paper. She wasn't going to send Mr. This Old House out on just any job. No, his first job had to be the perfect job.
* * * *
Trevor's cell phone chirped as he negotiated the truck through heavy traffic on Dodge Street. “Vanden Bosch,” he answered.
"Did you get it?” a deep voice asked anxiously from the other end of the line.
"Yeah. No problem."
"I got to hand it to you, Trev. You're a smooth one. I thought for sure she'd tell you to go to hell before you could set a foot in her office."
"Nah. Not sweet, sexy Syd,” he said with a cockiness he didn't feel.
"Hmph. Don't try to bullshit me. I know damn good and well she put up some kind of fight. Now tell me the truth. I know our lovely Ms. Riley is a scrappin’ little kitty."
Trevor gritted his teeth at the suggestive remark. He'd love nothing more than to tell Smythe where to go, but now was not the time. He had to concentrate on negotiating the extended cab pickup around the corner onto Happy Hollow Boulevard. “All right. So she was a little reluctant at first. But all that matters is I won her over and I'm in."
"So where are you now?"
"I'm headed for the Happy Hollow Country Club area."
"What are you doing in the old money part of town?"
"I've got my first job assignment."
"I'll be damned. So this Studs for Hire business of hers is already catering to the old and rich, eh?"
Trevor realized he'd reached the Country Club Avenue intersection and slowed the no-muffler truck to a stop. He scanned the house numbers adorning the classic brick and stone homes. Some of them were so large they could easily be labeled mansions. He'd been in several of them over the last few years attending dinner parties. But he had to admit, it felt kind of strange driving among some of Omaha's elite set in an orange 1975 Dodge pickup truck.
He spotted the house he searched for and pulled into the arborvitae-lined driveway and cut the engine. The truck belched and sputtered before finally dying completely.
"Look. I'm where I need to be. I better get up to the front door before someone calls the cops on me."
"Why would anyone call the police?"
"This orange bomb I'm driving isn't exactly the automobile of choice among Happy Hollow residents."
"Oh, that. Well, just don't forget who you're really working for here, Vanden Bosch. Remember I'm counting on you to get the information we need. And as I said, there will be a nice perk waiting for you at the end of the deal if you pull this off. I don't have to remind you what's at stake here."
"Don't worry. I'll handle it. I'll get the information we're after."
"That's what I like to hear. I'll check in with you later.” The line went dead.
Trevor pushed the cracked white vinyl sun visor back in place. He glanced around the truck's interior. This thing really was rough
. It probably should have been retired to the junk yard years ago. But Smythe was insistent upon creating a down-on-your-luck image even though Trevor had argued this was a little extreme.
He picked up the work order Syd had given him and scanned down to the middle of the page where it instructed what exactly he was going to be doing for a Mrs. Reginald Whitcomb.
"Doggie door?” Trevor gazed up at the three story classical style home. “This woman lives like a queen and all she wants is a doggie door?” Trevor couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He really did enjoy working with wood, and he was hoping this first job would be something he could do to impress Syd. He scanned the work order again and sure enough, all it said was install doggie door.
"This will be easy,” he mumbled as he opened the truck door. The metal hinges creaked in agony. The door clunked shut and he eyed the pickup with disgust and embarrassment for his new mode of transportation. How the hell was he supposed to convey this stud image if he was driving a wreck? Maybe he could get Smythe to rethink this and convince him to get a new Dodge instead. He'd mention it later, but right now he had a doggie door to install.
This little job shouldn't take more than half an hour and then he'd get back to where he needed to be.
Bewitching Sydnie.
CHAPTER TWO
"Fabio doesn't like to have to lift his legs very high,” Mrs. Reginald Whitcomb said.
Trevor stared at the eccentric woman and the buff colored toy poodle she held as if they'd both grown three heads. She looked as though she'd just stepped off the set of Green Acres. Here it was after three in the afternoon and she wore a filmy pastel green evening gown. Her silvery-blonde hair was piled high atop her head in a style that went out decades ago, and she wore rings that must have weighed a ton. The only difference between Ms. Reginald Whitcomb and Lisa Douglas was, Lisa Douglas was nice. This woman wasn't.
The poodle growled and shook in the lady's arms as if he were freezing. Fabio's big as marbles brown eyes looked as though they never stopped watering. Maybe the dog had allergies.
"Excuse me?” Trevor managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.
"I said, be careful not to put the doggie door too high. Fabio doesn't like to lift his legs. If you install it too high, he won't use the door to go out to his play yard. He's very sensitive, you know. I don't want to do anything to crush his delicate disposition."
Play yard? What did a manic-depressive poodle the size of a doughnut box need a play yard for? But, that wasn't for Trevor to debate. He was here to do a job. And he had to do this right if he wanted to get in good graces with Sydnie.
"Of course, Mrs. Whitcomb. I'll make sure the door is installed properly."
"Fine. When you're through, please come to my office. It's up those stairs and the fourth door on the left.” She pointed to a wide curving staircase at the end of the marble tiled hallway.
