by Cindi Madsen
“Heard Ivy Clarke found herself in need of some help, and I thought now that’s something I’ve gotta see for myself.”
Chapter Five
I was going to kill my best friend. In fact, I was even reconsidering her title.
I crossed my arms. “Actually, I’ve got everything covered, so I’m sorry to say you’ve been misinformed.”
“Mm-hm.” Jackson barged right in, his big body brushing mine as he stepped inside. I smoothed a hand down my hair, painfully aware that I looked like a mess, and I wasn’t even sure it was a hot one.
Not that I cared. I was plenty confident and had no trouble snagging men’s attention, so I couldn’t care less what Jackson “Overinflated Ego” Gamble thought about me. He’d already seen me in pretty much every stage anyway, everything from post-workout to glammed up, including a few times when I’d been wearing nothing at all. Plastered by water from a broken pipe might be a new, slightly more disheveled low, but I was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get girl.
“I know that words aren’t your strong suit,” I said, speaking loud and slow, because I knew it drove him crazy when I talked to him like a simpleton, “but ‘I’ve got everything covered’ actually means don’t barge in here like some gorilla with a toolbox.”
A muscle flexed in his cheek, but he just kept on surveying the living room, taking in the mostly stripped walls and messy carpet. Then, without a word, he headed toward the kitchen. He set his toolbox on the counter and spun a circle, his eyebrows crinkling then smoothing as he muttered under his breath. He stepped toward the wire-filled hole I’d unearthed.
“Where’s the breaker box?”
“Um…It’s…” My eyes bounced around the room, like I’d find clues taped to the walls.
A smug grin spread across his lips as he turned to face me, clearly proud he had something to hold over me. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Not yet, but I can find it.”
“I’m sure you can.” His large frame loomed over me. “But I’m not so sure that you wouldn’t claim the electricity was off when it was actually still on so that I’d get a nice jolt when I grabbed hold of one of those wires.”
“Well, now that you’ve given me the idea, it does sound like a rather fun time.”
“See.” He tapped the side of my head, and I smacked his hand away. “I know how your twisted mind works.”
“Oh, there’s plenty you don’t know about me and the way my mind works. So anyway, thank you for coming, but as I explained to your sister, I’ve got this.” I nudged him toward the open archway that led into the living room. “I was just about to call an exterminator for the mice infestation, and—”
“Where did you see the mice?” he asked, dragging his feet and making it impossible to move him.
“One’s running free after bolting out from under the sink, where she left her bald babies. I’m assuming she’ll come back for them, but maybe she’ll just leave them to fend for themselves. I haven’t looked up how strong mice’s maternal bond is yet.”
That made the smile spread farther across his face.
“Research isn’t amusing,” I said, even though I knew he was far more amused by the mess I was dealing with and how flustered it—as well as his being here—was making me.
“It is when you’re doing it.” He gestured toward the sink. “They’re under there?”
I nodded, and he opened the cupboard door and took a quick peek. Obviously, he wasn’t icked out by them, because he also squatted and wiggled the pipes above their little bug-eyed heads. “This is loose, and I guarantee you need a new garbage disposal. This one looks like it might bust open any minute and send everything left inside to ruin the bottom of the cabinet.”
“Not that I want that to happen,” I said, “but I think I’m going to replace the cabinets anyway.”
“What about the floors?”
I shrugged. It irked me that I’d failed to get a reaction by calling him a gorilla and talking to him extra slow, whereas his questions were making me feel stupider by the minute. “I haven’t run the numbers.”
He straightened and looked across the room at me, his steady green gaze boring into me.
My defenses prickled. “What?”
“What on earth are you doing here, Ivy? I’d ask if you’re out of your mind, but I already know that you are.”
“I’m going to flip this house.” I paced across the room, nearly biting my fingernail before realizing that with the kind of work I’d been doing I didn’t want to have that anywhere near my mouth. “Look, I know it might seem like I don’t know what I’m doing, but I…” Panic rose, and breathing grew more difficult. “I do.” There. That almost sounded convincing.
Jackson tipped his head, not buying it.
Yes, I’d had a moment of weakness when I’d called Savannah, but then I’d made some minor progress. “I can take out a loan, and I can do a lot of it myself. I’ll hire out. It might take longer than I first thought, but I’m no quitter.”
I ignored the low, doubtful sound he made in the back of his throat. I was going to finish this job if it killed me—and at this point, I wasn’t all that sure that was the metaphorical kind of killing, either. But I didn’t want to let down Dixie, and more than that, I needed to know I could do this. I’d quit my one other attempt at a serious career, and while I’d had my reasons, I should’ve attempted another job in that field. Back then I’d wanted to be in control, and right now I wanted to be in control and follow through.
I did pick up another rule when I started regretting my decision to quit over one skeezy politician.
Way #2: Dreams over dudes. Never let a guy get in the way of your dreams. Pursue your own path, for one day you’ll find yourself walking alone, and you should at least like where you’re going.
