Fixed Infatuation

by Stacy Borel

  Probably.

  Glancing up at Karen, who was watching me with uncertainty, I sat back down. “Sorry, not your concern. Go on.”

  “It’ll be okay, I'm sure. There’s nothing else, actually. Unless you want to go over to the new apartment complex on Highway 101 in Sequim to make sure the plumbing company installed all of the new fixtures.”

  Thinking of plumbers made me bounce my thoughts back to Molly. Exactly who I didn’t want to give any more of my precious time to.

  I nodded. “Okay. Could you bring me the applications you sorted through? I need to hire a few more workers. I can’t handle any more cocky sons of bitches who think they know every damn thing about tiling and roofing. The last one thought it was okay to lay tile down over linoleum instead of going down to the subfloor.”

  Karen chimed in, “Sure, but maybe we should look into hiring outside of our usual locations. Seattle is full of good talent.”

  “Seattle is full of suits like Thomas, who think their shit doesn’t stink.” I wore an obvious chip on my shoulder.

  “It’s your choice. But the stack isn’t as thick as you were hoping.”

  I grabbed my mug and sucked down a swig of coffee. It was bitter on my tongue, just like my attitude about the day. “I’ll make it work.”

  She got up and left but briefly came back to give me what I’d asked for. Once she was out of sight, I leaned back in my chair. This was going to be one hell of a day. Most of it was pretty standard but dealing with my brother usually caused me to take long drives. I’d hit a bottle, but I didn’t drink.

  I wish I knew what his angle was besides the money. Was he trying to stick it to me? While I owned majority of Whitmore and Co. I was slowly trying to buy out the rest of my father’s and brother’s shares. The process had been long and grueling. I understood, well, sort of, why my dad was reluctant to let his ownership go. He started this company from the ground up. He went door to door almost forty years ago, passing out fliers and asking if people needed a handyman. He’d made his prices competitive and his craftsmanship quality work. His name quickly spread through the Washington Peninsula, and he soon had more business than he could see to on his own. He hired someone to work beside him, and it grew from there. Now we were the largest contracting company next to the big boys in Seattle. I gave him credit where credit was due, but since I started running everything, I’d expanded farther, opened a second location in Tacoma, and took it to another level. I had to. My dad didn’t just start letting the company go, he started letting himself go.

  After my mother passed away, Dad made best friends with Jack Daniel’s, and every once in a while Jose Cuervo when Jack ran empty. Substance abuse was a bitch, and I was always the one to scrape him up off the floor. He’d been booted from jobsites and bars. I tried my best to keep him sober years ago, but I wasn’t a babysitter, and my dad wasn’t a toddler. I didn’t want him in trouble or to see him get hurt, but he had been a thorn in my side I wished would just stay at home and away from the liquor stores.

  Thomas, my dad’s namesake, was given twenty-five percent of the company, and I had the other twenty-five. Tom, my dad, used to own fifty, but I’d bought his shares. My brother was clinging hard to his remaining ten percent. He willingly let them go to me at a very cheap rate back before he became a hotshot architect in Portland, Oregon. Since my mother had been gone, Thomas had ended his selling to me and now taunted me with them like a carrot dangling on a string. He was angry and bitter and blamed me for Mom’s death. I did too, but that was no reason to be a dick about the company.

  Ninety-percent owner, and I was the sole proprietor of Whitmore and Co. Nobody else gave a shit whether it all went down the drain, or if it was sold off to someone farther east. Would it have been easier for me to let it go and go to college like my brother had? Sure. But my mother’s pride in the business my dad built was more than enough to keep me invested. It made me money, it gave me a name, and I’d earned respect. I’d rather fling myself in front of a semi than see what I’d grown get tossed aside.

  My day dragged. It was just after three when Karen buzzed me that I had a call holding on line one. I steeled myself to hear my brother’s voice on the other end. To my shock, it was a raspy female voice on the other end.

  “This is Blake Whitmore.”

