MAJOR RENOVATIONS
Vanessa M. Knight
Major Renovations
Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa M Knight
Published by Inked Publishing
Cover Design by Okay Creations
Ebook Designed and Produced by Nancy Canu
Edited by Nancy Canu
Major Renovation is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations for use in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN: 978-0-9962172-0-0
To my sister, Kelly,
for reading and rereading
and being an overall awesome friend.
Acknowledgements
There are so many people who made these books possible; it truly does take a village and a hunk (or two) of chocolate.
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my husband, Spyder, for supporting me and my dreams emotionally and financially. He’s putting his money where my pen is… Does that sound kinky, or is it just me?
I also want to thank my darling son for being my reality-check resource for the current college student. He always finds time to help, and I appreciate that immensely.
I could never forget to thank my fabulous family and friends. You have seen me through the good, the bad, and the ugly (remember that Little Orphan Annie perm…ick). Thank you for your support and understanding while I try to finish just one more book so I can relax. (Mom, I promise to relax after I write the next one.)
To my editor Nancy Canu for “getting” me and my writing style. You help make these books into something I can be proud of, and I thank you for that.
Thank you to the best critiquers in the world… J Leigh Bailey, Kelly Garcia, Nicole Leiren, and Stephanie Scott, and also to my wonderful friends, Sonali Dev, Cheryl Huth, and Cici Edwards. You all have talked me off ledge after ledge. You have given me strength and sometimes just a stiff drink, inspiring me to keep going when I wanted to quit and join the circus (thankfully, I was reminded I don’t have circus-quality talents before I made that mistake). You make me laugh when I want to cry, and you make me write when I just want to watch TV. You are truly awesome.
And last but not least, I’d like to thank all of the readers. I can’t wait to see where this series will go, and you allow me to continue writing so we can find out together.
~»ΨΡ«~
Chapter One
Ski
ANOTHER BOX. Another electrical cord. Walking through the Psi Rho fraternity house while it was under construction was definitely hazardous to one's well-being. Between the crap lining the floors waiting for someone to trip, to the dust-encrusted air, Andrzej Kaminski’s home away from home was a combined obstacle course and deathtrap, an epic journey pitting man against boxes and abandoned nail guns.
And so far, the nail guns were winning.
Ski barely heard his cell phone chirp from his pocket with the way the whirring and screeching of power tools rattled around in his head. He pulled the phone out and checked the screen. Tata. He didn’t have the energy to fight with his father, or worse, deal with the guilt. Tata would never understand. How could Ski explain what he hadn’t done or, even worse, what he had done?
He hit Ignore and slid the phone back in his pocket. He was busy. Call of Duty wouldn’t play itself, right? And his Xbox was practically screaming from the other room— “Come play with me, bitch.” All he wanted was to hang around and relax this summer. Play video games. Maybe watch some TV. All the things he never had time for from September to May, between the craziness of his pre-med classes, the fraternity, Ritter University football season, and wrestling. Besides, the family’s annual pilgrimage to the homeland was mainly his father consulting with fellow doctors and his mother sightseeing and visiting relatives. No surprise Ski had volunteered to stay here in Indiana, watching over the frat house during construction.
It’s not that he didn’t like spending time with his family, or that he dreaded making the trek to Poland, but he needed a break. A break from his family. A break from responsibility. A break from the freight train Medicine, barreling toward his inevitable career as a doctor.
He needed time to think about his future. He needed to make some decisions without his father breathing down his neck, telling him what he liked and didn’t like.
“Ski!”
He turned toward the voice yelling for him over the roar of construction.
“Ski, where do you want the new tiles for the kitchen?” Barry O’Brien's balding forehead glistened with sweat, and what was left of his hair stuck out in curly gray branches.
“They're here?”
Barry stared at him, bushy brows furrowed. “What did you say?”
Ski shook his head. Sometimes his Polish accent led to a huge communication gap. He’d thought about speech training, but he was hoping his mouth would just get the hang of English on its own. He’d been in the country for over four years, and his mouth still wasn’t cooperating.
“They. Are. Here?” Over-enunciation seemed to be the key, and Barry nodded. “Does Samantha know?”
“I thought I'd tell you first.” Barry awkwardly hefted the small but apparently heavy box he was holding. Ski tried to relieve him of the oddly weighty hot-potato, but the old man pulled it back to his chest. “Thanks, but she's running this show.”
Ski eyed the box in Barry's hands. There had better be a huge stack of those little boxes somewhere, since they were tiling the whole top half of the wall. That kitchen fed thirty-five guys. It was big. “You might want to run it by her.”
“Run what by whom?” Samantha walked into the room. More like sauntered, or whatever you called that gorgeous sway of female hips. He definitely wanted fries with that shake. Hell, that milkshake could tempt a Vegan until he had a white-rimmed mustache.
She dropped her stylus on the floor, and when she bent to pick it up, her rounded ass was on glorious view as she bent over. Oh yeah. Milk— it does the body good.
