by Brea Viragh
“My parents have kind of given up on the two of us, to be honest. Not me so much, but…yeah. My brother isn’t doing well with his life. They thought it best to leave him on his own to try and stumble and find his way.”
“It sounds like you don’t like to talk about him.”
“Am I that transparent?”
I chuckled to lighten the tension at the table. “A little. I know how you feel. Jackie, I’m sure you met her at the fair, there was a long period in time where she wasn’t doing well in life either.”
We left it at that. Sometimes, there are no words needed. Understanding settled between us, a commonality shared by two people with similar history.
“I’m a fun-loving kind of guy when I’m not working.” Fenton shrugged, wiping a bit of sauce from his mouth. “But you already know that from the last few weeks. I found out early on I had a talent for transformation not the means. No cash on hand. I started bartending to get ahead. Right now, I have about two rental properties in town while I work my up toward the big one. The bed and breakfast. I’m still debating whether I want to run it myself or try to sell it.”
“How did you get into rehab? Did you wake up one morning and decide you were good with your hands and wanted to swing a hammer?”
Fenton stretched his arms over his head. “I guess it came to me for a couple of reasons. I was already working at the bar, I have been since I got out of school and needed a place to make money and also stay close to town. And yes,” he grinned, “I do like working with my hands. It’s more involved. It’s about pushing myself and having the discipline to follow through. Maybe it’s making up for the lack of discipline in my childhood, I don’t know, but I needed to keep busy and do something with my life. Something worthwhile where I could see the efforts of my hard work pay off. Plus, if a flip goes well, I can make some good money while also helping my community.”
I shook my head. “Might I remind you, you only make money if you end up selling the property. Which, in this case, you don’t want to.”
“I’m still not sure about it. I look around the place and I see the memories other people made there. I see the memories countless others will make. I kind of want to be a part of it. Don’t you?”
“Actually, I can see your point.” My fingers wrapped around the frosted sides of my glass and I stared at the condensation.
“Have you been looking?” Fenton asked softly. “For another position?”
I shifted in my chair. “Well…” Did I tell him the truth? I’d been so caught up in my work with the bed and breakfast, with him, I hadn’t filled out a job application since the first week I was fired.
I’d considered a few options, maybe trying my hand at design after all, but I liked being in charge of the vision. Even with Fenton breathing down my neck and questioning my decisions, in the end, I had complete autonomy over what went into the rooms, aside from the structural issues. I wasn’t sure I could handle a customer trying to tell me what I could and could not do. Plus, then it would feel like I was back working for Rayne. Which I’d decided never to do again. Not with Rayne’s personally, but for any boss who treated me like I was a punching bag. One who didn’t appreciate the hard work and effort I put into my job.
Part of the reason I enjoyed Fenton so much. He saw me, not what I could do for him.
Although like he said, once this job ended, I would be stuck eating beans and rice for the next however many months until I found something new.
“Not yet, but I’m looking.”
He chatted on for a few minutes, pausing now and then for a bite of chicken. I entertained myself by watching his face, the way his eyebrows lifted when he talked about his passions. How his lips moved and pursed depending on his sentiments.
“I could never do what you do. You’re an artist, Shari. How you manage to take what’s in my head and make it come to life, I’ll never know.”
“You’re an artist, too,” I insisted. I hooked an arm over the back of my chair and drummed my fingers on the table. “With a good vision. A lot of people would call in a crew to help them with the details. You take it all on by yourself. Look at the amazing work you’ve managed to accomplish so far?”
“I have a crew. I have Bud and the boys,” Fenton said, talking about his self-proclaimed foreman. “I have you.”
I caught a flash of something hot in his eyes—darker than I’d expected from him. It was at distinct odds with his statement that this wasn’t a date. Embers ignited in my abdomen and I wanted to reach across the table, circle his neck with my fingers, and guide him toward me,
His easy manner covered something sharper. It was something for me to consider at a later opportunity.
We finished off the wings and waited for another bucket to arrive. Folding my arms on the table top, I leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I have to tell you. I tend to say whatever pops into my head. I’m impetuous and hot-headed, which means I’m never going to be a sweet-mannered girl. I’ve got a lot of bad points, but I’ve got a lot of good ones, as well. You should know in case I haven’t made it clear. I’m very attracted to you.”
Fenton shifted his gaze to the left, then to the right. “Right now?” he asked.
“Now. Yesterday. Next week, probably. Since day one.”
He took his time pushing his empty glass out of the way before mimicking my posture. “In the effort of being honest, I’ll admit. I’m very attracted to you as well. Since day one,” he agreed.
Before I had a chance to preen, he continued. “I’m also single-minded with tendencies when it comes to this job. I’m competitive, and I have to have things done in my way, at my time, when I decide they should be done. I have a lot of issues with my family, drama I don’t want to drag anyone into…I want you. I also know it’s not a good time, and I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to get into a relationship. You and I are going to have to get on the same page when I insist this is not a good time.”
