Fixing Ashley
by
Melissa Gardener
Table of Contents
Fixing Ashley
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7 - Epilogue
Fixing Ashley by Melissa Gardener
Copyright © 2014 Melissa Gardener
Published by Melissa Gardener
All rights reserved
Cover Design by Melissa’s Graphic Design (Melissa Ringuette)
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For my husband and children
who have dealt with my crazy for years now.
I swear, guys, I’m letting it all out into words.
Thank you for taking this trip with me.
Acknowledgements
I will be forever grateful for the crazy fandom and fantastic ladies who have stood behind me and supported with every story I have ever written. Whether it be a crazy little twist or sordid little tale, these girls knew how to hold my hand and tell me everything would work itself out.
To Deb who has edited this thing about fifty times now. I love you and your unwavering dedication to this project (and many more.) You have no idea of the impact you’ve had in my life. This one was written with a little prompt you carved into my brain and it’s been one of my favorite stories ever since.
To Amanda and Jo, though we don’t always see eye to eye, this story has gotten here because a long time ago, we wanted to write things just for fun. Well, I’m doing this just for fun and hopefully someone else will have a good time reading it.
To Joanne, my sweet Canadian concubine, if it weren’t for your pushing and prodding, I wouldn’t have gotten through this year. Thank you for lending me an ear when I needed one.
And Christina...Thank you!
To my readers, thank you all so much for every word of encouragement and every little heartfelt message. You are rays of light on some of my gloomiest days.
Fixing Ashley
Synopsis
Hardworking contractor Devon James, dreams of a day when he can build his own home overlooking Sebago Lake. When the opportunity arises to work for uptight designer Ashley Evans, Devon finds himself wanting to take the job, even if it means having to endure Ashley’s little quirks. After all, the house she wants him to work on is a lucrative project and, better yet, located near the site where his dreams lay barren. So he’d be crazy to pass it up, right?
What he doesn't know is that Ashley harbors secrets of her own. When he finds out, can he deal with them or is she more trouble than what he bargained for?
Told from Devon’s point of view, Fixing Ashley is an unconventional love story about two people struggling to stay apart while everything around them brings them together.
Chapter 1
Sitting at my desk for the first time in two days, I’m finally able to listen to the messages on my phone. I’ve been avoiding doing it for long enough, and need to stop being such a pussy. I broke up with her, whether or not she likes it, isn’t my problem anymore. She needs to get a clue, and get off my dick already.
Plus, I really need to see if any of the fifteen messages are about upcoming jobs. I’ve just finished working on the kitchen renovation at the Newman house, and I’m supposed to start on the Martin’s master suite next Monday. After that, I have nothing lined up for a few weeks and need to fill in that time period.
Being a contractor is demanding work. Long hours and interesting customers sometimes make my job hell, but then again I work for myself and only hire a helper when I need to. I get to pick and choose which customers to work with, and when the project is completed they’re usually beyond happy with the end result.
I’m good at what I do. Working with my hands and taking on complete renovations, varying from kitchen remodels to bathroom makeovers. I usually hire skilled tradesmen for certain things like electrical and plumbing, but I oversee it all myself and make sure it’s completed in time and on budget.
I bang my head against my desk and sigh as I listen to Carole’s voice drone on and on about our future and how I’ve screwed things up. I almost regret not answering her calls, but the sound of her voice makes my ears bleed. I told her it wasn’t working out. I’m not going to change my mind, no matter how often she calls.
She’s an amazing woman, though, I’ll give her that. Beautiful, smart, and sweet, with a banging body and legs for days, but she wants things I’m not ready for. Or at least things I don’t see having with her.
After six months, I couldn’t handle the pressure of her nagging me about wanting a ring on her finger.
I’m thirty-four, and getting up there in age, yet for some reason I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t in love with her and couldn’t keep dragging her along with me, knowing full well I may never be ready for what she wanted.
When I finally found my balls and told her she wasn’t “The One,” she called me an asshole and threw a drink in my face, before walking out of the bar. Good thing I’d made sure we were on neutral territory. And then, to add insult to injury—injury being my bruised ego over having a drink thrown in my face—she called me fifteen minutes later to apologize, saying we could work through it.
I’d never seen Carole so frazzled, but as much as it still pains me to admit, she’s better off finding someone who can love her as she deserves and give her what she needs.
Her messages go on and on, giving me the third degree about how she misses me and how we had made plans for the holidays. At some point, I start deleting the messages as soon as I hear her voice.
Reaching inside my shirt pocket, I find my nicotine fix and lighter. I don’t smoke much, but listening to Carole’s shrill voice is putting me on edge and I need this right now.