She was gorgeous everywhere. Brown skin. High cheekbones swabbed a faint pink from hard work. Form-fitting jeans and T-shirt hugging that tight body. Straight black hair tied up in a ponytail.
“I was asking Ski where to put these.” Barry held out the box. “The kitchen tiles are here.”
“Why are you asking him? Last time I checked, I’m the manager.” She shook her head back and forth, ponytail swishing with every movement. That hair was too fine to be tied in a knot. Tragic, really. Always in that damn ponytail. Just once, Ski wanted to yank the band out of her hair and see the dark strands surround her deep blue eyes. And don’t get him started on those soft, pouty lips. Thank goodness he wasn’t a Vegan.
Although, right now, those lips were hard and angry as she headed his way. Not so much soft and pouty. Those beautiful eyes? Narrowed nail guns glaring right at Ski. Somehow, he must have screwed up again. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get on her good side. And he knew she had one. She was pleasant to other people.
He should probably just take the hint. But… maybe he wasn’t a Vegan, but a masochist?
“He's the owner.” Barry ran a hand along his reddened face, and Samantha met his glare head on, fire burning beneath her long black lashes. Even angry, she was freaking hot.
Yep… definitely a masochist. But had he mentioned those hips, those lips? His pants shrank a size as he thought about that mou
th and the things she could do to him with those hips.
“He's not the owner, the fraternity is. He's the babysitter. And I'm sure he has better things to do than decide where to put boxes of tile.”
Barry turned an alarming shade of dark red, and Ski really wanted to tell him to calm the hell down before he was on the voltage end of a defibrillator. “Your father would never—” Barry began, nearly yelling.
“My father isn’t here. I am,” Samantha snapped back at him.
Who needed Call of Duty when there was a war waging right here? Although if Barry launched an attack, Ski would kick the man’s ass. He wouldn’t feel good about giving the old man a beating, but he couldn’t just stand here and watch him battle with Samantha.
“Where is your dad, anyway?” Ski slid in between their glares. If he had a red cape to wave, he’d do it just to get their attention off each other.
“He’s on vacation. He needed a break,” Samantha growled, her icy-hot glare now directed at Ski. Great plan. Still glaring, she wrapped her tablet closer to her chest. Sometimes Ski would swear that piece of technology was grafted onto her arm.
“Ha, needed a break. You made him go.” Barry angled around Ski, his face growing redder by the moment. “He’s miserable out there.”
“His blood pressure was over—”
Speaking of blood pressure, Barry’s face was now a dangerously deep shade of purple. Before Ski could interrupt, Barry took a step closer to Samantha.
“When is he coming back?” Ski stepped between them again, his hand sliding into his pocket and wrapping around his phone. The most important response to a stroke was getting medical attention ASAP. Time lost was brain lost. He looked the old man up and down, gauging his symptoms. Alarming color aside, Barry’s face wasn’t drooping, and his bulging eyes were focused and alert. He was still clutching that box of tiles, so no arm weakness. And the man hadn’t shut up yet, so there was no problem there, either.
“Soon.” A barely audible sigh passed her lips, but her spine stayed rigid. She flicked her glare at Ski. “Is there a problem?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
“Should I put these in the kitchen, boss?” Barry sounded calmer, his skin returning to its normal paleness.
Samantha attempted a smile. “Yes, thank you, Barry.”
Ski watched Barry skulk away. The man had been at the frat house a few times over the past couple of years, helping Samantha's father make changes and upgrades to the buildings on the Ritter University campus. Now Barry was working for Samantha, and Ski got the feeling the older man was not too happy about that arrangement. He was lucky Ski had been taught to respect his elders— although he was questioning that philosophy lately. Barry’s attitude was itching at Ski’s foot to boot him square in the ass. Gowno, if he were the guy’s boss, he would have sent him to the unemployment line a long time ago.
“So, trouble in the ranks, Sammy?” It wasn't his business, but the spark in her eyes told him he’d struck a chord.
“My name is Samantha.” She pulled her tablet even closer and glared at him.
He knew that version of her name pissed her off, and he also knew he shouldn’t be pushing her buttons when she was having a crap day with insubordinate employees. Somehow, neither seemed to stop him. “Sorry. So, how are things going while your dad’s away?”
“Things are under control. We are on time with the completion of your project.” She turned on her tablet, tapping and swiping at the screen.
Ski blinked. Huh. A computer-generated message would have been more warm and fuzzy. Apparently, he needed to be more direct. “Does Barry have a problem reporting to you because you’re a woman, or because you’re not your dad?”
She heard him. He knew she did. Her lips tightened when he asked the question, but she kept her eyes on the damn tablet.
“Sammy?” That always seemed to get her attention.
“Samantha. Why is that so hard for you to remember? Oh—” She put her hand to her cheek in mock sympathy. “Too many hits on the football field?”
He wasn’t going to let this drop. “Samantha. I’ll keep that in mind. What about Barry?” He still hadn’t ruled out beating up the elderly. All she had to do was say the word.
