Which…hurt.
Rory hated—absolutely hated—working for her daddy. Will’s recollections over the years of what it was like to work for the man were mild in comparison to reality. Not a day spent at town hall went by without Rory screaming into her pillow at night. She’d even gone as far as ordering stress balls with the town’s emblem on them just so she could stuff a few in her desk to squeeze, all to keep from wrapping her fingers around her daddy’s neck instead.
But she had to work there. She didn’t have a choice. Bills were piling up more and more every day. She’d already given up her house to her ex—the one she’d designed every nook and cranny of, had poured her heart and soul into for the past eleven years. The one in which both of her girls had lived every single day of their lives. That hurt the most. But it turned out being an attorney paid a hell of a lot more than being a stay-at-home mom. Who knew?
Rory’s college degree served her as nothing more than a nice wall decoration. Just a fancy piece of paper encased in a pretty frame. She’d played the part of the stereotypical sweet Southern wife like she was “supposed” to, popping out babies and then staying at home to take care of them. And though she knew her sisters didn’t understand it, she’d loved doing it. Loved being home with them, watching them grow, and being present for all their firsts.
At least, she had in the beginning.
But for the past couple years, ever since Ella had started kindergarten—which had left Rory’s days open and empty—she’d craved something more.
Trouble was, she hadn’t had a fallout plan.
So she was stuck taking the pity job her daddy had given her, never mind the fact that she didn’t have an ounce of work experience. His assistant, Gloria, had drastically cut her hours since giving birth last year, so she and Rory job-shared. Though, Gloria’s hours seemed to be getting fewer and fewer each month, and Rory’s seemed to grow.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d blink, and it’d be five years in the future and she’d still be stuck at town hall, working for her overbearing ass of a father and letting her dreams of design wilt in the back corners of her mind. Again.
Will hummed, pulling Rory out of her thoughts. “I’ve gotten used to his shit. Plus, ever since I stood up to him at last year’s baseball game, he doesn’t push me around anymore. Much.”
All three snorted at that. Their daddy was about as delicate as a bull in a china shop. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word subtle. He bulldozed anyone and anything that got in his way.
One of the less-appealing characteristics Rory shared with him.
“Enough about Work Daddy.” Mac leaned forward, her eyes positively gleaming as she addressed Will. “I wanna know what he said when y’all went over there for supper.”
While the Havens had a long-standing tradition of gathering together on Sunday evenings with all of them—Rory and her girls when she had them, Will, Mac, their parents, and Gran—Momma and Daddy had asked Rory, the girls, and Mac to skip this week, instead preferring to speak to Willow and Finn. Alone.
Given Finn’s proposal only days before, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d wanted to discuss.
Will’s lips pursed to the side. “It was…cordial.” She shrugged, taking another sip of her drink. “Y’all know Momma and Gran have been on my side since everything that came out last year.”
That was a delicate way of referencing the web of lies their daddy had concocted about Finn in an effort to keep him away from Will. But all that’d managed to do was damage their father’s relationship with the women in his life.
“Course, it helped that Finn laid the charm on heavy. Momma and Gran didn’t know what to do with themselves, swoonin’ all over him. Daddy grumbled a whole lot and shot daggers at Finn, but I think he realized, no matter what he did, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop us from gettin’ married.” A giggle burst from her lips—a sure sign she was already a little tipsy. “Married.”
Yeah, married. Rory still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She was happy for her sister, of course. She’d be an evil witch if she weren’t, considering the road Will and Finn had traversed just to get to their happily ever after. They’d been through a hell of a lot, and they deserved every ounce of happiness they could capture. She wasn’t so bitter and cynical that she’d deny them that.
But, well…Rory’s thoughts on marriage had soured. Just a tad.
“Rory?” Will asked, her voice tentative. “You’re okay with all of this, aren’t you? You’ll be in the wedding and help me plan it all?”