Lighting up a cig, I inhale the smoke deep into my lungs, letting it nestle itself there before expelling it, feeling myself relax with every second that goes by as the smoke swirls around me.
I hang my head back against the headrest of my overstuffed office chair, hopeful that opening a window will allow the smoke to leave my office without any lingering smell. I don’t usually light up inside. This is an exception. Today, everything seems to be turning around for me. I’ve finished a few jobs, got paid for a couple more, and now this relationship is finally done.
I’m up for a new start. Hell, I need it. I need that buzz from working on a new project. That feeling that whatever needs done can be done and I can fix it all and make it right.
After listening to the eleventh message, I’ve almost given up finding something worthwhile. I even contemplate chucking the phone entirely and getting a new one. I’ve also decided Carole needs to get a new hobby and quick. The chick is about two seconds away from entering crazy town. I can only hope she goes past stalkerville and heads straight for the ice cream truck. Man, I never thought she’d be this clingy. I’m pretty sure I dodged a bullet there by breaking up with her. I can’t imagine what she would have pulled had I waited a few more weeks.
Just when I’ve got my finger
on the delete button, I hear her voice.
“Ehmm, Mr. James? This is Ashley Evans, from Evans Interiors. I was wondering if you could give me a call. I’d like to discuss a project with you. I got your references from Mrs. Harvey, and thought you’d be a perfect fit. Anyway, you can reach me at 555-7926.”
I scribble down the number in my address book, along with her name, and proceed to listen to the rest of Carole’s angry musings. By message number fifteen, she’s accepting the fact we’re no longer a couple and is wishing me a happy life. And here I’ve killed three cigs and shaved five years off my life expectancy. Fuck.
Turning off my phone, I scrub my hands over my face; Jesus, I need to get a grip and concentrate on my fucking business. Carole be damned, she’s hopefully gotten a clue and won’t be calling anymore.
I have goals, and being tied down right now interferes with those goals. She needs to understand that, and I’m in no mood to repeat myself. Not to her and not to anyone.
This is what I tell myself. It’s my motto for now, anyway. My business is going well. I have a lot of regular clients who keep me busy, along with some other bigger jobs that seem to go on forever.
I’ve almost got enough money saved up to buy the plot of land I need, where I plan on building my dream house. Almost. The damn thing sits on the edge of town, near the lake, and is surrounded by forest and wildlife. I love it there, and I’ve wanted to live in that area ever since I was a little kid. I have big dreams, and I’ve made every effort to make it happen. Including being picky about the women I date and have in my life.
Unfortunately, it’s a pretty expensive piece of land, and since I already own this building—where I have my office on the first floor and a small loft apartment on the second—I refuse to borrow any more than I have to from the bank. Those fuckers would screw over their own mothers if they could. I have an account I use as a float to buy supplies and finance certain expenses, and once clients pay me, I top it off and put the balance in a separate one—the dream house one.
Carole was a bump in the road. We had something special for a while, but I can’t explain it, being with her felt as though there was something missing. As good as she seemed to be for me and to me, that spark between us barely flickered. I want more than that from someone I am expected to live with forever and love until the day I die. Maybe it is wishful thinking, but I want what my parents have—total and utter loving devotion. I may never find it, who knows. For now, though, I just know it wasn’t with Carole, and I’m glad she’s letting it go, too.
My phone’s incessant ringing brings me back to the present, and I make sure to look at the caller ID before answering. I’m thankful it’s an unknown caller and not Carole’s number that pops up.
“James Construction.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat, reminding myself I need to quit smoking as I wait for whoever’s on the other end to say something. “Hello? Anyone there?”
I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. Dammit, this better not be some lame telemarketing call; I am not in the mood for this shit.
“I’m sorry,” a female voice starts, “I dropped my pen. So, is this Mr. James?”
“Yes, this is him.” I press my hand against my forehead and lean on my arm, cradling the phone between my chin and shoulder, while holding a pen in my right hand. “How can I help you?”
“This is Ashley Evans, from Evans Interiors.” As she says her name, the voice registers in my mind. It’s the voice from earlier—smooth and deep, almost sensual. “I was calling to see if you’d like to meet with me to discuss a job I’d like to have done.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was about to call you back, Mrs. Evans,” I apologize, and close my eyes with a sigh. Avoiding Carole better not cost me any business, so help me God.
“Oh, that’s quite all right. With a reputation like yours, I’m sure you’re a busy man,” she teases, except the sound of her voice makes my dick twitch. What the fuck is the matter with me? Dammit, now I’m analyzing people’s voices over the phone. Seriously, breaking it off with Carole may have fucked with my mind and my cock.
Clearing my throat and praying she’s some old lady in her sixties, I ask, “When would this need to be done?”