“I’m not sure when you think life won’t get in the way,” I began, “but—”
“No buts, Shar. Business only.”
From the way he stopped to consider the question, I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answer.
Okay, I was wrong. This wasn’t the opportunity to wine and dine him that I’d been expecting. I didn’t like getting shot down again, especially when the music and mood were right. Feeling sulky, I shrugged. “Fine. I don’t want to fight with you.”
The statement amused him. Fenton let out a long, loud laugh. “Don’t get riled up. It’s going to spoil your appetite. Please, talk to me about the countertops. You love talking about the countertops.”
“I see what you’re doing. You want to distract me.” It took away from my brooding, and I could see how amused he was about it.
The night brought cool air in from the ocean and ruffled the fine hairs around my face. The sensation made me shiver.
“Yeah, sure. I don’t exactly trip over my own feet where women are concerned. I’m trying to avoid an argument. Let’s face it. This is close enough to paradise and I’d like us to be happy while we’re here.”
“I’d be happier if you’d kiss me,” I muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” I primed myself with another long swig of beer. “The countertop. Right?”
We spent the next however long going over finishing details of the house before Fenton hit me with the hard questions.
“How have things been with you at home, since you lost your job? Am I paying you enough?”
His warm fingers tapped me on the top of my hand and brought my attention immediately back to him. “I’ve gotten used to a diet of cheese and white bread. As long as nothing major breaks, then I should be fine. Thanks for the concern.”
“I want to make sure you’re happy for however long we’re working together. People see you and they immediately decide you have a lot going for you. Like you have everything all together. Not that you don’t, but I want to make sure you aren’t p
utting on a cheerful face. You would tell me if you need anything, right?”
I didn’t answer him. “You think I have it all together?”
“It’s not about what I think. It’s about how you feel. I know there have been plenty of times in my life where people see me, or they see my projects, and they judge for themselves how well off I am, or how happy I am. They come to their own conclusions.”
“Well, rest assured, I would tell you if there was something wrong. Right now, I feel like I’m in a holding pattern. One chapter ending, another beginning, and I’m trying to see where it’s going to go.”
“You’re trying to control where it goes,” he corrected.
“Of course.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “How else am I going to get where I want to be?”
“I understand. There are a lot of things I want to do also. Sometimes it’s hard to remember I might think I hold the reigns, but life has other plans.”
“Try having a sister who is an addict and parents who are so wrapped up in themselves they can’t see what’s happening around them.”
“I understand better than you think.”
I bit my lip and thought about the best way to steer the conversation. It was getting real, and it was getting deep. Faster than I wanted. In a direction I hadn’t prepared for. What did I share with him, how much, and how soon. “I tried my hardest to be there for Jackie before I realized it was a hole she needed to dig herself out of, and nothing I said could make her want to change. Mom and dad thought it would be better to throw money in our direction, since we were out of school, and head off to warmer climates instead of dealing with the problem. I found my own solution.”
“Which was?”
I uncrossed my arms and took a swallow from my glass. “Relationships, I think. At the time I thought I was out having fun, doing normal young adult things while I bounced from job to job trying to decide what I liked to do. The attention made me feel like I was worth more. Then I realized I didn’t need men to love me, I needed to love myself.”
“Did this come before or after you tried to juggle two men and had it blow up in your face?”
My mouth rounded in an outraged Oh at the thought that someone was feeding Fenton gossip about me. Then his face broke into a wide smile. “You told me, your first week. We were all joking about our pasts and you provided us with an afternoon of irony and humor. You don’t remember?”
I snapped my mouth shut. “Okay, Mr. Smarty Pants, it was after.”
“You’ve come a long way since then.”
“Sure, glad you think so,” I said sarcastically.
“You know what I did when I was young and feeling frustrated? I built Lego houses. Not only houses, but entire villages. Each place with their own flavor and backstory.”
“And it worked or you?”
“Yes, until my coworker at the Tooth said “man, stop it, you’re thirty! It’s weird.”
His deep laughter sent a thrill shooting up and down my arms. “I always knew you were different.”
“Sometimes we need to find our passions, to get out of our own heads. You know?”
I lowered my eyes to the table. “I think I do.”
“No judgment from me, of course, on whatever crazy stunts you used to pull. I was a pretty needy kid myself. And angry, which makes it worse. Trying to get attention through lashing out. It took me too long to learn I could do what I needed to do and make something out of myself without being angry.”
“You bought a house.”
His eyes were dark and a half smile quirked the right side of his mouth. “It took me years of saving and focusing on myself instead of…other things…but yeah, I did. We all have choices to make, Shari, and we can’t move forward until we do.”
“What if our past dictates a penchant for unhealthy choices?” I threw the question at him.
Fenton shrugged. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
Emotions tangled together inside of me and I wasn’t sure which one to release. “Well, I’m going to call it a night. If you need anything—”
“I’ll ring your room.”
