He startled awake a moment later when she shouted, “Don’t fall asleep!”
He straightened. “What’s wrong with you? I’m tired.”
“I’m getting you checked out. You could have a concussion. Eastman has a hospital, right?”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“Men don’t know when to ask for help. We’re going.”
He clenched his jaw, beyond annoyed. “My brother is a doctor. I’ll call him and tell him what happened. If he says I have to go, I’ll go.”
“Call him right now.”
He pulled out his cell and hit Jared’s number. Voicemail. Dammit. He was probably doing another long shift at the hospital. He was an orthopedic surgeon. He glanced at Sophia, who gripped the steering wheel with both hands, worry etched into her face. He faked it to put her mind at ease and get himself off the hook.
“Hey, Jared, it’s Vince. Listen, I took a header to the sidewalk. Got a goose egg on the back of my head.” He paused. “Yeah, upper back of the head. Uh-huh.” He nodded at Sophia with a look that he hoped said look how helpful my doctor brother is. “No dizziness, no double vision. Just a headache. You think it’s a concussion, or can I just sleep it off?” He paused. “Great. Thanks, buddy.” He hung up and turned to Sophia. “He says I should be fine.”
“Nice try,” Sophia said. “I heard that voicemail beep when you first called.”
He muttered a curse under his breath.
“It’s the least I can do after you saved me,” she said. Somehow the words felt like payback. And not for saving her. For that kiss and not returning it.
“You always get what you want?” he asked.
“Yes, Vince, I always get what I want,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s why I’m trying to save Capello Construction single-handedly with nothing but a degree in historic architecture to back me up. This is exactly how I want to spend my life, taking care of the house and business for my screwed-up family.”
A pang of unwanted sympathy struck his heart. He had no idea what the deal was with her family, but it was clear she was out of her element. He wasn’t going to ask about her family, though, because he knew if he opened that can of worms, he’d likely find himself uncomfortably close to being on her side.
He was starting to like her.
This was a big problem.
“Lucky you,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That slipped out. You don’t need to hear about my problems.” She nodded once. “I’m fine. It’s you we have to get fixed up.”
Two hours later, he finally walked in the door of his place. Sophia had carried through on her threat to take him to the emergency room. The doctor said he was fine. He knew it and had given Sophia an immediate “I told you so” that had her rolling her eyes. She followed him into his house, insisting on making sure he got in okay.
She gasped when she stepped into the living room. “Vince! Was this a barn or a stable? I love the ceiling!” She walked around the living room with its high ceilings and post and beam construction.
“It was a carriage house.” He should’ve known a history buff would get off on his place. “I restored the floors myself.”
She looked down at the wide-planked original pine hardwood floors, squatting down to run her fingers over them. “Wow. When was this place built?”
“Eighteen ninety.”
“O-o-oh,” she breathed, rushing to the floor-to-ceiling fieldstone fireplace and running her hand over the stone. She turned to him, her expression open and eager. “Can I take a tour?”
He stifled a groan. It would be so easy. Take the tour…and here’s my bedroom.
He could not have her. His dad would kill him if he got involved with Sophia. First, he’d disown him; then he’d kill him.
Besides, business was business. He needed her to leave. Like right now.
“Bye, Sophia. It’s been…a night.”
Her expression immediately closed. “Right. I’ll see you at the meeting.”
“Thanks for the ride.” He limped toward the stairs, wanting nothing more than to crash in bed, but guilt over squashing her history-buff hopes nagged at him. “I’ll call you for a rain check on tonight. We’ll talk. You can take the tour.”
“Okay.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and didn’t trust himself to look at her. His defenses were weak. He couldn’t afford to be soft around her. At least one part of him had gotten that message. He kept going and heard the front door quietly close behind her. He collapsed into bed, his last thought of her soft lips pressing against his.
Chapter Six
Sophia had really not expected to hear from Vince again. When he hadn’t called the next day after their disastrous dinner meeting, she’d thought he’d blown her off and with good reason. She’d nearly gotten him killed, made him go to the emergency room, and kissed him against his will. Not to mention all her rude cursing. Some crack negotiator for this project she was turning out to be. But here she was, heading to his place on a Sunday for an afternoon meeting. He’d even offered to give her a tour of his house, which made her giddy with excitement. So what if she was a little nervous about seeing him after that embarrassing kiss? She’d just pretend it never happened.
He’d better not bring it up.
He seemed to enjoy teasing her. Whatever. She could give as good as she got.
Driving in the bright September sunshine, she caught a glimpse of the original Queen Anne-style main house down the street before pulling around the long driveway of the carriage house. Ooh, she breathed as she drove through a canopy of hundred-year-old maple trees lined up on both sides of the driveway, welcoming visitors with their fiery orange leaves blowing in the gentle breeze. She’d missed all this beauty when she’d last been here because it had been pitch black. She parked in front of the detached garage in back and turned toward the house. The light blue wood-shingled house was even more gorgeous in the light of day.
