Impact (Iron Orchids Book 3)

by Danielle Norman

  Chapter 4

  Damon

  What would someone label me if I were caught at this precise moment? But I couldn’t help myself. I was mesmerized. Sitting on my bed, knees bent, back resting against my headboard, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. From the moment they entered the house, the woman and her daughter had captivated me. Even though I’d seen the sock, I wasn’t prepared for this . . . this beautiful woman and her girl. She wasn’t what I’d imagined or what the media painted homeless people to look like. She wasn’t lazy or dirty. She was struggling.

  I shook my iPad and shouted as if she could hear me, “Let her charge her damn Kindle, I don’t care, it doesn’t use that much electricity.” The woman, whatever her story, obviously worked hard to teach her child ethics in a world that seemed somehow to be against them.

  I hadn’t realized that I had left my notes at the house until she’d picked them up, but when I saw her snap that picture, I knew it was a sign of fate. I hoped she called. I wanted to meet her, find out her story.

  When she came out of the bathroom, her blonde hair wrapped in a towel, she wore shorts and a T-shirt. I had my first real look at her curves, and I liked what I saw.

  An hour flew by as she tidied her things, gathered what her daughter had strewn about, and then scrubbed the windows of the model home. I never once tore my eyes away from the screen. I couldn’t. It was almost hypnotizing.

  “Go rest. We have a crew that does that.” I found myself muttering under my breath, knowing full well that the audio was one way only. From this angle, she appeared worn, not in age but lack of sleep. Some protective creature deep inside me wanted to watch over her so she could close her eyes and get the rest that she clearly needed. She grabbed a toothbrush from a bag, and I let out a sigh, relieved that she was finally calling it a night. To my amazement, she climbed on a counter, opened a window, and scrubbed the windowsill.

  After about another hour, she stuffed everything away and finally headed upstairs. I turned off my iPad and set my alarm for an hour earlier than normal. I’d try to catch part of their morning routine before I needed to start my day.

  A little after six, my alarm went off, and I logged into my SpyGuys app. Slipping the headphones on, I waited for the green light to signal that I was connected. Once illuminated, I waited and . . . nothing. Checking the volume, I wondered if they were still sleeping. Pulling my laptop off the nightstand, I typed in the website address, entered my password, and scrolled through this morning’s video recording and noted the time at six, thirty minutes before I had logged on, they had left.

  After turning everything off, I jumped out of bed and got ready to start my day.

  But at work, I couldn’t concentrate. Images of that mother and daughter kept whirling around in my head. My focus was half-assed at work as the woman’s lecture to her daughter gnawed at me. I called our accounting department, hoping that they’d be able to put my mind at rest.

  “Hey, this is Damon. I need to see the expense sheets for all the phases of the Winds subdivision. Specifically, I need a detailed report on the cleaning service per home, per phase, per charge. How soon can you get that to me?”

  “I’ll have that to you within the hour, Mr. Christakos. Would you like me to email it to you or bring you a hard copy?”

  “Just email it to me. Thanks. The sooner, the better.”

  Twenty minutes later when I checked my email for any new messages, I was pleased to see the file. We had five model homes in each phase. There should be one high-cost cleaning at the beginning right after construction was finished and then the fee for regular maintenance. I drummed my pencil against my desk as I scanned line by line. Was this woman counterbalancing the money she spent for water?

  That was when I saw it, midway down.

  House number four, phase two. Weekly maintenance: zero. That was the house where we’d found the toothpaste in the sink.

  I kept scrolling.

  House number five, phase three. Weekly maintenance: zero

  She was actually saving us what would probably be a year’s worth of water use.

  Before I could absorb all of this my phone rang. “This is Damon.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Christakos Construction.” The woman’s voice coming through the phone was soft.

  “You’ve reached them. This is Damon Christakos.”

  “Again, I’m sorry. I thought that I’d reach an HR department or something, not the owner. I will look the number up. Again, I’m sorry.”

  Panic hit me at the thought of the woman hanging up. “Wait. Don’t go. Maybe I can I help you with something?”

  “I was calling to see if by chance you were hiring.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I’m looking for a personal assistant. By chance are you proficient on a computer?”

  “I am. I’m working on my business degree and currently hold a job where I work on computers nonstop.”

  “That’s great. Why don’t we set up an interview? I didn’t get your name.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Katy, Katy Nichols. And an interview would be great.”

  “Katy, is that short for something?”

  “Nope, just Katy.”

  “Okay, just Katy, how does tomorrow look? I know it’s Saturday, but I’m desperate for help. I’m pretty open.”

  “Yes, I can come in tomorrow. Is nine o’clock okay?”

  “Nine is fine, I’ll be here at eight if you find yourself running early.” I hoped my eagerness didn’t come across as psychopath.

  “I need to take my daughter across town to child care.”

  “Well, tomorrow will be extremely informal. More or less just to make sure that you won’t mind working for an ogre like me. Why don’t you bring her? It won’t take long, and then you’ll have your day to do whatever you want.”

  “All right, I’ll see you at eight. Where should I meet you?”

  “At the office, we are located off Sand Lake.”