  “Mr. Whitmore, the man with the golden pecs and abs of steel?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked. Who on earth?

  “This is Sandra from across the street.”

  She stated it like it would immediately click and I’d know who she was. I thought my neighbor’s name was Molly? I knew all of the people who surrounded me. When I didn’t respond she sighed heavily.

  “I’m Molly’s agent. The one you met last night.”

  Oh yeah, the skinny, mouthy one, I thought as she jogged my memory. “Right, yes, Sandra.” What was she calling me for? “What can I help you with?”

  “I was hoping you might possibly be free later this week or beginning of next to uh—refinish some cabinets,” she answered, completely unsure of what she was saying.

  I raised my brow and set the pen I’d been holding down. “Cabinets. Like kitchen cabinets?”

  “Yes, mhmm.”

  I gathered last night that she wasn’t from here, so I could only imagine she was trying to be a nosy friend, or at the very least was attempting to find an excuse to flirt with me. Which wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibilities. While today might not have been the best days for something like this to happen, because my blond little neighbor across the street was involved, I’d bite.

  “And do you know approximately how many cabinets need to be refinished?”

  She paused. “Six—no, wait, eight.”

  I could tell she was pulling a random number out of her ass. “And will the countertops need to be replaced? I’m assuming so since the ones in that house are in horrible condition and dated.”

  “Mhmm,” she said again.

  I made a few noises over the phone as if I were writing this all down. “While typically I’m not the one who does this anymore, my main guy, Edward, will be happy to stop by and get some measurements and we can get the work started in just about a week or two.”

  “What? No, I’m calling for you. Edward, Schmedward. I’d appreciate it if it were you doing the work, and I know Molly would prefer it too.”

  “That’s mighty presumptuous of you, Sandra. I’m a busy man. Does Molly even realize you’re calling me? Because something tells me she’d rather skin a cat than me come back over and do any work on her house.”

  She chuckled deeply. She sounded like a smoker and I assumed she was one. “She doesn’t have a clue.”

  My interest just rose another level. My day went from complete shit to very amusing. “Huh, and what makes you think you’re doing her any favors by calling me?”

  “Because my lovely little client doesn’t have the gumption to admit she’s going to need help on this craptastic house she bought, and her pride won’t allow her to make the call to the man who can get it done.”

  Her flirtatious tone was oozing across the airwaves. It was like a gentle stroke to my ego. Karen had given me one of those stupid desktop calendars she’d written in little notes here and there. It gave me a general idea of where I’d be and when each day. She always verbally filled in the details each day. My eyes shot to next week’s list of to-dos.

  “Suppose I was remotely interested in taking on this job myself, what’s in it for me?”

  I nearly heard her snicker through the phone.

  “Pride, domination, pounding of your caveman chest, of course. Are you looking for further compensation than that on top of your usual fees?”

  I wasn’t actually, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to play my cards right here. “No.” I chuckled. “But I’ll be sure to pound my chest every night before I lie down to go to sleep.” I paused, more for dramatic effect. “Tell me, Sandra, what happens when I show up with my tool belt on? Will yo
u be the one to insist I come in to do the work? Because I can guarantee Molly will likely slam the door in my face.”

  “Did she last night?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm, well, there you go. You just let me handle the home owner, and you can help yourself with the rest. If something more comes up, then I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how it needs to be dealt with, now, won’t we?”

  Her demanding attitude was a bit of a turn on. She gave me the feeling she was a dominant woman in and out of the bedroom. I occasionally gravitated toward those types, but I was into more submissive ones. While I was completely aware I was an asshole, I knew there was a time and a place. I may have noticed how attractive Sandra was, but it wasn’t her who aroused my dick last night.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Here’s what I can do. I’m free for a short window of time on Monday right after four. If you think she’s not going to toss me out on my ass as soon as she sees me, then I’ll come take measurements and discuss with her exactly what she’s looking for.” I sounded reasonable, even to myself.

