by Piper Rayne
"No." Jillian searched for any signs of a wedding ring on his long fingers. Not that she was interested. He wasn't her type, even if she was looking. No ring. Relief lightened her shoulders and she sagged. “That’s my living quarters.”
“Oh, so the owner has allowed you to live here while you help out?”
“You are rather presumptuous.”
“In what way?”
“For assuming the owner allows me to live here while I help out,” she continued haughtily. “In a way, your statement is accurate, however. I am the owner, I do live here, and I do work here.”
“No way!” Scott exclaimed. “You look like you’re a sixteen or seventeen-year-old kid! Quite an attractive kid, I might add.”
Jillian smiled, the contractor’s charm hard to resist. His words jack-knifed through her annoyance. “I’m twenty-five, Mr. Martin, far from being a kid. But thanks for the compliment anyway.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he gave her the once over. The friendly interest in his eyes didn’t allow her to feel any insult.
“You are quite pretty,” he said with a grin. “And I’ve made a total fool of myself since the moment I met you. I swear to you I’m a sensible, sensitive individual. May we start over, so I can prove it to you?”
Laughing, Jillian nodded. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Martin?”
“Scott. And the answer is yes.”
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “Scott.”
Jillian went about her task with precise swiftness, a practice borne of the countless times she’d brewed coffee for her many guests. Trying to appear nonchalant, she felt anything but relaxed. In spite of just having met him, Scott had a charismatic pull on her. If indeed his first impression wasn’t his true demeanor, she liked what he presented now.
He seemed easy going, and was as attractive as all get out.
She reminded herself now wasn’t the time to allow her heart to get in the way of her common sense. Why was she all a-pitter over this stranger? She certainly wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not ever.
Suppose Scott was the type of man who did the same thing to her as Douglas?
Placing two mugs on the table, she took the glass pot from its base and poured the just-brewed coffee. She smiled at Scott, and he answered with a smile of his own. God, those dimples! She didn’t need to be in a relationship to admire a hunk like Scott.
“Do you take sugar in your coffee, Scott?” Jillian asked with easy grace, as though the coffee was the only thing on her mind.
“I take it black.”
“Normally I do too, but I’m on the run,” a very masculine, very amused voice said.
Jillian’s grin deepened as her neighbor strolled into the kitchen area. A platinum wig hung past his shoulders, the curls loose and full; the pink sequined evening gown and silver shoes he wore clung to his muscular figure. “Hi, Rave. How are you?”
“Fine, honey.”
Rave walked up to her and kissed her cheek. The lashes around his eyes were heavy with mascara. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, but his legs, even with his white stockings, were in desperate need of a shave.
“I need to borrow some lipstick.”
“Oh, well, you know where to find the tubes.”
Jillian watched Scott’s eyes widen as he took a good look at Rave. He gulped a swallow of coffee and scowled. The brew was still piping hot.
“Your wife’s all out again?” she asked Rave, choking back laughter as Scott covertly stuck out his tongue and fanned it.
“No, she just doesn’t have my color. Her colors are too dark. I need something a little more pale, since I’m going blond tonight.”
“Of course.” Jillian joined Scott at the table. “Another birthday party?”
“Nah. A roast of some school board official.”
“I see.”
“You an actor?” Scott asked casually.
“An impersonator,” Rave corrected. “My wife’s the actress.”
“Oh, where are my manners. Scott Martin, this is Rave Mondel. Scott’s going to be doing my kitchen work,” Jillian explained as Rave looked at Scott curiously.
“Phew!” Rave wiped his brow, displacing his wig. With an irritated curse, he readjusted it. “For a moment, I was wondering where your head had gone to, girl. I just couldn’t believe so soon after that pond snake slithered away, you were involved with somebody else.”
“Raveno Territo Mondel!” Jillian muttered crossly.
“You are just too cruel,” Rave said, just as crossly. “About as cruel as my momma when she gave me that name.”
“Out!”