  “I have the address. Thank you, Mr. Christakos, I will see you in the morning.” She disconnected.

  Leaning back in my chair, I couldn’t hold back a smile. I’d always considered myself a good man, and this? This felt right. If I could help her, then it was a good thing.

  Five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. When I headed home, I was ready to turn on my iPad and learn more about Katy and her daughter.

  A little after seven, I was in my kitchen preparing something to eat, headphones on, when their soft chatter rang through and made me smile. I dropped the sandwich meat and raced to the living room and snagged my iPad. I sat, propped my feet on the coffee table, and got lost in the daily life struggles of mother and daughter.

  “Wash your hands, Bee bug, then let’s eat.” What did she call her? Bee bug? The little girl grabbed a towel from a bag and then headed off to the bathroom, a few minutes later, she returned to where Katy had set out their dinner. Fried chicken from a bucket, mashed potatoes in a Styrofoam bowl, and salad from a bag, but she’d arranged it on paper plates and they sat at the table as a family. A family of two.

  “Eat some salad,” she’d instructed her daughter.

  “Why? You don’t.” I couldn’t hold back my smile because I’d hated salad at that age as well.

  “I did when I was growing, now I’m grown. Look at Mommy now.” Katy patted her stomach.

  She was perfect.

  The little girl let out a giggle.

  “When you get to be my age, you can eat chocolate instead. Chocolate grows on trees, trees have leaves, and leaves are like salad. So basically, every time I eat chocolate, I’m eating salad.”

  “You’re silly.”

  “Well, just saying, there are some perks to being older.”

  “Like wearing a bra?”

  “I wouldn’t consider that a perk. Bras are uncomfortable.”

  Oh shit, should I listen to this? Was this crossing into the freak zone? Fuck, I was already in pervert status.

>   “Tawney wears a bra. She showed some of us in class today.”

  “Tawney needs to keep her shirt on. Sweet girl, there’s going to come a day when you pray that you don’t have to wear a bra. They hurt, scratch, itch, and rub you raw.”

  “But she called me a baby because I don’t wear one.”

  “You know what, I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll buy you a tank top, wrap some wire around you, tape some sandbags on your chest, and add some scratchy lace because some guy designed the bras and said that lace made them sexy. Of course he didn’t ask a woman’s opinion. Then, you play all day with that wire rubbing you, the sandbags flopping around.” She swung her left hand up then her right. “If at the end of the day you still want a bra, I’ll buy you one.”

  “Really?” Bee bug looked as if her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

  “Really. I cross my heart. If we’re going to spend money on a bra, then you should have an idea of what boobs feel like.”

  “No.” Bee bug let out a laugh. “Is that what it’s really like to have boobies?”

  I squeezed my face. It had been a really long time since I’d laughed this hard, this was awesome shit.

  “Yep. Cross my heart.” Katy made a cross sign with her index finger.

  “I don’t think I want boobies.”

  “Smart choice. Now, let’s talk about other stuff. School’s almost out. You’re going to need a bathing suit, shorts, and T-shirts. Probably some sandals and tennis shoes. Anything else you want when we go looking for clothes?”

  The little girl let out a giant yawn.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Get washed up, bug.” There it was again, bug. She was definitely calling her bug, obviously a nickname.

  And just like the night before, the daughter got ready for bed while the mom cleaned up before she took her bath, in what I assumed was left over bath water. Then she cleaned another area of the model home before heading off to bed.

  Chapter 5

  Katy

  Wake up, Bee. I forgot to tell you, I have a job interview today, and you’re coming with me. A job that hopefully pays a lot of money. Enough that we can start doing more things.”

  “Can you buy me my own bedroom?” Bee asked.

  “Bee bug, you know that is what I’m working on like crazy. And this job may be able to help us get there faster.”

  “Okay. But are we still doing our clothes today? I told Harlow, and she couldn’t believe that we changed our clothes out every month.”

  God, the way Bee said it made it sound a lot more impressive than it actually was.

  “Of course. We’ll just do it afterward. We can go to Disney tomorrow if you’re extra super-duper good, okay?”

  “Deal.” Bee held up her pinkie for me to promise to uphold my end of the deal.

  We went through our morning routine. I added some water to two small bowls of instant oatmeal and popped them in the microwave.

  Turning to Bee, I went over some reminders. “No matter what I say, do not interrupt me or correct me, okay?”

  “I promise,” Bee assured me. She knew we had secrets, and she had been good about keeping them. Still, I worried that she’d slip up someday.

  After we ate and I did a quick run-through of the house, we headed out and I entered the address to Christakos Construction into Google maps and we were on our way.

  Today was a good day, no black Charger in sight.

  When we pulled into the parking lot, I was in awe of the large four-story building. I was ten minutes early, it gave me time to check my makeup and add a fresh coat of lipstick before I unfastened my seatbelt.

  “Let’s go, girl,” I said to Bee as we both got out and headed for the door.

  My clothes—a plain black skirt and pink blouse with kitten heels—weren’t fancy. I wore this black skirt a lot, mainly because it went with everything and saved me from having to have a lot of skirts. I could spend my money on a variety of shirts. And not to mention, it was flattering to my curves, so I just tended to gravitate toward it.

