by Tessa Bailey
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve known about this since the beginning of fall. I’m sorry if you didn’t take me seriously enough to plan accordingly.”
Stephen’s nostrils flared, his silence in the wake of Bethany’s barb making the crew shift nervously. “I would have taken you seriously if the permits hadn’t been issued weeks ago.”
Bethany jolted and dropped the envelope, sending paperwork spewing out onto the ground. She bent down to pick it up quickly, those tremors back in her fingers. “Go to hell, Stephen,” she muttered under her breath. “You shouldn’t have been checking up on me with your friends at the permit office.”
Wes noticed that Stephen looked regretful over what he’d said, but Wes was more concerned about Bethany. What the hell did Stephen mean, she’d gotten the permits weeks ago? Why would she wait this long to start the job? Or even say anything?
She straightened with red cheeks and Wes ground his back teeth together.
Whatever was going on here, he didn’t like it. Sure, he got a rise out of her once in a while, but she always hit back. Bethany didn’t get shaken up like this.
“Come on, Beth.” Stephen sighed again. “Where are you going to get a crew by next week? Let me finish here and I’ll reschedule my next job so I can help you out.”
Her laugh was short. “By help out, you mean take over.”
Stephen didn’t bother denying it. “We’re heading into winter in a few months. You’re not going to find anyone good who’s looking for a gig that short. Trust me. Everyone worth a damn is already in this room.” He gestured to his sister. “Including you.”
“Oh, come on, jackass,” she returned. “Don’t backpedal now. You were doing so well at being condescending.”
Wes breathed a little easier with her tone back to normal, but his optimism dipped again when he saw how tightly she was holding the envelope. Her gaze flitted over to him and the color of her cheeks deepened another shade.
Shit.
Was it possible she’d put off starting the flip because she was nervous? That didn’t track, considering what he knew about Bethany and her ball-buster nature. But his eyes were telling him a different story altogether. She was vulnerable in front of the entire crew right now, and her throat seemed to be stuck in a permanent state of swallowing. A lot like his own.
Shit.
“I’m going with her,” Wes said, stripping off his gloves.
Someone dropped a sledgehammer in the back of the house.
“W-wait. What?” Stephen sputtered. “Now?”
“Yup.” He finally made eye contact with a stupefied Bethany. “We better get a game plan together and start rounding up materials.”
She couldn’t seem to land on a response. “I . . . I . . .”
“You what?”
“I mean, this is all very Renée Zellweger in Jerry Maguire of you, but . . .”
He knew exactly which scene from Jerry Maguire she was referring to—when Tom Cruise quits his fancy sports agent job and Renée is the only one who joins him, even though he’s been reduced to stealing the office goldfish—but Bethany needed to know accepting his help wouldn’t change anything between them. Otherwise she might turn him down, and he got a weird pinch in his throat when he thought of her all alone, trying to install drywall without breaking a nail. “Jerry Maguire? Never heard of it. That one of your generation’s black-and-white films or something?”
That spark zipped back into her eyes and relief caused a hitch in his chest. “Apologies. I should have referenced Fast & Furious Nine.”
He bit back a smile. “You ready to go yet?”
She seemed to remember everyone was watching them and started chewing on that sexy bottom lip. “I’m thinking.”
“Bethany,” Stephen cut in. “You’re really going to come up in here and steal one of my best guys—”
“Thanks, pal,” Wes said, tipping an invisible hat.
“What do you think Dad is going to say about this?” Stephen finished.
“Really?” Bethany intoned. “‘I’m telling Dad’? Are we back in the station wagon driving to Hershey Park when we were eight?”
Face slightly red, Stephen looked over his shoulder at the men behind him. “I only meant it’s going to stress him out, us moving in separate directions. We’re supposed to be one team.”
“Well, you know what they say, Stephen,” Bethany said breezily. “There’s no asshole in team.”
Wes coughed a laugh into his fist.