“Fine, Jilly.” Rave started off. “I’m going to get the lipstick. I’ll return it tomorrow. I almost forgot. I have two more customers for you. These are some good friends of mine, and they just got married.”
Hardly able to wait to meet these latest friends of Rave, Jillian smiled. Two weeks ago, he’d recommended the Breakfast Nook to a heavy metal guitarist and his acrobat girlfriend, who decided to use the bed as a trampoline. At checkout, they were quite nice about the entire incident, agreeing to buy a new mattress and box spring because they’d severely damaged the set already on the bed. A month before the guitarist came, Rave sent the snake charmer. Jillian didn’t even care to think about her. She wondered what she was in store for this time?
“Thanks, Rave. I’ll take care of them.”
Rave sauntered off, leaving both Scott and Jillian to stare after him. She looked at Scott, hoping he wouldn’t comment on anything Rave had revealed.
“Interesting fellow.”
“Yes, he’s quite a character,” Jillian agreed, not wanting to elaborate for fear he might question her about who the ‘pond snake’ was. The silence stretched between them. “Well. . .um. . .will you have to report to your boss before you can give me a quote?”
Scott grinned and took a cautious sip of his coffee. “Now you’re being presumptuous,” he said. “I own the T & C Construction Company.”
“T & C?”
“Town and Country,” Scott clarified. “So now we’re even in assumptions, Jillian. May I call you Jillian?”
“You just did,” Jillian responded, not unkindly. She wondered about his exact age because he looked no older than thirty.
Scott smiled. “So I did.”
As she sipped her coffee, Jillian wished she had offered Scott pastries or a sandwich. Despite their lull in conversation, it felt good having someone around. Rave visited when he could, although his wife didn’t seem to care for her too much. And Howie and Marley had their own lives, but usually helped her on weekends, giving their jilted friend as much time as their busy schedules allowed.
“I saw part of the house as I walked through to the kitchen. The walls and floors are excellent, Jillian. The sitting area is a beautiful room. Something for everybody’s fancy. Who did the work?”
Scott’s question caught Jillian off guard. She didn’t want to explain her former contractor refused to complete her work because she didn’t know whether she would be able to pay him right away.
She still had thirty-five hundred dollars tucked away in her own personal savings account. Some form of instinct must have guided her in her decision to have a secret account.
However, that money was for food for the guests and other particulars for the inn. But she would have to sacrifice part of it to bring the kitchen up to par with the rest of the house.
Gathering her thoughts to answer Scott’s question, she stood and took the mugs off the table, then brought them to the sink. At least he hadn’t asked her why the same person hadn’t completed the job.
“The contractor was a person my fian. . .a friend and I decided on. But at this time, he’s too busy to take on such a small job.”
Scott shook his head. “No job is too small for T & C. No matter how big the company gets, we’ll never get that arrogant.”
“That’s nice to know.” Jillian rubbed her hands together in agitation,
her heart thumping. Surely she wasn’t turning into a bundle of nerves in anticipation of hearing the cost for the work she needed done? And she was loath to think Scott’s virile presence caused the erratic beating. How could she be attracted to any man so soon? Especially since she’d vowed never to trust the male species again! She couldn’t be that fickle!
Handing her a piece of paper from his notepad, Scott stood. “You’ll find everything you want done itemized, Jillian. The total is on the bottom of the list.”
Jillian glimpsed the list, and her gaze glued to the last line—where the bid sat. The figures jumped out at her, made her breath catch in her throat. “Twelve thousand dollars!” she gasped. “What do you plan to do, decorate in baroque style?”
“I beg your pardon? A baroque kitchen?” Scott asked lightheartedly.
“Well, why not?” she said with a nervous laugh. “It is an intriguing style.”
Heart sinking, Jillian skimmed over the list and looked at the price again. How could she afford so much money at this time? The kitchen was always tidy and clean. She hadn’t had any complaints from the guests or demands from the Board of Health.