“Or you can text me.” Or show up with no clothes on. That would be preferable.
We said our goodnights and as soon as I disappeared around the corner, the out-of-place sense of vulnerability returned. I could have told Fenton more about my past, my relationships and my family and the dysfunction I’d operated under since before I could remember. I didn’t want him to see me differently. At the moment, we had a good thing going on, one where he saw me as a person who had a lot to offer. What would change if he knew how messed up my head really was?
I’d learned long ago it was better to show off that face, that happy face, Fenton called it. It was more productive than showing what was inside. But he had a way of cutting directly to the center of me. It would be hard to ignore the feelings he stirred once the direct path was cut.
CHAPTER NINE
I spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror getting dressed the next morning. It was in my nature to buy clothes suited for my body shape, which meant short skirts and clingy materials designed to show off my ample curves. There was no reason for me to be ashamed of my body. In fact, I was proud of the way I looked. It had taken too long for me to come to love my shape, to build up a fortress of confidence where I could live inside it with ease.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t certain about the type of people I’d be dealing with and decided to err on the side of caution.
The woman in the mirror was a far cry from the harpy I’d stared down all those weeks ago after the fair. Her hair was dark and ruffled with a bit of curl. Dark eyeliner brought out the warm chocolate notes of her eyes, and a pale pink blush made roses out of her cheeks. Naturally gold skin was accented by a forest-green dress and yellow cardigan. It got cold in those convention rooms, sometimes. It always paid to be prepared.
“All right, girls.” I stopped and adjusted the set of my chest to show less cleavage. It always pained me to hide what I’d been given, but I knew Fenton wouldn’t appreciate the more-is-more approach today. Knowing him, he’d be nervous enough without a distraction.
“You ready?” The woman in the mirror nodded. “Yeah, so am I.”
I’d been up for hours already, indulging in a sunrise swim before taking a shower and going into the ballroom to get acquainted with the setup. It helped knowing I had a plan for the day, a purpose to work toward. My purpose was to get Fenton through the day with as many new contacts as possible. Knowing what he’d need ahead of time, I had set up a space for him among the other tables, complete with information on his project and a cute little About Me section.
When I stepped out of the elevator to a waiting Fenton, I wore a sweet smile and my favorite pair of glasses with no lenses, thinking it gave me a studious look.
“Well hello there,” I said, shooting him a come-hither look. I couldn’t help myself. “Are you going my way?”
He took a moment to compose himself, his eyes staring me up and down then returning to my face for a second glance. Good, I thought. Let him look and let him wonder. It was all I could do not to smile like the Cheshire Cat.
When he finally caught my gaze, his cheeks were pale and I noticed there were dark circles under my eyes. “You look beautiful,” he murmured.
“Yeah, thanks, and you look like you’re about to throw up.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.” He spared a look over his shoulder at the throng of people flocking around the lobby toward the ballroom.
Suddenly he looked like he was going to drop down to the floor. I rushed forward and took his shoulders in my hands. “Whoa there, what’s the matter?”
“Just a little case of nerves.” He reached higher to tug at the tie strangling him. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
I stilled his fingers and corrected the knot into a looser position. Nothing about Fenton was simple. Not that I wasn’t equipped to handle him, I told myself a
s I stepped into the ballroom designated for the conference. As I liked to brag to my girlfriends—half joking and half to get under their skin—handling men was one of my best skills.
Still, dealing with Fenton would be a great deal more complicated than I thought at first. He was more intriguing than any man I’d had the pleasure to meet before. I worked for him, yes, but that didn’t dissuade me.
When men looked at me, they saw what they wanted to see. I didn’t mind most times. I know that beyond the sexy golden-skinned exterior, I had a good brain. A strong work ethic, and a willingness to use both to get the job done.
“You look great, and there’s nothing to be nervous about. These are people like you. They’re in the same business—”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. I’m small fish compared to most of these men and women. They’ve been doing this for years. I’m getting started. What if they don’t take me seriously? Or worse, what if they brush me off? I have no clue what I’m doing here. I jumped the gun.”
“You’re a beginner,” I rephrased, keeping my tone low and my voice soothing, “and everyone has to start somewhere. These people were all beginners once, too, and I’m sure you won’t be the only one in the room who is a newbie. We’ll find your people in no time. Now come on. I got up early and set up a table for you. There are business cards and bottles of water and little pens with your name on them. Not to mention a pamphlet about the bed and breakfast along with your mission statement. It has your photo on the back.”
Fenton let me lead him into the room, his fingers tightening around mine. “When did I get business cards?”
“This week when I placed the order. They have your logo on them. I had the entire set shipped second-day air to make sure they arrived before today. Surprise!”
“I have a logo?”
I patted his shoulders and stopped him at the right table. Oh yes, I’d outdone myself, I thought with a swell of pride. “You do. I took care of it myself. There was not a stone I left unturned, my friend. All for you. You need to relax and try to focus on smiling. Breathing.”