She approached the back stone patio with a portico, where Vince was already seated, wearing dark shades. An opened beer sat on a nearby table. He hadn’t shaved and the five o’clock shadow was pronounced. He didn’t smile either, just sat there looking cool, detached, and a little dangerous. And he was so large. He was the kind of man that would want to be in charge. Of everything.
Sophia was not in the habit of letting anyone walk all over her.
She fervently wished she’d worn a tank instead of this sweltering cotton long-sleeved tunic. The weather was unseasonably warm for September. She was not hot for Vince.
She made a big show of studying the house and not him. “You have a tower!” That was actually really cool. The front of the house looked like a big stable, and she hadn’t noticed the tower peeking out the back on her drive in.
“Yeah, you can’t go up there,” he said. “I haven’t made it to that part of the house yet. It’s a never-ending fix-it project.”
“Was it for hay?” Still looking at the tower, not the devastatingly handsome man with bulging muscles in a T-shirt and jeans.
“No. It has a couple of rooms for staff that lived here to take care of the horses and carriages. Beer?”
“No, thanks.” She took a seat in a cushioned chaise lounge across from where he sat and risked a look at him. He took a long swallow of beer, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down in that thick neck. Why was he so thick, like everywhere? His neck, his shoulders, chest, biceps, those massive thighs. She felt all petite and light, which was saying something for a five-foot-ten woman. He wouldn’t have a soft touch, wouldn’t be gentle. He’d be rough, firm, probably toss her around a bit.
He’d manhandle her.
She crossed her legs over the throbbing. She hadn’t thought this through. Meeting at his house was a dumb idea. She’d only been thinking of the history of his place. Yes, think about history. She took a deep breath, imagining when this had been some gentleman’s estate, probably some rich guy from New York Cit
y who summered here. The backyard was small with a short crumbling stonewall delineating the property line.
“Tour first or business?” he asked.
She stood abruptly, the history fanatic in her beyond excited. “Tour.”
“Figured.” He stood and his jeans, worn and snug, made her stare in an unseemly way. What was wrong with her? She was positively ogling him, and she was not an ogler. He turned toward the door, and she stared some more at that tight ass. “Come on.”
He had a slight limp, and she belatedly remembered to ask how he was doing. “Is your head okay? Your ankle looks like it still hurts.”
“I’m fine,” he said over his shoulder. So tough.
She followed him inside through glass French doors to a dining room with a long blue table and wood chairs painted in a variety of bright colors. The ceiling was post and beam, the floor a glossy wide-planked pine like the living room. Hanging pendulum lights lit the space over the table. Vince had style. The combination of modern and classic was stunning. She turned to him where he stood at the entrance to the room. He’d taken off the shades, and his expression was frustratingly hard to read. She pushed that thought aside. Who cared if he was thinking about that kiss? She was touring a beautiful historic carriage house and that was what she came here for, nothing else. “Did you do the interior design?”
He shrugged. “Just picked out the furniture, built a few pieces, and installed some lights.”
“Did you build this table?” It was a simple Shaker style, very elegant.
“Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He grunted in response. Not much for compliments, it seemed.
She headed to the far end of the room and peeked around a partial wall to find a small galley kitchen with a breakfast bar, sink, stovetop, and a few cabinets. “Cute kitchen,” she said.
“You want a drink before we get started?” He indicated the refrigerator pressed against one side of the room.
She could tell he was anxious to finish the tour, but her curiosity drove her on. “No, thanks.”
She headed to the next room, the large living room she’d seen the last time she was here. It was filled with light from oversized windows. “Did you add the windows?”
“Those two were added.” He pointed, indicating the windows he’d added on the side. “The frames of the others are original. I switched out the glass to double-glazed for the insulation.”
She rushed to the next room, a cozy space with built-in bookcases and an arched window. The bookcases were empty, except for one shelf with a collection of picture books by Allie Reynolds. “Is she your favorite author?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “She’s my stepmother.”
“Oh.” She took in the mostly empty space. “A piano would look nice in here.”
“I don’t play.”
I do, she thought. What was she doing? Imagining herself here. Ridiculous.
“The rest is still in progress,” he said. “Some areas have torn-up walls, exposed wiring. Not pretty.”
She was dying to see upstairs, but she restrained herself. “Okay, let’s get started.”
He inclined his head and led the way down a narrow hallway back out to the open dining room and the back patio. Since his back was to her, she ogled his ass, along with his massive shoulders and broad back. He was awfully solid, lumberjack rugged. They didn’t make men like this in her Brooklyn neighborhood, more like hipsters in black-rimmed glasses with goatees. Her type, in other words.
He flopped onto a long cushioned outdoor sofa and indicated she should join him there.
She took the far corner to give them some space.
“So tell me what you want,” Vince said, dropping those shades back in place, covering his expression again.
“What do you mean?” she asked, stalling.
He said nothing. Just waited. What she wanted, what she needed, was help. She needed the project to save the family business, and she needed help doing that, but she didn’t think he would easily hand over the project and then help her with it. She had to find a way to put it to him that made them both come out a winner.