But the kitchen was out of sync with the rest of the house. It wasn’t old-fashioned. It was old looking. Besides, guests did wander in, and even if they hadn’t protested to her at what they saw, Jillian wasn’t sure what they really thought. In the end, it was her guests and their opinions that mattered most.
If she were a guest at an inn and went into the kitchen and found it looking like the Breakfast Nook’s, what would she think? And better yet, would she recommend it to anyone else?
She needed time to figure out how to pay for the work, work she wanted done yesterday. For what she needed, she didn’t think other estimates would be much less.
Did she really believe this estimate was the cheapest, she scolded herself, or was it a cockamamie sellout because of the man who would do the work?
“Actually, Jillian, the cost would be between eight and twelve thousand. I gave you the top figure because I don’t like going back for more money over my original estimate. However, most of my customers are delighted to know they’ve spent four to five thousand dollars less than the quoted price.”
“How clever.” Jillian’s smile felt pasted to her face. “But isn’t it a little misleading?”
“A little perhaps, but no one cares since everyone is usually satisfied.”
“Well, I’m sure I will be too. I. . .um. . .will get back to you tomorrow afternoon. I. . .have to consult with the Board. . .um. . .I mean my Board of Directors.”
Scott raised both thick eyebrows. “Your Board of Directors?” he asked with skepticism. “A Board of Directors for this?”
“Why not?” Jillian muttered, glaring at him. “May I show you to the door? I really have quite a few chores to do.”
“Of course.” Scott followed her to the front door. “So long, Jillian. I’ll stop by tomorrow for your answer.” He flashed her another smile, showing those impossible dimples, and straight white teeth.
“So long Scott,” Jillian responded, watching him go to his van and get in. Just as he drove off, her housekeeper, Lucy Stafford, pulled up in the space he’d occupied.
Lucy had promised to help out during the next month and keep Jillian on track, even though she knew Jillian couldn’t pay her. Jillian was grateful to Lucy, and one day she’d repay the older woman’s kindness.
In the meantime, she hoped her Board approved Scott Martin’s price. If not, just what would she do then?
2
"Who comprises a snooty corporate board?" Jillian asked Rave the next morning, as they sat in her office, located just off the entrance hall, safely and securely tucked away from the traffic of the front door.
"Let's see.” Carefully removing the sliced cucumbers laying on his eyes, Rave raised up from the chaise lounge and contemplated Jillian thoughtfully. The mud-pack spread over his skin hadn't dried yet, so he didn't hesitate to speak. "There's the CEO, the secretary, the CFO, the vice president, and the stockholders.
Jillian frowned as she sipped from her cup of hot herbal tea. "What about the president?"
"Oh, Jilly, don't be so gauche," Rave said with a long suffering sigh. Closing his eyes and reclining back once again, he replaced his cucumbers. "Usually the CEO and the president are the same people. A babe in arms knows that."
"Why are you here?" Jillian grouched.
"Because Melba doesn't need to see me when I'm looking like this. Before I know it, my wife would steal my beauty secrets and sell them to her friends."
"You're not helping me any, Rave."
"That's because you didn't ask for my help, Jilly."
Jillian blew out a frustrated sigh and scowled as another round of thunder drummed through the atmosphere. Lightning flashed, and she watched, through the only window in the room, as it arced across the sky. Forecasters! What did they know? The guy had promised sunshine, but Jillian awakened this morning to pouring rain. Now, at ten o'clock, the heavens were about to open again. She huffed to the window and jerked the heavy draperies closed. Her desk lamp gave the room muted light, which at the moment was enough.
* * *
She assured herself the hurricane lamps brimmed with oil, and matches and a flashlight sat where she left them in the event the lights went out. She hated the darkness and was always prepared. Douglas had always teased her about her fear and made her feel less than a woman because of it. The toad. Why hadn't she seen what type of person he was then?
Rubbing her neck tiredly and not wanting to disturb Rave's relaxation, she returned to her desk and glanced down at the big corkboard laying on it. A small sign marked "bills paid" sat in one corner; on the opposite corner the sign read "bills owed". Three "paid-in-full" receipts were tacked to the "bills paid" side, while demands for payment of unpaid bills covered nearly half the other side.