Rory snapped her attention up to her sister, then glanced over at Mac, who was staring at her with a tiny bit of pity and a whole lot of do not fuck this up for Will thrown in.
She pasted on her practiced smile. “What? Of course! Why wouldn’t I?”
Will shot Mac a look, then settled her eyes back on Rory. “Just…you know.” She shrugged. “With everything that’s goin’ on between you and Sean.”
Rory waved her hand as if to dismiss the words in the air before they could land like daggers in her heart. “Don’t you worry about that. It’s completely behind me. Water under the bridge.”
“That so?” Mac studied her, eyes scrutinizing. Will might buy Rory’s lies, but Mac wasn’t so easily fooled. A skeptic down to her very bones. “Then there must be some other reason you’re gulpin’ down margaritas like they’re sweet tea.”
Well, hell. Nothing much slipped past Mac, and Rory was so off her game, she hadn’t expected her astuteness.
Instead of backing down, she offered her pot-stirrer of a sister a smile, then said the first thing that came to mind. “Actually, there is.” She downed the last of her margarita before setting the glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. “Nash came by the house to see me.”
“Oh, really.” Will’s eyes brightened as she leaned forward in her seat, nearly spilling over the cushions in an effort to get closer to the gossip. “What on earth had him traipsin’ all the way over there?”
“He had a proposition for me.”
Mac snorted. “I just bet he did.”
Rory shot her a glare. “Get your mind outta the gutter. Everything in your world might revolve around clandestine affairs—”
“‘Clandestine affairs’? What are we, eighty?”
“—but there’s nothing scandalous about his offer.”
“Which is…?” Mac pressed.
Rory shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, even though his suggestion had sat like a boulder in her gut ever since he’d mentioned it. A boulder that had managed to sprout butterflies. “A partnership. My design expertise on his clients’ homes in exchange for him helpin’ me get the house remodeled.”
“Really?” Willow perked up, her eyes going wide and a smile sweeping over her mouth. “Rory, that’s great! I know you’ve been tryin’ to do more designing, and Nash does such amazing work. Between the two of you, your house is gonna be gorgeous when y’all’re—”
“I haven’t said yes.”
Will and Mac jerked in stunned silence, a little bit of margarita spilling over the side of Will’s glass at her jolt.
“Why the hell not?” Mac was never one to pull punches.
Rory smoothed back her hair, ensuring it was still perfectly in place, ignoring the ache that had started at the base of her skull from it being up for so long. “Well, I’m just so busy. With the girls not back in school yet and workin’ more hours at town hall, all the while tryin’ to get the house into some semblance of decency.”
“Mhmm.” Mac leaned back in her chair and lifted the margarita to her lips. “Sounds like a whole lotta excuses to me.”
Rory shot her a blank stare. “They’re not excuses if they’re true.”
Will glanced at Mac, who just shrugged before turning her gaze back to Rory. “But the time you save at the house by utilizing Nash will free up whatever you need in order to do the design work.”
Rory blew out a sigh. If she thought he
r sisters were going to be her voices of reason, she was dead wrong. But she couldn’t very well tell them why going into this partnership with Nash was a bad idea. It had nothing to do with time and everything to do with her losing her damn mind whenever she was around him. Her skin felt too tight when he was in her vicinity, and she had the urge to rip off his shirt and stuff it between his teeth, just so she could look at his glorious chest without the irritation of him running his mouth.
He was too young, too brash, too loud, too easygoing. Too everything.
“I don’t see what the problem is,” Mac said, her tone deceptively bland. “It’s just a business partnership. A damn good one, if you ask me. Not only will you get help with your house, which means it’ll be done faster—by a trained contractor, no less—but you can also add to your design portfolio. Seems like a win-win.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care one way or another what Rory’s answer was, but her eyes were sharp and assessing. A challenge. Daring Rory to spill the real reason she didn’t want to partner with Nash. Mac might not have a clue as to what it was, but she was astute enough to know a bullshitter when she came across one.
