by Meghan Quinn
“No. My father has a monopoly on all construction companies. No one will help me per his request.”
Racer nods his head. “Well, that poses an issue for me since I work for Julius Parsnip who is good friends with your dad. If he’s telling people not to work with you, it doesn’t seem like a smart idea to cross that line.”
“He won’t find out,” I say quickly. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t know.”
“Too risky.”
He picks up his keys again and my heart starts to drop. “Please.” I place my hand on his arm. “This shop means everything to me, and without your help, I won’t be able to open it. I will pay you well, I promise. Name your price, and I’ll make it happen.”
The wheels in his head start to turn again. He nibbles on his bottom lip as he thinks. “What does the job entail?”
Hope flutters deep inside me. Please let him say yes. “Taking down a wall for an open-concept, adding new fixtures and moldings around the shop, installing a bathroom, shelving, dressing rooms, clothing racks, and a register stand.”
He twists his lips to the side as I await his answer. He turns to me with a number. “Without seeing what I’m working with, fifteen thousand dollars for labor, the supplies are on you. Might go up depending on what I find. I will need a credit card from you to make all purchases, I don’t do reimbursing shit, and I can only work nights and weekends. I will dictate my schedule.”
“Done.” I don’t even flinch from his request. I can easily agree to all of that, mainly because I have no one else.
Shaking his head, he reaches for his tool belt and says, “Show me the space.”
He said yes! Even though I don’t want to, I need to thank Madison. I cannot believe that her weird, convoluted plan somehow worked. If he’s here weeknights and weekends, does that mean I have to be here too?
It doesn’t matter, G. You’re going to achieve your dreams.
Let’s do this.
Cranky carpenter and all.
Chapter Six
RACER
I should have asked for more money.
Not because Princess didn’t a blink an eye when agreeing to my amount, but because of all the “renovations” I’m going to have to correct from the two debutantes attempting to do things on their own. Well, that’s not entirely true. They had help. They had help from YouTube. Insert eye-roll here.
“And that’s the shiplap wall,” Madison points out.
Shiplap wall—more like pile of wood on the floor. I run my hand over my face and try to formulate a plan. Job number one, take the paint roller out of Madison’s hand and tell her to leave.
“You have to go,” I say to Madison, not sugarcoating my request. And yes, I might be irritated with her because of her misleading job request, but she really has to go. She’s making this experience one hundred times worse than necessary with her constant jabbering.
She points at herself. “I have to leave? For what reason?”
I drop the paint roller in the tray and point her toward the door. “Because you’re not helpful in any way. That’s why. Say goodbye to your friend.”
“Hey.” She protests while trying to scramble out of my grasp. “You’re just mad that you thrusted your dick at us for no reason.”
Don’t fucking remind me. Once again, no way in hell am I going to tell Smalls or Tucker about this incident, or Adalyn for that matter. With her big mouth, she’ll have it spread through Binghamton that I’m offering up stripper services in no time.
And do you know what the worst part of all of this is? I was actually feeling the beat. For an on-the-spot performance, I was nailing that shit. And I don’t care what Madison says, red is becoming on me.
“I couldn’t care less about our little mishap.” That’s what I’m going to call it, no need for any other sort of definition. “You’re a distraction, and we don’t need that right now.”
“Oh, I see what’s happening.” Madison continues to talk as I push her toward the door. “You just want some alone time with Georgiana.”
“Not even a little.”
“Are you saying you don’t find her attractive?” Madison is now hanging on to the doorway of the shop, her claws digging into the sides, preventing me from pushing her outside.
Not wanting to deal with this, I turn to Georgiana and say, “Deal with this or I’m out.”
She turns to Madison and pleads, “I’ll call you later, okay?”
Madison huffs and snags her purse from the floor. “Fine, but just so you know, this isn’t very good best-friend behavior. I will let it slip though, since you’re under stress and on a timeline. Call me later, and for the love of God, don’t play “Uptown Funk.” Lord knows beefcake will take it as his cue to start stripping again.” With a smarmy smile in my direction, she takes off, leaving us alone.
I rake my hands through my hair out of frustration and say, “She’s not allowed in here when I’m around.”
“Hold up.” Princess walks up to me and stands tall, as tall as she can in those ridiculous heels. Who wears heels to take on renovations? I guess people who think they can take a wall down with them. “I’m the client here. You can’t just start bossing me around.”
“Pretty sure you need me more than I need you, Princess.”
Not true, but she doesn’t need to know that. Fifteen thousand dollars. Fuck, that would be life-changing. Literally life-changing. Eighteen monthly payments to the bank toward the loan to pay his medical bills. That would give me some breathing room.
“Are you going to be an asshole this entire time?”
I shrug and stick my hands in my back pockets. “Probably.”
Taken back by my candid answer, her face grows angry before she spins around and mutters something under her breath.
“What was that, Princess? I didn’t quite catch it.”