  “I’ll make sure she knows you’re coming. Look forward to seeing you again.” Sandra was pleased, by the lighter tone in her voice.

  I hmmm’d into the phone. “You as well.”

  We hung up. I sat there looking at my penciled in markings in Monday’s square.

  ‘Pain in the ass neighbor @ 4pm.’

  I smirked. Yes, I’d say my day had definitely taken a turn toward interesting.

  That was until Karen called my name from the other side of the wall. “Blake, your brother is holding on line one.”

  I frowned. “Here we fuckin’ go.”

  Molly

  THE SKY TODAY WAS A grayish white, the sun hiding in its thickness. I was supposed to be playing hostess with the mostest, but my mood was screaming crabbiness. I blamed the weather. While there wasn’t an ounce of rain coming from the overcast gloom, it felt like it would be more appropriate to have some sort of moisture. Maybe just enough to get me out of taking Sandra to the Crabfest that was going on downtown starting around noon.

  After a restless night and a non-intentional cold shower, thank you very much hot water heater for crapping out on me five minutes in. The damn pilot light probably went out, which shouldn’t happen on a new unit. I wanted nothing more than to curl up back in my bed with a good book, my coffee, and maybe take a nap.

  There was a knock at the bathroom door. I opened it in my bra and underwear, a towel wrapped around my head. Sandra stood there with her typical all black clothing, her hair looking fresh and perfectly coiffed.

  “Well, hello there, sunshine. Don’t you look like good time,” she said in a sultry voice, her eyes scanning down my barely covered body.

  I started to shut the door on her, but she laughed as she blocked my attempt. “I didn’t sleep much,” I grumbled, smearing toothpaste on my toothbrush and jamming it in my mouth.

  She cocked a brow and smirked. “I can see that. The bags under your eyes gave you away. Cucumbers and a face mask solves all problems. So does vodka. Why didn’t you sleep?”

  I slurped some dripping saliva. My appearance in the mirror was atrocious. The old medicine cabinet I was staring into was rusted around the edges, and the mirror itself had speckled black spots from wear and tear. I’d already tried to wipe them off, but it was chunks of material that were worn off. This damn thing made me look older than I felt. “Looming deadlines and a house that doesn’t want to stop falling apart.”

  She blinked, kind of confused. “Honey, this is what you wanted. And if you are thinking about two nights ago, the bathroom is all well and dry.”

  I twisted to look at her. “Sure, but not for it to be happening all at once.” I sounded whiny even to myself. “I’m allowed bad days. Contrary to popular opinion, I do frown.”

  “I’ve never told you that you had to be happy all the time. In fact, it’s pretty annoying that you usually are.”

  I barely cracked a smile. “It’s all the coffee us writers have to drink to keep our agents happy and on time with manuscripts.”

  “You know, Molly, that smart aleck attitude will get you everywhere in life. I’d also like to add”—she pointed at my bra—“if you owned any cute undergarments, it would help make your day a little brighter.”

  “My panties have nothing to do with my day.”

  “The hell it doesn’t. Buy yourself a matching set lace bra and underwear and you let me know if it doesn’t make you feel a little bit more confident and happy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’ll see.”

  Sandra leaned against the doorframe and it protested under her lithe weight. She glanced at it and then smiled at me. “This house sure is something.”

  “Yeah.” I sarcastically chuckled. “Is that the right word for it? I’m really starting to regret my decision to buy it.” I rinsed and spat, wiping my mouth with the hanging hand towel. “By the way, any idea how to relight a pilot light?”

  “Nope! Not a damn clue. But I know someone who might.” The devilish grin I’d come to recognize appeared, true to form.

  “What?”

  She jerked her head to the side. “Mr. Whitmore would probably gladly take a look at your water heater. And maybe a few other things.”

  “Argh!” I groaned. “That man and his ego don’t even fit through the door.”

  She chortled. “Okay, maybe he’s a bit cocky, but he’s someone who can help, don’t you think? He’s close by, and I have a hard time believing he’d overcharge you for the things that need to be done.”