Bethany caught him, her lips jumping at one corner before she sobered. “Before I agree to anything”—she shot a look at their audience and moved closer to Wes, lowering her voice—“I think we should try and get through a planning-stage meeting first. You know, just to confirm we can actually do it.”
He matched her quiet tone. “I was thinking the same thing. We should do it first. Cut the tension.”
“I can hear you,” Stephen wailed.
“You know what I mean,” Bethany snapped under her breath, all worked up and beautiful. So close he could taste the expensive coffee she’d drank that morning in the air between them. “If we can get through a meeting without biting each other’s heads off, then we’ll consider working together.”
“We’re just going to pretend you have other options, huh?”
She blinked and drew in a deep breath. “Are we having a meeting or not?”
Sharpness jabbed him in the middle. “Yeah.”
His answer surprised her, but she only let him see it for a second, before she turned on a sandaled heel with a hair flip. “Stephen, if you bring this up at the rehearsal dinner and ruin the evening, I’ll castrate you. As you were, boys.” She stopped at the door to glance back at Wes and he held his breath. “Meet you at the house.”
Chapter Three
What happened to my neat, orderly life?
Bethany sat in the driver’s side of her Mercedes, staring at the busted childhood home of Travis Ford, her sister’s fiancé. She still couldn’t believe he’d given her the house free and clear. Sure, it had been part of his plan to win back Georgie after their epic breakup, but still, the move had been generous, to say the least.
Even though said house was literally falling down.
If they didn’t demolish it themselves, the next stiff breeze would probably do the job on their behalf. Overgrown weeds and gnarled trees all but obscured the view of the house from the driveway and main road. Bethany hadn’t even been inside yet, but the interior had to be even worse.
Starting from scratch was not in her wheelhouse. She usually walked into a fully finished home and applied the final brushstrokes.
What if she buried a sledgehammer into a wall and a colony of spiders burst out like a geyser? Hopefully she could duck in time so they all landed on Wes.
Wes.
What just happened?
Out of everyone in Port Jefferson, Wes was the last person she would expect to volunteer to help her. Sleep with her, yes. Confine himself to close quarters with her and take direction? No. No, she definitely hadn’t expected that.
It was almost as if he’d seen through the bravado that fooled everyone else, straight to the mess beneath. Had that left him no choice but to help, whether he wanted to or not? If that was the case, she needed to do a way better job of masking her insecurities and flaws. Especially from Wes, with whom she waged a constant war of words. And now they were working together.
In the space of a single morning, nothing was neat and orderly anymore.
The road ahead was a dramatic curve, and she couldn’t see far enough into the distance. As a thorough planner, the uncertainty made her feel like a balloon floating aimlessly into the clouds, no idea when she would burst.
Would there be nothing but air inside of her, too?
Bethany jumped when her cell phone buzzed on the console.
When Georgie’s name blinked on the screen, she picked it up and hit talk. “Really? News has spread already? I just left Stephen’s job site
ten minutes ago.”
“You know how it works. Stephen told Dad, Dad told Mom, Mom called me like a cat with a cross-eyed canary in her mouth.”
Her nose wrinkled. “That imagery is unsettling.”
“I want your side of the story while you bandy about a glass of wine. I won’t rest until it happens. Is it true that Wes pulled a Zellweger?”
Bethany laughed despite her nerves. “I’ll oblige you tomorrow night at Zumba class.”
“Oh my God. I forgot.”
“Nope. Kristin is torturing us for guessing she was pregnant before she could do a big, dramatic reveal.”
“You guessed, not me, and when is she going to tell Stephen?”
“Probably a split second before you say ‘I do.’ It would satisfy our sister-in-law’s sense of drama. Picture it. Gender reveal by way of wedding objection.” With Georgie laughing in her ear, Bethany checked the rearview mirror in time to see Wes’s truck turn into the driveway. “Tomorrow night, Georgie. There might even be more to tell by then.”
“Are you sure? I was kind of hoping for right the hell now.”