But Rory wasn’t an amateur, and she’d been harboring her secrets for a long damn time. What was one more? “You’re probably right.”
“Yeah?” Mac said. “Why don’t you go on and let him know you accept his offer, then.” She smiled like the cat who ate the canary, so sure Rory wouldn’t go through with it when pushed.
But Rory wasn’t going to back down. Rory never backed down.
Her life had already fallen apart. She’d lost her perfect home, her perfect family, her perfect life. She’d be damned if she allowed her sisters to think she’d lost her self-control as well.
She plucked her phone from her purse and typed out a quick text to Nash.
Your offer still stand?
Before she could even drop it back into its pocket, it buzzed in her hand.
Be there tomorrow morning at 8, princess.
Heaven help her, but this was going to be nothing but trouble.
“A little birdie told me you’re workin’ with the devil spawn,” Nat said in lieu of a greeting when Nash answered his phone. “What the hell’s that all about?”
Fucking Asher. Nash had just gotten off the phone with the douchebag who made up the third leg of their trio since elementary school. A douchebag who was now dead to him. If he weren’t currently driving, he’d shoot off a text and tell Asher exactly what he thought of his big mouth and lack of ability to keep any-fucking-thing to himself.
“Well, hello, Natalie. So lovely to hear from you on this fine mornin’.”
She gagged, no doubt over the use of her full name. “Don’t try to lay on the charm with me, asshole. That hasn’t worked since junior year.”
Ah, yes. Junior year and the infamous failed kiss that nearly dissolved a friendship. He shuddered at the memory of it. They’d somehow gotten it into their heads that since they were such good friends, they’d naturally make a good couple. Asher had—wisely—watched from the sidelines with amusement at the entire unsuccessful attempt.
Nash blew out a deep sigh, knowing there was no use avoiding her questions because she wouldn’t let up. Nat was like a dog with a bone when she got her mind set on something.
“It’s nothing, just a couple clients askin’ about Rory doin’ some work for them. Ever since we did The Willow Tree together, people’ve been wantin’ her services when they get mine. They get her, she builds her portfolio, and I gain more clients to help me buy out my old man all that much quicker.”
Nat harrumphed. There was certainly no love lost between the oldest and youngest Haven girls. And while he couldn’t blame Nat for that stance given how Rory had treated her while they’d been growing up—and did, at least according to Nat, still treat her—he had to admit Rory wasn’t quite the bad guy Nat had always made her out to be. At least, not as far as he could see.
“She’s got some solid ideas—shit I’d never come up with. And she’s calmed on her devil ways, promise. You should stop globe-hoppin’ and come home to see for yourself.”
“Ummm…” Nat drew out the word so long, he knew he was in for a verbal beatdown. “I’m sorry, but I must’ve dialed the wrong goddamn number because there’s no way my best friend since for-fucking-ever would be sidin’ with Sister Satan instead of me.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Shit, Nat. I’m not sidin’ with anybody. I’m just sayin’—”
“That you’ve lost your damn mind? That you had a lobotomy? That you’ve been body snatched? That you—”
“All right, all right, I get it.” But he wasn’t going to agree with her. He couldn’t quite force himself to speak about Rory like that. When the hell had that happened? He’d been there through all of Rory’s holier-than-thou, older sister bullshit. The bossing and the tattling and the smug grins whenever he, Nat, and Asher had gotten into deep shit with Mayor Haven for whatever crazy idea they’d concocted that particular week.
But Nat hadn’t been home for more than two days at a stretch in a long time—seven years, to be exact. Since the afternoon of high school graduation. The one he’d been in the audience of instead of the procession for because of some misplaced notion that dropping out with mere months left would get his old man’s attention.
“I’m not sure you do,” she said. “We are talkin’ about the same person who—”
“Hey, Nat, when you comin’ home again?”