Stifling the urge to release desperate, hysterical laughter, she rested her head in her hand. The desk and chair in which she sat were still not paid for. But she had to find a way to get the kitchen finished.
"Well, Rave, honey, I've consulted my 'board', and it doesn't agree with my purse," Jillian said wryly.
"Perhaps Scott Martin has a time pay plan," Rave said through pursed lips because the mud pack had begun to dry.
"That would be the only way I could swing the deal."
Rave stood and stretched. His denim knee shorts and red t-shirt he wore were a far cry from the outrageous clothing he wore to work. "Jilly, my impersonating company is doing just fine. If you need a cash infusion—"
"Stop, right there, Rave," Jillian interrupted. "I couldn't take any money from you because I don't know when in tarnation I would be able to repay you."
"Don't worry about a thing like that. If I worried about repayment from my friends, I would be in court all the time trying to get my money back."
* * *
"Thanks, Rave, you're a good friend, but I still can't.” Jillian laughed to lighten her sinking spirits, Rave's generous offer touching her. "Melba would kill us. You know I'm not her favorite person. She feels you're sharing the beauty secrets with me you should be sharing with her."
"Oh pul-leaze!" Rave said with a wave of his hand. "Melba isn't as unfriendly as you think. She felt a little threatened by your beauty at first, but I love her to pieces and she knows there's no other woman for me. Never fear, Jilly, she knows exactly where I'm at right now. Believe it or not, she made the suggestion I offer you a cash infusion. Just know if you need money, advice, anything, I'm here.” He started for the door. "Since it's storming outside, I'm going to your bathroom to wash this crap off my face, then I'm going to whip up lunch for the guests and a mimosa for me. So just relax yourself and I'll take care of everything for you for the afternoon. Hopefully, by then, a little sunshine will begin to peek through these damned clouds," he mumbled as he opened the door and walked into the hallway, leaving the door partially ajar and allowing a stream of light in from
the entrance hall fixtures.
Standing quietly and contemplating the diversity of Rave's character, Jillian smiled. As odd as Rave acted at times, Melba was indeed lucky to have him. Finishing her herbal tea, Jillian sat her board on the floor, and began fiddling with a packet of index cards. She pulled out ten cards and wrote the title of a board member on each—the CEO and president, the CFO, the secretary, the vice president, and four stockholders. Folding them over, she lined them up in front of her like sentinels.
"I'm the CEO and majority stockholder, so I've overruled everyone else. I say the kitchen wins!” Praying Rave hadn't returned for one reason or another, Jillian looked around. "God," she whispered, "this isn't good. I'm talking to cardboard. Thank goodness no one heard."
* * *
"Wrong!" a cheerful male voice announced. Scott Martin stuck his head in the partially ajarred door. "I'm afraid I heard.” Hand raised, he walked fully into the room, and closed the door. "I didn't mean to intrude, but the door wasn't fully closed. Actually I wasn't going to intrude when I overheard your conversation with the. . .um. . .'board'. I. . .er. . .thought you were really engaged with real people, until I heard the end of your conversation. That gave you away, Jillian."
Wanting the floor to open and swallow her, Jillian pulled her lips into a thin line. Of all the people to witness her momentary digression. What else could go wrong?
Thunder rolled again, and lightning flashed, followed by an ear-splitting crackle. The lights blinked, then went out completely, casting the room into sudden darkness. Without warning, Jillian released a frightened cry, unable to contain her reaction.
Strong arms wrapped around her in an instant. Her body fitting perfectly against his, Jillian held herself rigid, resisting the urge to cling to Scott, ignoring his warmth, and the citrusy scent of his cologne. A shiver raced through her, one that had nothing to do with her fear, and everything to do with Scott. Heart racing, she was most conscious of his hands resting in the small of her back, inviting her to sink into his comforting embrace.