I’d seen my mom give up jobs, hobbies, where she wanted to live, and a slew of other things—time with me, for one—to make men happy. I’d seen them talk her out of projects she wanted to do, and I’d seen her believe guys when they told her she couldn’t do something. I’d watched them crush her dreams until she didn’t even seem to know what hers were.
At least Jackson hadn’t outright told me I couldn’t tackle this project, even if he might be (most definitely was) thinking it. “You don’t have to understand, and I’d rather not hear that I’m in over my head, because I’m well aware, but I’m nothing if not determined, and if it takes every penny I have and every ounce of stubbornness and energy, I’ll flip this house.”
Jackson sighed and rubbed a hand along his jaw as he took another glance at the mess that was the kitchen. Then he turned back to me. “There’s no reason for you to use up every penny you have, and you definitely have enough stubbornness to spare, but maybe hold it back for one little minute while I suggest something…”
I opened my mouth, and he arched an eyebrow, like he was challenging me to make it that one little minute. “Fine. You’ve got one minute.”
“I’m actually finishing up a project, and my crew can handle most of it. I don’t have another big one scheduled for a little over a month, and I was wondering what I was going to do with all my spare time. If you’re open to an arrangement, I could…help you out.”
Taking him up on the offer called to me, despite his obvious hesitance, but I was worried about attached-strings and crossed-lines. Then again, I was also worried about failing and messing up badly enough it ended up costing Dixie and me our life savings, which made me circle back around to wanting to say yes. “I’m not looking for a handout.”
“And I’m sure as hell not offering one. I’d expect to be paid for my time and services, but I’ll give you the family discount. I can promise you that I’ll do it for less than any other contractor in the area, just like I can assure you that you need one. Ivy, this is a huge job. This isn’t like those TV shows where they show you the before image, fail to show you how many people it takes to do the work, and then reveal the final shiny project. This house needs a lot of work.�
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My cheeks flushed at the mention of the TV shows that’d instilled me with too much false confidence in my abilities. Add that to their sins of lying and brainwashing. I needed the team of people, and Jackson practically counted as a team himself. “I’ll admit it sounds like a good deal…”
“But?”
“But you and me working together? Wouldn’t your family miss you if I killed you?”
“You’re forgetting something…” He took a few long strides toward me, and I nearly backed up like a frightened little rabbit. Probably because there was a gleam in his eye that did seem almost predatory.
Or maybe those fumes were getting to me again. I lifted my chin, working to find the feisty attitude that usually kept me safe. “What’s that?”
He braced a hand on the wall by the side of my head and leaned in, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Aunt Velma would avenge me.”
A laugh slipped out, and then I mocked fear. I even grabbed hold of his shirt. “Please, Jackson. Please don’t tell her I said that. I’ll do anything! Even…” I made a big show of gulping. “Work with you.”
“Without killing me?”
I acted like it was the hardest decision I’d ever made and let out a huge exhale. “Jeez, that’s asking a whole lot. I’m going to have to think about it.” I bit my lip. “And let’s say I was thinking about it. What kind of terms are we talking?”
Jackson glanced around, his gaze back to assessing. “I need to take a look at the rest of the house, and then we’ll discuss the nitty gritty details over dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah, you know. Food that’s typically eaten around this time of day. Especially if someone worked a long, physically grueling day only to give in to his sister’s beck and call and come see what kind of mess her best friend had gotten herself into. You’re probably already full from all the guys’ souls you’ve been devouring, but I need to eat actual food.”
I rolled my eyes at the succubus slam and slipped out of the cozy little pocket his body had formed. I needed as much air as I could get, especially if I was going to suppress the temptation to strangle him. “Well, I certainly can’t subsist on the kind of vapid girls you go for—I’d starve.”
“Ooh, that was a pretty good insult before you were one of them, but now it’s a little self-deprecating for my taste. Sorta takes the fun out of my job.”
I clenched my jaw so hard I thought I’d crack a molar. Clearly our temporary truce had expired, our war back on. But he could go ahead and bring it, because it’d take a lot more than a few jabs to make me wave the white flag. “Fine. Let’s order dinner. Your treat since you’re applying for the job.”
“You’re shit at saying thank you, Ivy Clarke.”
Oh, I knew. I also knew us working together had disaster written all over it.
Watching him get hot and sweaty as he did all that manual labor? Fighting off sexual frustration as my ovaries did their best not to implode?
Arguments around every corner, ones we’d have while armed with tools like hammers and crowbars…?
Yep, it was going to be a disaster.
But I was smart enough to realize that at this point, it was also my only choice if I wanted to fulfill my promise to Dixie and to actually make a profit for my efforts. In a way, not letting Jackson help would be another way of letting my feelings about a guy get in the way of my dreams.
So disaster or not, here I come.
Chapter Six
During last night’s dinner, Jackson and I played twenty questions, where they were all about the house and my vision for it, and by the end, it was probably more like forty questions. We also played twenty jabs and argued about what the most important features of the house were, but somewhere in the mix of all that, we formed a plan and a rather ambitious time table—six weeks, which was when his next job started. He was going to work up a budget as well (I was big enough to admit that he was better with numbers, but not like to his face or anything), and that in and of itself allowed me to relax and get a good night’s rest. After my shift at the bar, of course.