She turns toward me, hands on hips, and says, “It’s Georgiana, and I said I’m glad my dad deducted a thousand dollars from your payment. Seems like you deserved it.”
Well, that ruffles my feathers and not in a good way. “I didn’t fucking deserve that.” I step forward, getting in her space. “I needed and deserved that thousand, but because you fucked over my timeline with your stupid heel puncturing my hose, I got screwed over.”
Shit. The minute the words fly out of my mouth, I know I fucked up. A giant smile spreads across Georgiana’s face from my admission.
“You needed that money, huh?”
“Uh, no.” I step back. “Not really. I’m straight now. No need for money.” Christ, this sounds bad.
She looks past me, out the window and to the street where my truck is parked, then her eyes give me a once-over. “I don’t know, seems like you actually might need the money.”
“I like cheap things. I don’t need to flaunt my cash.”
“That’s if you had cash to flaunt. Don’t tell me you do because it’s clear by all the side jobs you take that you need the money, especially if you’re working for Julius Parsnip, one of the premiere construction companies in the area. So what is it?”
“What’s what?” I ask, feeling my face heat from embarrassment that she’s called me out.
“What do you need the money for?”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” I snap. There is no way in hell I’m going to tell this woman about my money woes. First of all, I don’t like her. Second of all, I don’t trust her to keep her mouth shut, especially with her friend, Madison.
Her smile brightens even more; she knows she has me by the nut sack. The ball that used to be in my court, the upper hand I once held is now an even playing field. We both need each other and we know it, which means one thing: we’re going to have to work together harmoniously to get what we want.
“You need me and I need you, so why don’t we set aside our differences and get this work done?”
Clearing my throat, I look around and say, “You need me more.”
She shakes her head and steps forward, closing
in on my space. The smell of vanilla drifts toward me, and for a second—only a second—I think about running my hands through her hair. My mind is changed as soon as she opens her mouth.
“From the sweat at your temples, I’m going to assume you need me just as much, so let’s not make this a commitment, because in the end, if this doesn’t work out for me, at least I’ll still have a roof over my head and a full bank account. What about you?”
What the hell?
She’s just as arrogant as her asshole father.
Fucking bitchy comment right there.
“Are you going to act like a snobby bitch the entire time?”
“Are you going to be an asshole the entire time?”
I don’t even blink before I answer. “Yeah. Plan on it.”
She turns away from me and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Then plan on getting a lot of shade thrown your way.”
“You’re fist-fighting with fire there, Princess. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
She picks up the painting tools and says, “And neither do you.” That fucking smirk, I wish it wasn’t so damn cute.
***
“The bathroom can’t go there. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I don’t care. I want it there. It’s better flow.”
I massage my temples and look up from the plans I’ve been staring at for over an hour. I’ve never been more irritated in my entire life. I’ve worked with my fair share of privileged rich people who think they shit out roses, but Georgiana is by far the most infuriating client I’ve ever collaborated with.
“Prin—”
“Georgiana. It’s Georgiana.”
I roll my eyes. “Georgie.” She grunts and crosses her arms. Too bad, she’s Georgie now. “Do you see this right here?” I point to a wall full of plumbing on the blue prints.
“Yes.”
“That’s called plumbing. You need that for a toilet, unless you want everyone’s piss spilling all over the brand new maple wood floors you install. Is that what you want? Shitter floors?”
“You’re so crude.”
“Just telling you like it is.”
Looking at the plans, she studies them as if she actually knows what she’s looking at and says, “Then just move the plumbing.”
That garners a belly laugh from me. “You want me to just move the plumbing?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Well, according to your timeline, you want this done in two months. Moving the plumbing will destroy that timeline and that precious budget of yours. It’s not a simple fix, Georgie. You have to run new lines and everything. You’re talking thousands on top of what you’re already spending, not to mention labor. I’m not a certified plumber. There is no way I could do it. And I’m going to tell you right now, I’m a bargain. Go ahead, have someone on the outside come in and reroute your plumbing. You’re not going to like the outcome.”
“Ugh, you’re just being difficult.”
“I’m really not. As much as I love to make that vein in your forehead pop out in frustration, this is not something I’m being difficult about. It’s called hard facts.”
“What if we move the bathroom here?” she asks, not getting the point.
Grinding my teeth, I grip her chin and force her to make eye contact with me. “Listen to me and listen closely. The bathroom cannot move. I repeat, the bathroom CANNOT move. We can refinish the bathroom, but it has to stay put, so work around it. Got it?” The tail end of my sentence is said with more of a growl to get my point across. I don’t think I’ve ever been this harsh with a woman before.
She snaps her head away and sits back in her chair. “Fine. We won’t move the bathroom.”
“Wasn’t going to move it even if you asked with your top off while pinching your nipples.” I shuffle the prints and remove my pencil from behind my ear. “Now, if you line up the dressing rooms with the bathroom, you won’t have any odd jutting-out walls.”
“I would never take my shirt off and pinch my nipples for you.”
