by Josie Kerr
God, please don’t make me have to beg Jason Richards to help me. Please, please, please.
She hated asking for help. Hated it. Always had. “Just like your Mam,” Sully always said with a sad smile. Meghan remembered coming home to find her mother collapsed on the kitchen floor with a nasty lump on her foot where she’d dropped a cast iron skillet on it. The foot was broken, but what was worse, her mother never really seemed to recover from that incident, which stemmed wholly from her feeling like she needed to be able to cook supper for her family.
Meghan’s mother’s failure to ask for help led directly to her physical decline, and Meghan was not so shortsighted that she didn’t realize not asking for assistance would shorten the functional life of Foley’s Public House. Therefore, here she sat in the gravel driveway of the Land & Sea Renovations headquarters, being a chickenshit. She tapped two fingers on her steering wheel, took a deep breath, and got out of the car.
“Not weak to ask for help. Not weak to ask for help.” Meghan repeated her mantra as she walked toward the house, up the steps, and knocked on the front door. She thought she could hear the television or the stereo playing from inside the house, so she knocked again, a little louder this time, and then rang the doorbell for good measure. Then she cringed at being too pushy, kicking herself for ringing the bell immediately after knocking. If Jason was upstairs, there’s no way he’d have time to get to the door. She waited a few more moments and then knocked again.
Well, dammit. All that gearing up, and he wasn’t even home.
Meghan’s shoulders slumped with defeat. She knew she wouldn’t be able to psyche herself up to come back again, so she switched to plan B, which was to hope that Jason broke down and returned to his usual bossy, meddling self and showed up at Foley’s sometime soon. She rang the doorbell one more time, waited a beat, and turned around to go home, when she heard the door open.
Meghan sighed. “Thank God you answered, Jason. I wasn’t—”
But Jason didn’t answer the door. Instead, a Pamela Anderson look-alike, complete with tiny cutoff shorts and gravity-defying boobs that were practically falling out of her red tank top, grinned back at her from the doorway.
“Hey! I’m so sorry—I was tidying up a bit before Jason got home, and I had the music on loud. Can I help you?”
“Uh,” Meghan stalled, trying not to stare at the California perfection of the woman. “I needed to ask Jason something about some stuff, but, uh . . . yeah. Okay. I’ll catch up with him sometime. Oh, and he left his wallet at the pub.” Meghan practically threw the wallet at the blonde, spun on her heel, and bolted down the stairs toward her car.
“Wait! Miss! Can I tell him to call you? What’s your name?”
Meghan waved her off. “Never mind! I’ll catch up with him later! Thank you!” she called behind her as she ran to the car.
☆☆☆
Meghan didn’t really remember driving back to the pub or going inside. In fact, she didn’t remember anything until she saw her hand wrapped around a lowball glass with two fingers of whiskey inside. She swallowed the potent amber liquid and then put the glass in the bar sink. The phone had been ringing since she got back to the pub, but a quick glance at the caller ID told her it wasn’t Jason but rather one of the companies she’d called earlier, requesting a quote, which would likely be well out of her budget.
“Don’t panic, Sullivan. You absolutely cannot panic.”
Meghan filled the glass with water, drank that down, and then tried to breathe deeply. It didn’t really work, because she had the hiccups now, an irritating side effect of extreme stress. She’d had the hiccups for three days following Sully’s cancer diagnosis and then another three days when he’d finally succumbed to the disease. Meghan huffed a breath and hiccupped. Oh well, she’d dealt with it before.
The phone began ringing again, and this time she answered. The project manager on the other end of the line was professional and kind when he advised her that there was no room in the schedule to even evaluate the work Foley’s needed, much less complete said work. Meghan thanked him for answering her inquiry and, after pulling out her planner, struck that company from the list.
“Oh, hell, might as well pull the whole bandage off, right?”