I pulled my car up to the house and killed the engine, telling myself that today was a new day and I had backup now, so I was going to take the bull by the horns and tackle this renovation. Laying it out day by day, one project at a time, made it feel less overwhelming.
My step was even a bit lighter as I walked toward the house.
My black kitty greeted me, and like the sucker I was, I headed to the kitchen and filled her food bowl. I petted her as she dove in. “I can’t believe I’m feeding you even though you didn’t take care of the mice for me. Isn’t that the whole benefit of having a cat?”
Jackson had texted while I was working last night and told me the critter problem was taken care of. And I’d had this moment where I felt kind of bad for the baby mice, so I focused on the diseases they carried and how an infestation would hurt the resale value. I’d been so grateful that I even texted Jackson a thank you, all caps and three exclamation marks. What can I say? It was easier in text form.
He didn’t reply with shock and awe like I’d expected him to, but no doubt I’d get teased about it when he came over later. My task for the day was to finish peeling the wallpaper off the walls of the bottom floor using the steamer Jackson had left for me, and this afternoon he was going to tackle the electricity and the rest of the plumbing if he had time, since he’d already fixed the leak in the downstairs bathroom. That was the other nice thing about the schedule we’d worked up—he left a bit of wiggle room for the bigger jobs, even though we didn’t have much to spare.
By the time he showed up, I was pulling the last few stubborn strips down. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I hate wallpaper with the fire of a thousand suns, in case you were wondering.”
“Wouldn’t you know it? I was up all night pondering that very thing.” Jackson studied me like he was waiting for something—possibly for me to throw stuff at his head. Then he slowly lifted a white bag. “Figured you’d be hungry.”
I wanted to wave it off, but my stomach growled as the scent of fried goodness filled the air, making it hard to claim I wasn’t.
“I also figured keeping you well-fed would increase my odds of survival.”
“Or maybe it’ll give me just enough energy to kill you.”
He shrugged. “I’ll risk it.”
He sat on the floral couch, one of the few pieces of furniture left behind, and you could tell the space had been mainly occupied by females because he looked utterly out of place on it.
“What?” he asked around a handful of fries.
“Nothing.” I pulled my burger out of the bag he handed me and dug in. A moan accidentally escaped my lips, and considering the attention it brought on from Jackson, I was going to have to be more careful about making those kinds of noises. No matter how much my traitorous body enjoyed his body, I was never crossing that line again. I’d learned my lesson, thank-you-very-much. “Um, thanks for the food—I owe you, though. You paid for dinner last night.”
“You can put it on my tab.” He looked like he was fighting back a smile.
“What?”
“Two thank yous in two days. The fumes must really be getting to you.”
I tossed a fry at his head. “They must be.”
We scarfed down the food and wiped our fingers on napkins. I crumpled mine into a ball and flung it aside. “Do you want a Cherry Coke? I have a case in the fridge.”
“I would love one.” His grin was a bit maniacal and made unease dance across my skin.
“Oh-kay.” I glanced back at him one more time before I stepped into the kitchen, but he was just cleaning up the bags of food. Guess I just didn’t know how to react when he treated me civilly.
Shaking my head at myself, I pulled open the fridge door, my gaze still hovering behind me as I reached inside. My fingers wrapped around something fuzzy, and I whipped my head forward.
I let out a scream as m
y eyes locked onto the dead mouse. I jumped back, shaking my hand like that would make the icky sensation traveling up my arm go away.
Jackson’s deep laugh drifted toward me, and I whirred around to find him leaning against the curve of the archway. “You wanted to keep the mama mouse as a trophy, right?”
I clenched my fists. “I’m going to murder you. And the judge will let me off for extenuating circumstances.”
“I don’t know. I think he’ll find it funny.”
“Oh, so you just assume the judge will be male?”
“I assume that most judges will find it funny. Are you saying you want preferential treatment because you’re a female?”
I shook my head, and Jackson obviously didn’t understand how much I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat, because he approached me instead of running away.
“I’ll grab my own Coke.” He reached around me, wrapping his hand around one of the cans. “I suddenly don’t trust you not to spit in it or poison it.”
“Both brilliant options.” I threw my elbow back, catching him in the gut. His grunt sent satisfaction through me.
He picked up the mouse by the tail, and I ducked around the open fridge door, using it like a shield.
“So help me God, if you—”
“Relax,” he said. “I’ll give her a proper burial.”
I packed as much wistfulness into my voice as I could. “Someday I’ll say the same thing about you after I’ve dragged your dead body into the woods.”
“Until then,” Jackson said, tipping an imaginary hat and then taking the mouse out the back door.
I washed my hands and then retrieved a cold can and wiped it and the shelf off for good measure. I took a large swig, letting the fizzy bubbles course through me. “Agreeing to work with him is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, even dumber than that time I drank my bodyweight in beer and then rode a mechanical bull.”