Jesus, this woman is going to give me an ulcer. I can feel it forming already.
I pinch my brow, a headache now pounding in my skull. It’s been an hour, and she’s already giving me an incurable itch to quit. “Focus.” It’s one word, but with the tone I say it in, it holds heavy weight.
“You were the one who brought it up. I just want to make it known I won’t be taking my shirt off for you.”
Or maybe I don’t hold any weight in this conversation whatsoever.
I stand from my chair, knocking the damn thing over and roll up the plans. Her eyes widen from my abrupt movements. Is it wrong that I want her to be a little scared?
“I’m done for tonight,” I announce. “I’ll be back Wednesday. We can—”
“Wednesday? Are you kidding me? That’s three days from now. How on earth are we going to stick to our timeline if you take three days off? No way, I expect you to be here tomorrow.”
“I have a life, Princess. I can’t be at your beck and call.”
She stands as well, trying to match my height but fails miserably. “I have a life too, and it’s been put on hold for two months until I can open my store. And think about it. The sooner you finish the project, the sooner you get paid and the sooner we don’t have to be around each other anymore.”
I like that way of thinking. Yeah, Georgie might be nice to look at, but she grates on my nerves way too much. Getting paid and vacating the premises earlier seems appealing to me.
“Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” She’s bouncing in excitement now, probably because she thinks she won our little battle.
“You don’t touch anything. Not one thing. I better not see you attempt to do any renovations, especially on work I’ve already done.”
“I can help.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, you can’t. And do you know why? Because you tried to use high heels as a sledgehammer. That’s why.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“It wasn’t. Terrible idea actually.”
“I can still help.” She stands tall, confident in her lack of construction skills.
“You can hand me tools and be my gofer.”
“Gofer?” Her brow pinches together in confusion. If she didn’t annoy me so much, I would almost think the look on her face was cute . . . ish.
“Gofer is someone who fetches things. You can be my fetcher. But I’ll be the one using the tools. I can’t risk you fucking anything up. And when you come to the jobsite, you’ll be dressed properly. No more heels or skirts. Jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and work boots. If you show up in anything other than that, I’m going home.”
“Does a skort count?” She wickedly smiles.
“Thin ice, Georgie. Thin fucking ice.” I put my pencil behind my ear and pull my truck keys from my pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I start toward the door when I remember something. I turn to her and ask, “What’s the name of your shop going to be? I like to make sure I have a name for every project.”
Her hands fidget in front of her and when she answers, she doesn’t quite make eye contact. “Limerence.”
“Limerence?” I repeat.
She nods. “Yeah, I kind of have this weird hobby where I collect words in a notebook that are beautiful to me. Limerence is my favorite.”
“Yeah?” I kind of hate that this hobby of hers makes her seem more human, more down to earth. And I hate that I want to see this book to see what other kind of words are in it. “And what does limerence mean?”
“It means being in a state of infatuation with another human being. I figured if I’m going to have a bridal shop, it not only needs to have a beautiful name, but a meaningful name behind it as well.”
I nod my head and turn away. “I like it.”
Shame I don’t like her as much as I like the word.
Fucking thoughtful, annoying woman.
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Chapter Seven
GEORGIANA
“Plaid shirts, white shirts, jean shorts and . . . work boots? What’s going on here?” Waverly asks as she looks in my cart. Yes, my cart. I’m not at the mall or a boutique store. I’m at Walmart, gathering work clothes because after looking through my closet, I wasn’t terribly surprised to see I have nothing to wear when it comes to working on a construction site.
“I need some outfits for working on my store.”
Beef stick in hand that Waverly pulled from an aisle, she motions to my cart. “You know the average person doesn’t say they need outfits for construction. They just wear their rags they keep stuffed away for dirty days.”
“I know but unfortunately I’m not the average person . . . not yet.”
Waverly pats my shoulder and bites on her beef stick. “I love you, G, but you’re never going to be average. It’s cute that you want to try though.”
“Why did I bring you again?”
“Because I know my way around a Walmart. Unbeknownst to your mom, I hit up Walmart once a week just out of spite.”
I giggle to myself. My mom is the biggest snob ever and would never be caught dead in a Walmart, despite their amazing deals and vast selection of discounted items. She’s more of a New York City shopper. She’ll make special trips to the city just to pick up some clothes. So obnoxious. At least that’s how I see it now. When I was younger—and it was my norm—I thought it was the coolest thing ever. But now, I’ve come to realize money isn’t everything. It’s having and achieving hopes, dreams, and aspirations; that’s what’s going to make you happy in life.
“Did you know I wore a shirt from Walmart once to your mom’s monthly brunch, and she complimented it? Asked me where I got such a stunning blouse.” Waverly chuckles to herself.
“You did not.”
“Totally did. I was pissed about having to miss the Jets game, so I rebelled and wore a Walmart blouse. It’s the most comfortable shirt I own and only cost me fifteen dollars. Doesn’t get better than that.”