She called into her voicemail and listened to message after message telling her the same thing as the fellow she’d just spoken with, only most were not nearly as considerate. One by one she marked the names off the list until only Land & Sea Renovations was left.
This . . . wasn’t good. Though she knew getting another company to do the work was a long shot, she’d been crossing her fingers for a miracle that didn’t involve a certain former Marine. Now, it looked like she wasn’t going to have the option of not asking Jason for a favor, and not even a small favor. This was a huge favor—like gigantic.
Hiccup.
“Dammit!”
The longer she looked at the name of Jason’s company, the madder she got, only not at him, for once. Hell, she couldn’t even be mad that he hadn’t been his usual nosy, bossy, infuriating self, because he hadn’t tried to call, text, or get in her face since yesterday. God, was that just yesterday? The fact that he had pulled none of his usual stunts told her that he was hurt or angry or some combination of the two, because heaven knew he never did as she asked before, so why the hell would he suddenly be mindful of what she wanted?
Okay, that wasn’t a particularly good attitude to have toward someone who could help her out, and she knew he would because that was the kind of man he was.
“Meghan Sullivan, you are a complete and total bitch.” She slumped on the barstool, her head in her hands, and continued to hiccup. What was she thinking when she went to Jason’s? Well, obviously she wasn’t, even though she’d had her little speech all prepared. She couldn’t even blame her idiocy on the unexpected appearance of Malibu Barbie, though that certainly hadn’t helped.
Who the hell was that woman, anyway, and why was she prancing around like a damn Disney princess, smiling and perky and cleaning? She was obviously insane. No woman in her right mind would look that happy about straightening up after a single dude, though for all Meghan knew, Jason was tidy. After all, he was former military. Those types tended to be pretty regimented.
No, she was adult enough to admit the mere fact of there being a woman in Jason’s home bothered her. It wasn’t like Meghan had any claim on him. Hell, she’d said that often enough over the course of whatever it was they were doing. It wasn’t really a relationship, but it wasn’t just sex, either. Jason’s actions immediately after Sully’s wake proved that. A casual fuck buddy wouldn’t show up, pack her a bag, and take her back to his house to have dinner, all without any expectation of sex. And that had been exactly what had happened. That night was the only time they’d actually slept together. Hell, it’d been the only time in years that she’d slept with anyone. Sure, she’d had sex—or really, she’d fucked around. But Jason was different, and she’d known that since he first stepped up to the bar in Foley’s.
Hiccup.
Damn.
She was going to have to talk to Jason about more than just the pub, and sooner rather than later.
Chapter 7
The first thing Jason did after Ryan and Dan dropped him off after a full day of work was go to his truck and dig around in search of his wallet. Frustrated at not finding it and at the day in general, he made his way to the house, entering through the back door, where he found said missing wallet on the counter.
“Son of a bitch! It was here the whole time!” Jason shook his head and slid the wallet into his back pocket.
“Jason?”
Surprised Chelsea was still at the house, he called to her from the kitchen while grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Hey, Chels, I’m in the kitchen.”
Chelsea appeared, looking sheepish, which was never a good thing. “Jason, I might have inadvertently caused an issue.” Jason arched an eyebrow at her in question, and she continued. “A woman came
by this afternoon, and she seemed to really need to speak to you. She knocked and rang the doorbell a few times, but I was vacuuming with the stereo on and didn’t hear her.”
“Well, who was it?” he asked, flustered with Chelsea’s rambling storytelling.
“She wouldn’t tell me her name! I opened the door and she started babbling, then took one look at me and shoved your wallet at me and ran back to her car.” She nodded at the space where the wallet sat. “Oh my God! It was just there!”
Jason pulled the wallet from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “I got it. Did she say where she found it?”
“Oh, she said you left it at the pub,” Chelsea said with a shrug. “I’m assuming you know which pub it was.”
Oh, shit.
“What did you say she looked like?”