She set Fabio on the floor and together they strolled down the hall, her heels and his polished toenails clicking as they went. Trevor's gaze caught a ten-times larger-than-life painting of the poodle hanging among a gallery of family portraits on the west wall. So, the dog was treated to a larger portrait than the lady's husband.
"Wonder how old man Whitcomb likes finishing second behind a poodle?” Trevor shook his head. He couldn't help wondering how some people lost complete touch with reality.
He turned his attention to the solid oak, carved door and grimaced. What a shame to ruin such a fine piece of craftsmanship with a doggie door. But that's what the lady ordered, and that was what the lady was going to get.
Thirty-five minutes later, Trevor swept up the last of the saw dust shavings with his hand-held vac and packed away his tools. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. So far so good. It was still early enough to beat the rush hour traffic so he should make it back to Sydnie's office in about fifteen minutes. Once there, he'd invite her to a quiet dinner. Then he'd lay on the charm and work on getting some ideas.
The thought of holding Sydnie in his arms and kissing those full, sensual lips of hers made certain parts of his anatomy flare like a match when first lit.
He liked Sydnie. A lot, as a matter of fact. And after seeing her again today, he wanted her in his arms now more than ever. He just wished he could win her on his own time, for his own reasons, and not Charles Smythe's.
He'd have to play his cards very carefully if he hoped to continue their relationship after this was all over.
Trevor pulled the bill out of his shirt pocket, picked up his tool box and headed for the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, anxious to get out of this shrine to Fabio. He paused in front of the fourth door and knocked.
"Come in."
Trev opened the door and immediately realized Mrs. Whitcomb's so-called office was her bedroom. She entered from an adjoining room wearing a bright red evening gown cut much lower than the first, revealing more than he cared to see.
"I'm sorry. I must have gotten the wrong room,” Trevor said. He quickly backed out the door, pulling it shut as he went. But then he felt a tug and saw a handful of lethal looking polished red fingernails grasping the door.
"I assure you, Mr. Stud. You have the right room.” She pursed her lips together and blew him a kiss.
Uh-oh. He was in deep trouble now.
"Please come in.” She pulled the door wide and smiled. There was no way Trevor could miss the huge heart-shaped bed dominating the room. Red satin sheets shimmered in the warm lighting that beamed down on the bed like spotlights on a stage. A silver champagne bucket and a plate of strawberries waited on ice.
His gut tightened. He was in deep, deep trouble.
"Here's your bill, Mrs. Whitcomb,” he said in a rush, shoving the paper into her hand. “I'm required to get a check before I leave."
"Very well. Business before pleasure.” She turned and walked over to a gilded desk. The gown she wore gave her the appearance of floating across the plush carpeting. She pulled out a large checkbook and with a flourish of scrolling letters, wrote the check. “There you are."
Trevor nabbed the check and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Looks like you're expecting your husband soon. I'll be on my way. Thank you very much, Mrs. Whitcomb. Don't bother showing me out. I can find my way."
"Not so fast, Stud. We aren't through yet.” The woman grabbed the button of his jeans and pulled him around to face her. She ran her hand over his chest. “My husband is on one of his boring hunting excursions in Africa. He won't be home for another week."
Trevor swallowed hard and tried to think fast. He was in damn deep trouble here and he had the hunch he had Sydnie to thank for it.
* * * *
"So, you hired the carpenter,” Casey said as she poured herself a glass of Chardonnay and Sydnie a beer.
Sydnie plopped down onto an overstuffed chair and propped her stockinged feet on the coffee table. “Yeah. I wanted to get even."
"Even? You know this guy?” Casey handed Syd her beer, then settled into the opposite chair and curled her legs beneath her.
"Yes. He's my ol’ pal from Smythe and Jones.” She took a drink and let her head fall back on the cushiness of the chair.
"Oh, so he's the one.” Casey sipped her wine. “You never told me he was so good looking."
"Yeah, well, looks only go so far. He's arrogant, egotistical, and selfish. And he thinks he's Adonis or something. That promotion should have been mine. I worked my butt off for it. I deserved it. And wham! The next thing I know, he's getting all the credit for my work. And my promotion! Damn. My blood pressure is rising again.” She downed a long swallow.
"Look at it this way. Maybe he did you a favor."
"You call cheating me out of a substantial salary increase a favor?"
"If you'd gotten the promotion, you wouldn't be here.” Casey raised her wine glass, indicating Sydnie's office. “And this beats the corporate scene any day. No more answering to a boss. No more punching a time clock for someone else's benefit
."
"And no more pantyhose!” Terri chimed in as she entered the room. She went straight to the fridge and poured herself a soda.
"What, no alcohol tonight?” Syd asked.
"No. I've got a ton of data to enter into the computer yet. I figured I'd better remain sober since this is our pocket at stake here.” She fell into the last empty chair and kicked off her tennis shoes. Her feet joined Syd's on the coffee table. “Shoot, I'm tired,” she said as she rubbed her eyes. “So where is our new carpenter? He never checked back in with me. You did tell him he needed to report in after each job, didn't you, Syd?"
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 2