“Well, the customers aren’t around. This was their dream house and they’re currently still living in their old home, which is a rental. I assure you, you’ll have all the time you need. If you meet me there, I can tell you what is involved, and you tell me if you’d like the job and when you’d be available to complete the work.” She sounds confident, her voice never wavering, but I can’t help feeling as if I’m missing something.
After agreeing to meet up later, we hang up and I take a quick shower, making sure to look presentable for my new, perspective client.
Chapter 2
The drive toward the address Ashley gave me is very familiar. I hold back a groan as I whip past lush trees, down the dirt road where the clearing leading to the house is located. The driveway is long and narrow, winding into a curve and large clearing. I can hear water bubbling and nature rustling all around me, the noises soothing away some of the stress from the past few weeks.
I can’t help the green-eyed monster wanting to well up and take residence deep inside me as I look around. The property I have my eye on is a few miles down the bank and nowhere near as beautiful as this one. I want this job, if not for the money then for the opportunity to come here every day and work.
Parking my truck, I notice how the house seems to stand tall but is blemished by many incomplete finishing touches. The conversation I had with Ashley rings in my ear. Something she’d said about how it was their dream house. It makes me wonder what’s going on inside, and who the fuck would do something this tragic to such a gorgeous home. A house like this deserves to be treated with respect. It deserves to be cherished and finished off. It also deserves to be loved and appreciated for all its beauty and how well it fits in with the landscape.
I shake my head. What a travesty.
Getting out of the truck, I lean against it, taking out a cig and lighting it. The smoke billows around me and calms my frazzled nerves. Jesus, this is bad. I’m never usually nervous about potential clients, yet here I am; I actually want to work here. I still can’t help thinking how much of a shame it is to see such an incredible home, in this perfect setting, be treated so poorly.
It’s shit like this that makes me angry. Right now, the only saving grace to my mood is the fact I’ll possibly be able to work my magic and make this place shine. My work is my passion. I like beautiful homes, always have.
This house looks modern, with large windows and natural wood and stone siding. There’s a porch that appears to wrap around the front and side of the house. I’m not sure if it goes all the way to the back, but it definitely should as the house backs onto the lake, and I bet the view is spectacular all year-round.
There’s a large garage angled off and attached to one side of the house with space for at least three vehicles. Whoever these clients are, they’re obviously loaded.
Before I can wander around the property any farther, the crunching of tires can be heard from down the road, signaling the approach of an oncoming vehicle.
I take a final pull from my cig and throw it on the ground in front of me, stomping it with my boot until it’s completely unrecognizable and blended in with the gravel. I make a mental note to bring an ashtray. I’m pretty sure these folks wouldn’t like a shitload of butts scattered around their house. I couldn’t blame them one bit. It’s a horrible habit I need to break.
By the time I’ve quickly shoved some spearmint gum in my mouth, a little green Audi comes barreling around the corner and takes a spot beside my truck.
Taking a few steps, I watch as a petite brunette steps out of the small car and stands, after reaching inside the back seat for her notebook.
As she walks around her car, I notice how simply beautiful she is. Her face is framed with dark brown, wavy hair, cascading past her shoulders. I try
not to notice her short stature and the curve of her hips, as she makes her way toward me.
With her light green eyes trained on mine, I smile politely and nod in greeting. Her mouth curls up in a soft smile, as her tongue peeks out and swipes over her bottom lip, making it glisten. This is one fine-looking woman. Too bad I’ll probably be working for her. Not gonna lie, though, I may enjoy more than the view of the lake on this job.
“Mr. James?” And her voice, fuck, how am I going to survive this meeting? She sounded sexy as hell over the phone, but now, in person, standing in front of me, she’s like sin incarnate. I’ve never been this happy to be single, I swear.
Clearing my throat, I move farther away from my truck and stand at my full height. At six foot three, I tower over her, making her look up at me, and fuck if she’s not the hottest little thing I’ve seen in a while.
“Ashley Evans?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I mean, it’s not as if I’m here meeting anyone else.
Pinching my lips shut, I give her a little shrug. Sometimes, I should just shut up.
She nods, her eyes flickering from my face to my shoulders and back, and motions for us to go inside.
“So, as you can see,” she begins, “there are a lot of little things that were left unfinished by the previous contractor.” She’s clearly all business, but I can’t help letting my eyes roam over her ass as she climbs the steps to the front door. This job is going to be hard. Pun intended.
“That’s an understatement,” I scoff, unable to hold it back. Thankfully, she says nothing as she smiles softly and nods.
As we walk around the house, I notice how bare the walls are. There’s no trim anywhere. No doors have been installed for any of the rooms. There’s no flooring. The bathrooms are a disaster. The kitchen is incomplete. And the list goes on and on.
Fixing Ashley Page 1