Her cell rang in her purse, the ringtone the embarrassing “Living La Vida Loca” that her mom had programmed as her ringtone. It was never good news when her mom called.
She turned back to Vince. “I want to keep the historic original part of the library intact.”
The cell finally went quiet. She’d call her mom back later at a more convenient, private time.
“Brick is expensive,” Vince said. “If you want to add an entire new section in brick, if the council goes with your plan, it’s going to raise the cost significantly.”
“I might be able to counter that with tax credits for historic preservation. Something I’m looking into. I’ve already asked—”
“Living La Vida Loca” rang out again from her purse. She felt herself flush.
“You need to get that?”
“No, no. I’ll call her back.” She snatched the cell to turn it off when she noticed a new text: You’re going to be a big sister!
She stared at the words. She already was a big sister. That was weird. Wait. No, no, no! She punched in her mom’s number. “Mom! It’s me. What do you mean I’m going to be a big sister?”
“What do you think, Soph?” her mom replied cheerily. “I’m expecting!”
Sophia’s stomach dropped. She glanced back at Vince, who was staring at her. She moved away from the back patio and started pacing in the grass. “Mom, is it Manuel’s?”
“Who else?”
Her dad? Her mom had left with Manuel six weeks ago. She stopped pacing and whispered, “Are you sure it’s not just menopause?”
“I’m forty-five. Is it so hard to believe your old mom got knocked up?” Sophia was twenty-six. Her mom had her at eighteen. It was possible she was pregnant, just a shock.
Sophia resumed pacing. Her dad was going to be devastated. “Are you sure? Have you seen a doctor?”
“Sure as a ripe old banana and mango coming together!” she sang. Whatever the hell that meant. “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”
“Congratulations, Mom.”
“You still living in that old drafty house?”
“Yes, I’m still there.”
“Tell your dad to put it on the market. I’m not coming back.”
“You tell him, Mom.”
“Oh, I would, but he’s so difficult to talk to. Always cutting me off. He doesn’t want to listen.”
Sophia’s shoulders slumped. Her dad was loud, domineering, and muleheaded, but ever since her mom had left, he’d been a shell of his former self. She really did fear this was the last nail in the coffin. “I’ll try to talk to him about the house,” she said. “You tell him about—” she lowered her voice “—the other thing.”
“Gotta go! Give your brother a squeeze for me.”
“He’s—” Her mom hung up before she could tell her Mike was still touring with Mink Jewel. Well, not exactly touring, more like following them from one dive bar to another. She pressed her lips tightly together and returned to the patio. She sat and stared at the stone pattern, not really seeing it. Tears swam in her vision. Her family was falling apart and nobody seemed to care except her. Why was she trying so hard? Just give up. Give Vince the project, let Capello Construction fold, make her brother work for once in his life, but then her dad…
“Everything okay?” Vince asked.
She nodded, her throat tight.
“Sophia,” Vince said in that deep melodic way he had of making her name sound like a song.
She wiped an errant tear and squared her shoulders. “So. Where were we?”
“You’re going to be a big sister?” he asked.
“Yes. Well.” She ran out of words. She did not want to spill her family’s dirty laundry to the man she was supposed to be impressing with Capello Construction.
“You’re not happy about
it?”
She couldn’t answer.
Vince reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, you want to reschedule?”
She shook her head. “No. Of course not. The meeting is on Tuesday.” Sweat broke out everywhere at once, and she felt light-headed as the enormity of the hole she was in crashed over her head. Her dad, already barely hanging on by a thread, was going to lose it when he heard about this pregnancy. He’d be no help to her at all. She didn’t know what she was doing with Capello Construction. It was all going to end in a spectacular crash on her watch. If she didn’t win the project, they were finished. There was nothing like it on the horizon that could pull them out of debt. If she did win the project, she’d still lose because she didn’t know where to begin with a construction crew, and she didn’t have time anyway. She still had her own job. Barely.
The answer sitting across from her in shades only added to her distress. How was she supposed to get Marino Construction to work with Capello Construction with their history? Why would they want to? They wouldn’t.
She was screwed. Her family was screwed. Forty-two years of family business gone before it could get to the next generation, her brother.
Nausea welled up, and she leaped from her seat. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.”
She ran straight to the small powder room she’d seen off the kitchen, hung her head over the sink, and tried to breathe normally. She ran the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. The nausea passed. She took a few deep breaths.
She patted her face dry with a hand towel that looked like it had never been used. She stared at her reflection as the only viable solution, a partnership with Marino Construction, settled more firmly in her mind. Maybe this could be a good thing. Maybe she and Vince could be the voice of reason in this long-running feud between their families. Maybe they could call a halt to the insanity that had only hurt both family businesses. She honestly didn’t see any alternative at this point. They were two days away from the town council’s decision. She would be the bigger person and offer an equitable partnership between them. That way she wasn’t asking for help, merely offering a sharing of the work. And hopefully Vince would take over directing the construction crew on his own, as he seemed the kind of man used to taking charge. That settled, and feeling much calmer, she returned to the patio and took her seat.
Not My Romeo Page 4