  I caught my reflection in the glass doors and forced myself not to cringe. I could just hear my picture-perfect mother’s voice asking me, “Dear, are you sure you want to eat that?” Or my personal favorite, “Clothes are designed to a size four, they’re altered for the rest of the sizes.”

  Quickly glancing down, not wanting to face my reflection, I silently cursed at the scuff marks on my shoes. That was probably another mark against me, literally.

  When I pulled the door open and looked up, the most gorgeous man that I’d ever laid eyes on was standing there. He reminded me of this actor that I’d dreamed about. When Bee was little and would fall asleep, I used to watch B-rated movies on YouTube, this man reminded me of Billy Zane. The same olive skin and beautiful mouth that I wanted to—no, absolutely not. I was not going to go there, no way, no how, just no.

  “Mrs. Nichols. I’m Damon Christakos. It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled, turning his eyes to my daughter. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is Bee, and it’s Miss.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Miss Nichols. I’m not married.”

  “Understood.” He let a low chuckle, and something glinted in his eyes before he turned back to Bee. “Hi, Bee, I’m Damon. Nice to meet you. You look just like your mother.”

  “Duh. I’m supposed to; we’re related.”

  “This is true. What grade are you in?”

  “Third?” Bee rested a hand on one hip.

  “Are you ready for school to be out?”

  “Yeah. I hate school.”

  “I like you. I could talk with you all day,” Damon announced. “Let’s go back to my office.”

  I pulled Bee next to me. I wanted her to stop talking, but more than that, I wanted him to stop talking to her.

  “Miss Nichols, why don’t you have a seat over here.” He swung his arm toward a comfortable-looking chair across from his desk. “Bee, you can sit at my desk. I wasn’t sure how old you were, so I laid some paper and colored pens out for you, use whatever you want.”

  I felt a bit uneasy about his relaxation at the interview and his friendliness toward Bee. After sliding a pad of paper from the edge of his desk and a pen, he made himself comfortable, sitting in a chair opposite me. He had a dazzling smile, and I was fucking nervous. Squeezing my knees together to keep them from shaking, I sat on the edge of the chair, my back ramrod straight. My palms held tightly together, resting in my lap.

  “Why don’t we start with you telling me a little bit about yourself,” Damon said.

  What the fuck? Where to begin? I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Okay, he was looking for a personal assistant, so I needed to keep it business related and focus on what in my life would affect his business.

  “I’m working on a degree in Business Management, and I’ve completed my Principles of Accounting. I’m extremely organized and punctual, can type eighty words a minute, and am familiar with a multiline-line phone system. I am currently working so will need to give my notice if you decide to offer me the position.” I looked down at my hands, the man hadn’t said a word, just smiled the entire time I spoke. “I’m almost twenty-seven—”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  My mouth felt a little dry, that was an unusual question. Didn’t they just get that off my job application? “Next month.” I drug my answer out.

  “What?” Bee asked.

  I pursed my lips and gave her a pointed look before I continued. “Bee is eight years old. She has about three weeks left until school is out for the summer, but I do have reliable care. Although I’m a single parent, if she’s sick, I am it.”

  “Where are you currently working?”

  “Disney Reservation Center.”

  “That must be difficult with a child, aren’t the hours inconsistent?”

  “Yes, and they only pay slightly above minimum wage, which is why I’m looking for a job. I love the perks, well, B
ee does. But . . . wait, how do you know about their hours?”

  “Do you know Dion Kostas?” he asked.

  “Not personally, but I do know the name; she’s way above my pay grade.”

  He let out a low chuckle. “She’s my aunt. Her daughter Sophie is an author . . .”

  I cut him off. “Sophie? As in Sophia Christakos, the author?” The name was just hitting me, Christakos Construction.

  “You know her?” He beamed, obviously exceedingly proud of his family.

  “Yes. She and her husband volunteer at the community center. Bee has been going there since she was a baby. Harlow and Bee are friends.”

  “She’s my best friend,” Bee added, and I gave her my mom look to remind her not to interrupt. She went back to coloring.

  “Small world,” he said, smiling.

  “Yeah.” And it was getting smaller.

  “Let me tell you about what your responsibilities will be, more or less. You’ll be doing a lot of errands to the county offices to get permits, check impact fees, and verify codes. My dad also works alongside me, and he handles employees and contractors. Of course, his assistant, Jenny, helps with all of that. I handle all of the architectural design and the actual construction, which is what you will be focused on. In other words, Jenny knows the workers, and you’ll know the buyers. With us starting construction on the homes in phase three—that’s the third section of the Wind’s development—you will be fielding a lot of calls from buyers, asking questions about timelines, if they can change something, and when they can move in.”

  “I can handle that. I imagine that I’d be just as excited if it were my house.”

  “Remember you said that after the seventieth call about whether someone can change the model design of their home two weeks before they are due to move in. Or the week of move in someone calls and asks if we’ve installed the carpeting yet because they’ve changed their mind on color and you have to tell these people it’s too late. They will quickly forget whose fault it is for waiting until the last minute.”