“Oh, she was a knockout. Black hair, lots and lots of ink, combat boots. Real pretty skin.” Chelsea frowned. “There isn’t really a way you can say that and not sound like a serial killer, is there?”
“Oh, jeez, it was probably Meghan. Dammit.” Jason pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. There had to be something big going on for Meghan to come to the house, especially unannounced. “What did you say?”
“Nothing really. I asked her what her name was and if she wanted you to call her, but she just . . . ran.” Chelsea’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh my God, have you been dating her? Let me call her and tell her nothing’s going on—”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t call her! You’ll make things worse! Not that things are bad,” he quickly added. “Meghan’s been under a lot of stress lately. Shit.”
He paced around the kitchen, weighing his options. She’d essentially told him to fuck off yesterday morning—jeez, was that just yesterday?—and that she’d call him, which she did not do. But then, she showed up today at the house, which was no small thing at all, and it wasn’t just to return his wallet. Meghan wasn’t the type to coddle. Like, at all. The thought that his wallet was at the pub never crossed his mind because, normally, she would have texted him with a “Dumbass, you left your wallet. Come get it,” and that would be the extent of it, other than teasing him for the next few months or years.
“Shit,” he repeated. When he turned around, Chelsea was glaring at him, arms crossed over her chest and her hip cocked. “What the hell is wrong with you, now?”
“Go see her, you idiot!” Chelsea rolled her eyes and huffed. “She obviously needed to talk to you, because she came to the house, which, judging by your reaction, is not something that’s typical.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, thinking. “Yeah, her coming to the house is totally out of character.”
“Then go see her.” Chelsea gave him a hug. “Thanks for celebrating with me last night. I’ve got a ride coming. Go.”
Jason hugged her back. “Congrats on the show. Be sure to keep me updated on stuff, okay? Bye, Chels.”
Then he sprinted out the back door.
☆☆☆
Jason got to Foley’s Public House in record time but then sat in the empty parking lot debating how to approach the pub. Front door? The Closed sign was prominently displayed in the window, but he could see the glowing lights in the barroom. Then there was the back door with a doorbell that sounded both in the pub and in the apartment upstairs. Maybe he’d do that.
He got out of his truck and walked around to the back of the building, checking out the covered patio to make sure she wasn’t sitting out there, which she’d been known to do. Jason got halfway to the back door, and when he heard sobbing, he broke out into a run, only to find Meghan collapsed on the back stoop with tears streaming down her face.
The moment he reached her, she held up a brick and a pack of cigarettes. “That old git thought he was so sneaky,” she mumbled through her tears. “Hiding his cancer sticks behind a loose brick.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Jason sank down next to her on the stoop, and she immediately threw herself at him, still clutching the cigarettes. Jason pulled Meghan into his lap and held her close while she cried.
She wiped her nose on his T-shirt and looked up at him. “And I’ve got the”—hiccup—“fucking hiccups again.”
Jason chuckled and pressed a kiss against her hair. “You don’t remember what we did to get rid of them last time?”
She sniffled. “Did it involve us getting naked? Because I’m not so sure I’m up for that.”
He laughed. “No, that was after.” He kissed her cheek, still wet from tears. “You wanna go inside and we’ll get your hiccups solved, then you can tell me why you came to the house?”
Meghan hiccupped again and nodded. Jason stood up with her in his arms, which made her give out a little whoop and a small laugh. He set her down on her feet, then she opened the back door and led him into the kitchen.
“Oh”—hiccup—“kay. Let’s do this,” she said.
Jason grabbed a cup from one of the glass racks and filled it with water. “Drink from the wrong side.”
“Oh God.” Hiccup. “I remember this. I spilled water all down my”—hiccup—“front,” she said as she took the glass.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Meghan nodded and took a deep breath. After another especially loud hiccup, she began to drink from the far side of the glass. She drank half the water and spilled a good bit down her front, then she straightened up. After a minute or so with no hiccups, she grinned at Jason and shook her head. “That’s the craziest thing.”