“One does not simply bandy wine before noon.”
“It’s my pre-wedding week,” Georgie disagreed. “Day drinking is not only allowed, but encouraged. I’ve already got Rosie on the other line awaiting a time and locale.”
“Are you avoiding working on your vows?”
“Yes, of course I am!”
Bethany snorted. “See you tomorrow, nutcase.”
She cut off her sister mid-wail and schooled her features, climbing out of her car at the same time Wes unfolded his lean, muscled body out of his truck. Momentarily forgetting about the professionalism she wanted to present, her traitorous gaze wandered up the worn material of his dusty jeans, taking its time moving over his thick thighs and the old gray T-shirt where it brushed his hard-working zipper.
Come on, she couldn’t help but notice the way those metal teeth strained to keep his package from unwrapping itself.
Men from Long Island wore looser jeans.
He was living here now—shouldn’t he abide by the customary wardrobe?
Annoyed at the steam swirling in her belly, Bethany zoomed her attention to his face with resolve, only to catch his knowing wink. “Here I am, boss,” he said gruffly. “Put me to work.”
She was silent for a full minute.
What body language did a woman display when she got wet? Did she press her thighs together or lick her lips? Do not do any of those things. Stand still. Just let the moisture spread and those intimate muscles coil without any outward reaction.
Bethany cleared her throat and focused on preparing her words. This morning might have moved faster than the speed of light, but she’d had some time to think on the drive to her solo flip. She’d always kind of disregarded Wes’s advances as something of a joke being played at her expense. How many times had he made cracks about her age? Sometimes she believed that he was physically interested in her, and other times she told herself not to be sucked into whatever game he was playing. Still, just in case he was really interested in taking her to bed, she needed to manage his expectations.
“Wes?”
“Yes, Bethany.”
“If you volunteered to help me thinking it might be a nifty little inroad to sleeping together, you can forget it. Even if I wasn’t on a voluntary man hiatus, it wouldn’t be happening.”
Her stomach knitted waiting for his response. Why was she so worried he might disappoint her and renege on his offer to help? They didn’t have the kind of relationship where one could let the other down. They didn’t have a relationship, period.
Wes’s expression hadn’t changed a single iota. And it remained impassive as he used a booted foot to push off his truck. “If we’re going to work together,” he responded slowly, “you’re going to start giving me a little more credit.”
“Um, okay? Let me sift through the sexual innuendoes you’ve been making for a month and find this credit you speak of.”
He sliced a hand through the air between them. “Sex is off the table.”
Bethany reared back, truly awkward sounds sputtering in her throat. “It was never on the table, cowboy.”
His skeptical expression said he thought otherwise, but he wisely refrained from voicing his incorrect opinion out loud. “Look. I’m attracted to you, Bethany. Like hell. Would I like to spend a couple sweaty afternoons with you in the sack finding out if you fuck as well as you fight, yeah. I really would. But I wouldn’t use this job as leverage to make it happen. So like I said, sex is off the table now.”
“This isn’t going to work,” she wheezed.
“Because you want sex on the table?”
“Stop phrasing it like that! It’s sex. Not a placemat.” This was already spiraling out of control. “And this isn’t going to work because of the way you—”
“Get under your skin like an itch you can’t find with two hands? Feeling’s mutual and I can’t do anything about that.” He held out his palm faceup. “Keys?”
“Drop dead.”
Wes was already striding past her. “I only spent a year working construction when I was nineteen, but it was enough to know this. First thing you’re going to want to do is give this flip a name. Personalize it. Make it matter.” He reached the front door, stopped, backed up, then kicked it open while Bethany gaped. “How does War of the Roses sound? Seems appropriate.”
Bethany hustled past Wes into the house, careful not to brush against him. “Now who’s making old-timey film references?”
“I’m not too proud to suck up to the boss . . .”
Wes’s voice trailed off when he stepped into the house beside Bethany.
Their sight adjusted to the lack of light at the same time.