“Probably a little of both. And taking orders from a woman— from a twenty-one-year-old woman— is not high on his list of things to do.”
“He should quit, then.”
“Who would hire him? He’d never leave.”
Ski shrugged. “Maybe you should fire him.”
“I can’t. He’s been working with my father since he opened the company.” Samantha gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t you have something to do? Vegetate in front of the TV or go to the gym? I mean, come on, those muscles didn’t get that big by themselves.”
Against his will, his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. “You've been checking out my muscles.” He hadn’t been sure if she even saw him— between the nonchalance and the glares, she played a good game. But she saw him, all right. She was even checking him out. Nice.
“Yes. No. They're too big to miss. I mean, you'd have to be blind to miss them.” Red crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.
He should stop. He didn't want to embarrass her, but it was so damn enjoyable watching her try and talk her way out of this. She wasn't the type to squirm. She was strong and focused. And she was the type of woman that didn't take any shit. Not from him, and not from her crew. She was the type of woman Ski wanted to know better, if she’d just let him.
Like she’d ever let him.
But that red slowly sliding along her cheekbones told a different story. It told him that maybe— just maybe— she was interested. And hell, he’d take it. He couldn’t stop his grin. “They are big. I'm a big guy— all over.”
Heat burned in her eyes as she scanned him up and down. He could almost see her wondering. How big was he? Where?
Damn. Her gaze felt good. Better than good. Fan-fucking-tastic. He could practically feel the heat from her eyes slithering along his skin. And given the thoughts bouncing around his head... It took a lot of fucking strength not to reach out and run his hand along the curve of her waist, to see if— He took a deep breath. A lot of fucking strength.
“I bet.” Her interest disappeared as fast as it had appeared, and she turned her attention back to the tablet. “Too bad your ego is the biggest part of all.”
Or maybe not. He shook his head. Who knew what was actually running through her head right now? “How do you know that’s the biggest part?”
“Let’s just call it a hunch.” A cool stare replaced the heated gaze of seconds ago, and her rigid posture returned.
Temptation over. Damn. His skin pebbled from the newfound chill in the room.
“Um, we’ll need you to stay out of the way today. The electrical inspector is coming.” Her eyes were now riveted on the screen in her hand.
Damn tablet. He wanted to pull the thing away so she’d look at him just a little bit longer. “Good. Can you come get me? I’d like to be there.”
“You don’t need to be. I have it all under control.”
“I know that, but I am here to babysit, so I might as well earn my five dollars an hour.”
“You’re getting paid to be here?” She glanced up at him, her brows raised.
He didn’t buy her innocent look for a moment, but decided to let things go. For now. “No, it was a bad joke.”
“Do you need anything else, Mister Kaminski?” she nearly cooed, and looked back down at the tablet.
Mister Kaminski? Even his father wasn't Mister Kaminski. So, no. Just…no. “You can call me Ski.”
“Ski. I'll keep that in mind.” Her hips swung as she strode out of the room, ponytail swinging to the same rhythm. It was amazing. She could turn him to ice with one glare and then make his blood boil, all in two-point-five seconds flat.
~»ΨΡ«~
Chapter Two
Sam
SAMANTHA THU
NDER watched her crew hanging cement board on the kitchen wall. Her crew. She couldn’t seem to get used to that. She was twenty-one years old, and running her own crew. She should still be learning and taking direction from someone with more knowledge, more years, more experience. Not running the show.
But with her father taking a much-needed health break, she’d had to take over— make sure the jobs got done, the bills got paid, and the men had a paycheck each week. Without her here? Well, either her father would be a walking heart attack, or the men would be out of a job.
Neither was a good option. Neither was acceptable.
“Ms. Samantha.” Jordan leaned down from his ladder after he ran a screw into the concrete board. “We’re almost done with this. Is the mortar here?”
“Let me check.” Samantha swiped her tablet and brought up the day’s schedule. Appliance delivery at one this afternoon. Tile delivery at noon. Mortar at seven this morning. Six hours ago. Shit. How did she miss that? “One minute.”
She walked back through the house, and no matter how hard she tried, her eyes kept looking for Ski. Why was she even thinking about him? Especially right this minute— not one of the items on her schedule was Ogle Ski.
But wouldn’t that be fun? Those muscles, that face. She’d love to take a few minutes and— dammit. She should be focusing on her job, her father's legacy— the missing mortar. His spiked blond hair and angular jaw were nice to look at, but the truth was that she wasn't into guys like him. He was a jock. End of story.
She shook her head and walked into the bright afternoon sun. It was just after lunch. They only had about four more hours of work today and she needed to focus on the job. Focus on things like the bags of mortar sitting in plain sight on the front porch. Her chest compressed as air whooshed from her lungs. She hadn’t known she was even holding that in, but damn, she didn’t have time for setbacks. Every step was important. Every task was dependent on the one that came before it.
Major Renovations (Ritter University #1) Page 1