He shrugged but couldn’t resist running the back of his hand across her cheek. “Feel better?”
“Yeah.” She smiled again, almost shyly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hear you met Chelsea today . . .”
Meghan threw her head back and groaned. “Oh God. She probably thinks I’m a lunatic.” She blinked. “Chelsea? That was Chelsea? The crazy one whom Ryan was always bitching about?”
With a slight cringe, Jason nodded. He and Chelsea were not good as a couple. Compatible only in the bedroom, and at the end of things, not really even there, Jason and Chelsea had finally imploded, with him telling her some hard truths. They didn’t speak for a few months, but then Jason ran into her at a club in Vegas and they’d begun talking again, though the physical aspect of their relationship had not resumed because, well, because of Meghan.
This little epiphany rocked him to his core, and he needed to unpack that little tidbit later when he had time to freak the fuck out.
“Are you okay, Jase?” Meghan peered at him.
“Uh, yeah. So, you needed to talk to me? Or were you just returning my wallet? Thanks for that, by the way. I couldn’t figure out where the hell it had gotten to.”
“It was in the booth where you were sitting at Ryan and Junior’s after-party.” Meghan leaned back against the prep table and exhaled. “Let’s go get a beer and have a seat.”
“Shit.”
Meghan laughed, a real laugh, something he hadn’t heard in a long time. “Oh, you don’t even know, Richards. You don’t even know.”
Chapter 8
Several hours later, Jason sat with all the specifications spread out in front of him, frowning.
“You realize this ass is trying to fuck you, right?”
Meghan nodded. “Oh, I’m fully aware of that fact. It pisses me off.”
“It pisses me off, too. Who the hell does he think he is?”
“An asshole with a head of purchased hair and a lot of money.” Jason frowned at her and she grinned. “I could totally see the plugs.”
“Good God A’mighty, this guy sounds like a piece of work.” He cocked his head at the specs. “Speaking of work—you like how I did that, yeah?—this . . . is a lot of work. I mean, a lot. Some of it is bullshit, like the kitchen stuff. There’s no need to replace the façades of the cabinets or any of the shelving because you’re not doing kitchen tours.”
“Yeah, I already talked to Nolan, and he said the same thing. He said he would call Knox personally and
tell him he’s not participating if I have to do the kitchen stuff.”
“I knew I liked that Nolan fellow.” Jason winked at Meghan and was rewarded with another big smile. He pulled a planner out of a satchel that he’d brought in when he discovered that Meghan needed him to evaluate an actual potential job. “So, seven and a half weeks. That’s an aggressive timeline.”
“Why do I sense the term aggressive is code for ‘batshit crazy’?”
“Because you’re smart,” Jason replied, laughing. “It’s doable. We’ll make it work.”
Meghan looked like she was holding her breath. “Yeah?” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
She threw herself at him, hugging him tightly around the neck.
“Thank you, Jason. Thank you, so much.” Then she planted a kiss on his mouth. Jason resisted for a few seconds, but then he pulled her against him, and suddenly he found himself underneath Meghan’s writhing body. He let himself enjoy her grinding for a few moments before gently pushing her away with a groan.
“Okay, ground rules.”
“Shit. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Meghan hid her face in her hands. “Totally inappropriate. And I know exactly what you’re going to say, and I agree.”
“What am I going to say?”
She peeked from beneath her fingers. “No canoodling while renovating.” She sighed. “It’s the only way to do this.”
“Yeah.” Jason huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s gonna suck.”
Meghan shrugged. “It’ll be a hell of a celebration after it’s done.” She stuck her hand out. “It’ll be a pleasure working with you, Mr. Richards.”
“Likewise, Ms. Sullivan.”
Jason grinned at Meghan, thrilled at the happiness radiating from her. His brain was already whirling with the logistics of pulling this off, and as the magnitude of the project sank in, Jason thought he might just have lost his damn mind.