“Shit,” they whispered in unison.
They might as well have been standing outside. Bethany didn’t know where to look first. The dirt caking the walls and floor? The boulder-sized hole in the ceiling, complete with tree branches snaking inside and growing along the exposed beams? Two windows were broken. The drip-drip-drip of water came from down the hallway, which was especially ominous because it hadn’t rained in a week.
“We’re calling it the Doomsday Flip.” She sensed Wes watching her.
“We?”
Bethany hedged. “I don’t think I can . . . well, that is to say, surely one person couldn’t tackle this alone, so . . .”
“Hate to break it to you, darlin’, but I don’t think two people can tackle this one. Not if you want to stick to a reasonable time frame.” He squinted his right eye. “We have a hiring budget?”
There was no mistaking the easing of pressure in her chest when he used the word “we.” “Considering Travis gifted me the house, it’s a pretty healthy budget. We can afford additional labor.” She shifted. “But I want to make the decisions.”
He nodded once. “I’m hearing you, Bethany.”
How was this the same man who talked so bluntly about fucking back in the driveway? Who was Wes Daniels? A crass, innuendo-cracking good ol’ boy? An honorable guy who showed up to raise his niece at a moment’s notice and Zellweger’d in front of his bros? He vacillated too quickly between the opposite sides of himself. God help her if there were more layers to this man. Two was already confusing enough.
Wes produced a pencil from behind his ear and a notebook from his back pocket, flipping it open to the middle. “Let’s talk floor plan. What do you have in mind?”
You would think she’d never set foot inside a house before. Or logged a million hours listening to Stephen and her father talk measurements and layout. The very fundamentals of construction had been her bedtime stories. Now, given a blank canvas for the first time, as soon as she had a burgeoning idea, she discarded it, mentally citing a reason someone wouldn’t like it. Or it wouldn’t be exactly right. How long had she been standing there in silence, staring at the walls and begging them to inspire her?
“Talk it out,” Wes sa
id, sounding almost bored, but when she glanced up, he was watching her intently.
Bethany swallowed hard and turned in a circle, her sandals making a sifting sound on the dirty floor. “We need it fully gutted, obviously. The kitchen needs to be twice as large, which will mean sacrificing the tiny dining room for a cozy breakfast nook.” She wet her lips. “This is a starter house for sure. Which means kids. Parents needing to watch them from the kitchen at all times. They’ll need extra dining space, so we can put in a chest-high dividing wall to double as a breakfast bar. Can we make the whole front of the house visible from the kitchen?”
“Is that what you want?”
What she wanted was a Yes, that’s a great idea. Apparently she wasn’t getting it, though. “Yes,” she forced herself to say. An answer that required relying totally on her own instincts. “That’s what I want.”
He made some notes on his pad, looking much older with his furrowed brow. “You brave enough to tour the rest of the house?”
She gave him an eye roll. “I think I can handle it,” she muttered, already stepping over some broken glass and picking her way down the hallway.
A rat came careening out of the first doorway and trucked a path right across Bethany’s foot. “Oh! Rat rat rat. No. Noooo!” With her screech echoing off the hallway walls, and potentially putting them in danger of the house collapsing, Bethany turned and scaled Wes’s body like a hysterical rock climber.
He dropped his pad and pencil just in time to accommodate her, his only reaction to raise an eyebrow. Getting her feet off the floor required locking her ankles at the small of his back and if she hadn’t been so squicked-out over her brush with rodentia, she would have noticed he didn’t so much as flinch or strain under her weight. She would think of it later, though. A lot. “First, we exterminate,” she heaved breathily beside his ear, patting him twice on the shoulder. “Can you take me outside, please?”
“Uh-huh.” In the slowest turn ever executed by man or animal, Wes started a sloth-like trek back the way they’d come.
“Can’t you go any faster?”
She ignored the shiver that traveled down her spine when his laugh tickled her neck. “Wouldn’t want to drop you, darlin’.”