That shut her up, just like he knew it would. Nat was allergic to Havenbrook, had flown the coop the moment she’d been able to. And while Asher hadn’t gone quite as far as the corners of the earth like Nat, he, too, was off. Living his best life in Tennessee, which left only Nash holding down the fort in Havenbrook. He tried really damn hard not to envy his best friends for following their dreams. No reason he should, especially when Nash was following his own.
Since the moment he’d held his first hammer, he’d wanted to work with his hands, build things that would withstand the test of time…things that’d be standing long after he was gone. Whether that was buildings or houses or custom-made furniture, he didn’t care. It was how he’d leave his mark on the world.
And now that future was being threatened. That meant Nash would grasp on to everything that set him apart from the competition, even if that was going against his better judgment and working with the woman who’d single-handedly starred in all of his wet dreams.
“Well played,” Nat said instead of answering his question.
“Hey, I gotta run.” Nash pulled to a stop in front of Rory’s house, shifting his truck into park. “Much as I’d love to listen to you yell at me some more.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Be careful of her pitchfork. I hear it’s sharp.” She hung up without another word.
With a snort, Nash pocketed his phone, pulled his tool belt off the passenger’s seat, and slipped out of his truck. He buckled the belt into place as he strolled up the front path and climbed the first step.
“It’s not fair!” a voice yelled from inside the house. One of Rory’s girls—he wasn’t sure which.
The front door was open, the mangled screen door the only thing giving the illusion of privacy.
“I’m sorry, Ava, but you’ve got camp today. Same as every other weekday this summer. You’re the one who wanted to go to this, remember? Begged and pleaded with me to let you. And now you’re actin’ like I’m ruinin’ your life by makin’ you go.”
“You are! You’re just doin’ this ’cause it’s Kelsey’s house I wanna go to. Miss Sarah Beth already said I could come over! If it was anyone else, you’d let me.”
Nash hadn’t been around a whole lot of tweens—or kids in general. None of his friends had any. Hell, none of his friends were even in semi-serious relationships, his two closest globe-trotting and dream-seeking. He didn’t know the protocol for walking in on a screaming match between a parent and child, so he decided not to. Instead, he hung out on the porch, crouching
down and making note of the boards that’d need to be replaced to make this sturdy again, all the while pretending he couldn’t hear a thing.
“Ava Caroline, that’s enough of your smart mouth,” Rory snapped, her relatively calm demeanor finally cracking. “You know better than to back-talk me, isn’t that right?”
The “Yes, ma’am,” that came in response sounded like it had been pried straight from the little girl’s voice box.
“Good. Now, Mimi’ll be here in a minute to pick y’all up. Go grab your things and tell your sister to come out.”
Ava grumbled something as she stomped off, the sound of her feet pounding on the floors easily carrying through the screen door.
“What was that?” Rory called.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ava said the two words with as much disdain as one would say you bitch.
Was it safe now? He had no idea. He wasn’t sure if this was like a nuclear blast, when the aftermath was just as bad as the detonation itself. Fortunately, tires crunched out front just in time to save him from having to figure out his next move.
Caroline Haven, Rory’s momma, pulled her pristine car to a stop and then stepped out, looking for all the world like she was walking out of the pages of a magazine and not onto the dirt road in front of a ramshackle house. She wore pure white—something he didn’t think was entirely smart considering all the dirt surrounding her—but he’d be damned if she didn’t stay clean as a whistle. Her dark, gray-streaked hair was pulled back in some sort of a twist, and the smile she shot him was much warmer than her demeanor would suggest.
“Well, Nash King. If this isn’t a pleasant surprise.” She climbed the steps and greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “What’re you doin’ here?”
He returned her hug with a smile. She’d been the closest thing he’d ever had to a momma—sad as that truth was—and he’d soaked up every bit of her attention he could get when he and Nat had been kids. “Hey, Miss Caroline. I’m just—”
Hometown Troublemaker (Havenbrook Book 2) Page 5