  She could be right about that. I just didn’t want his attractive arrogance in here telling me all the things I should have done differently or telling me what to do. Especially not looking like a snack I wanted to nibble on. It would make things awkward. I lived here, and he was my neighbor. The last thing I needed was seeing him in town, or any other place. It turn into a case of me shuffling my feet and looking like an idiot who couldn’t look him in the eyes.

  “I’m not going to disagree with you. But let’s just leave it at I’ll think about it. When time comes that I need help with something, I’ll pull out his business card.”

  Sandra turned and started down the hallway back to her room. “Or you could knock on his door again.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said sarcastically and closed the door.

  Not a chance in hell.

  An hour later, Sandra and I were down by the water at the local coffee shop I frequented. It was a little busier than usual since the festival was about to start and tourists were walking about, including us.

  I loved it in here. The sounds of beans being ground, steaming of milk, the low hum of patrons talking and sipping their drinks. It put me in a state of ease. This particular building was part of an old clam canning factory. The original logo was still painted on the exposed brick and the new owners used it as part of the décor. The ceilings were high and black metal pipes ran from one end to the other. The floors were a glossed over cement. While it was industrial, the atmosphere made me feel warm, even against all of its cold-looking material.

  As we stood in line, I eyed the pastry case, and my stomach growled. I was starving. I wanted to wait to eat something till we got to the festival, but I wasn’t going to make it. And who was I kidding, crab was my favorite food. I’d have plenty of room to gorge myself on the sweet meatiness of crab meat. In the meantime, a large macchiato and blueberry muffin would hit the spot.

  There were still three people in front of us, and Sandra and I were bickering over who was going to pay. I wasn’t in the least bit aware of anybody else around us, or who could be listening. That was until I heard the grunt I’d sadly come to recognize and loathe. I blinked at Sandra and watched as she narrowed her eyes and nearly moaned at the sight of the man behind me.

  I didn’t want to turn around. I felt a bit testier today just because of my lack of sleep. Blake appearing reminded me of summer time, when you walk into a random cloud of gna
ts. You move around, and they follow you. And no matter how much you swat at them and show your annoyance with their presence they still hover.

  Slowly I turned around and faced the man who was standing entirely too close. I had to tell myself not to look at him. Well, don’t not look at him, but don’t be obvious and check him out. I didn’t want to know what he was wearing, how he looked, or how he smelled. Nope, not at all. Not as those illustrious dark brown eyes nearly penetrated through me and sent shivers over my skin. His stare was harsh and invasive of my space. While I was chewing the inside of my cheek to help control my nerves he was eliciting, he didn’t hide the fact he was once again visually consuming me.

  I needed a cold drink of water. Screw the hot coffee. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  Blake was the first to speak. “Sandra, right?” His eyes briefly shot over to her, waiting for confirmation. When she said ‘yes,’ he looked back at me.

  “Hello, Millie.” He grinned from ear to ear.

  The white of his teeth was a temporary distraction from his insult. Temporary being the keyword.

  Anger began building in my gut. I looked at my friend. “Seriously, what is with this guy? You want me to let him do work on my house and expect him to take proper measurements, but he can’t even remember my name?”

  Blake chuckled, and it grated my nerves. “Relax, princess. I know your name.” He waited till I made eye contact. “Molly.” He said it so seductively, I had no idea my name could sound like that coming from someone else’s lips.

  I exhaled in a failed attempt to compose myself. “Is this just a game you like to play to annoy people? Isn’t that a bit childish?”

  He stood back. I stole a moment to see he was wearing a salmon-colored, long-sleeved shirt and jeans that were clean for once. Gray Nikes topped off his look, which oddly gave him a much younger appearance. His hair was disheveled and slightly damp from the few droplets that were now steadily falling. I envisioned him running his fingers through it and physically brushing the water away. The very idea that I found him sexy right now when he was purposefully trying to piss me off made me want to slap him.