One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1)

by Mary J. Williams

  ~~~~

  SLOWLY, ADAM STONE walked the length of the hallway checking the walls with a critical eye. He wasn't a professional painter. But he knew the difference between shoddy and perfection. When he was in charge, nothing but the latter would do.

  "Melvin!"

  "Coming!" Melvin Delray, head down, trudged around the corner like a man walking toward his doom. "Just once, I'd like to finish a job without you telling me something's wrong. Your bellow is worse than nails down a chalkboard."

  "I only bellow when necessary. Look."

  Squinting, Melvin followed the path between Adam's finger and the floor.

  "What? I don't see anything."

  Arms crossed, Adam didn't repeat himself. He simply waited.

  Melvin had known Adam long enough to recognize the look. When he said there was something to see, there was always something to see. Almost a foot shorter, Melvin was naturally closer to the floor. Yet he had to crouch to detect the practically infinitesimal splash of paint near the bottom of the baseboard. A minor flaw a man with normal eyesight would have missed.

  "Damn, Hawk. I thought the first thing to go was the eyes. If anything, yours keep getting sharper."

  Hawk. Adam rarely heard the nickname anymore. A holdover from his Navy days—where he and Melvin met. After a five-year stint, he'd been happy to leave the military behind. Melvin hadn't been as easy to shake. And Adam was eternally grateful.

  Friendly acquaintances were easy to come by. True friends were rare. On the fingers of one hand, Adam could count the people he held dear. For all his grousing and complaining, Melvin was loyal as the day was long. A fact he'd proven on more than one occasion.

  Adam and Melvin had a lot in common. They grew up poor, their fathers died young without a penny to their names. With few options, both men joined the military right out of high school. Both left the service with ambition for a better life. They'd come a long way in five years. And they weren't done yet.

  Adam shook his head as Melvin tried to scrape away the offending streak.

  "Needs turpentine."

  "I know," Melvin huffed. "Otherwise you'd take care of the problem yourself."

  One of the reasons Adam maintained the respect of the men he worked with was his willingness to pitch in whenever necessary. He didn't consider a bit of cleanup beneath him. In the case of the wayward paint, Melvin had access to the proper tool for the job. Adam didn't.

  When Melvin returned, Adam took the turpentine-soaked cloth and knelt on the floor. As he concentrated on the offensive paint stain, Melvin leaned over his shoulder to watch.

  "Salami for lunch again?" Adam grimaced as the scent of garlic and onions filled his nose

  "Tamara knows what I like." His dark eyes filled with contentment, Melvin patted his stomach. Once flat as a board, he had developed an ever-growing paunch. The result of a love of rich food, and a wife happy to indulge him.

  "Tamara is a saint if she puts up with your breath."

  "My wife is an angel. Loves me no matter what." Melvin grinned. "But just to be sure, I always brush my teeth and chomp a handful of breath mints before I kiss her hello."

  "Wise man." Adam wasn't interested in marriage. Yet, he envied Melvin. Tamara was one in a million. "I see the crew is almost done in the library. What's your timetable for the office?"

  "Should wrap up by the end of the week."

  Finished to his satisfaction, Adam handed back the cloth. "Do you think you can get to the boutique over on Madison Avenue by Monday? The owner's scheduled the grand opening in four weeks."

  "Kind of a close call." Melvin stuck the rag in the back pocket of his coveralls. "Why wait until the last minute?"

  "Thank your lucky stars. When a client puts off until tomorrow—so to speak—the payout can be sizable."

  "I do like a bonus. Especially now that Tamara is determined to buy a house in Brooklyn near her parents. I vote for near where we are. The Bronx provides just the right amount of buffer between the in-laws and us."

  "Something wrong with the apartment?" Adam helped the couple move into their current home less than a year ago. After he brokered the lease.

  "The place is great," Melvin assured him. "We need more space. Or we will in six months. When the baby gets here."

  Adam knew how much Melvin and Tamara wanted to start a family. The road hadn't been easy. She'd miscarried twice.

  "Congratulations, man."

  "We aren't spreading the word quite yet. Just in case." A cloud crossed over Melvin's face. But he wasn't one to dwell on the dark side of what ifs. With a quick shake of his head, happiness replaced worry. "Tamara's glowing. And in the nesting mood. If you hear of a place on the market—at least four bedrooms and three baths—let me know."

  Before Melvin finished asking, Adam already had something in mind. A fixer-upper with great bones and endless potential. Not even listed, if they liked the house and moved quickly, Melvin and Tamara could get the major renovations done well before the newest member of the Delray family arrived.

  "I'll text you the number of the agent. I've known Gina McMurray forever. Just mention my name, and she'll handle the rest."

  "Amazing." Melvin looked suitably impressed. "No matter the situation, you either solve the problem or know somebody who can."

  People had always interested Adam. Even as a child, he listened when they told their stories. Remembered the details without a thought for the future. He couldn't know with each encounter, he laid the groundwork for his future. Eventually, the backlog of information stored safely in his computer-like brain provided him with an unusual and very lucrative business.

  "I should get back," Melvin said. "The new guy, Junior Freemont, is a bit of a wildcard. I don't want to leave him unattended until I have a better take on his reliability."

  Adam walked with Melvin down the hall toward the library.

  "Has he given you trouble?"

  "Nothing specific. I get the impression he chafes at any kind of authority. Even when a paycheck is attached. And…"

  "Might as well spit the whole mouthful out at once, Mel. And what?"

  "Freemont seems overly interested in the ladies who live here." Melvin shrugged. "Don't overreact, Adam. Can't fault a man for noticing. Happily married as I am, I'll be the first to admit the Benedict sisters are easy on the eyes."

  Adam felt a wave of unease. Even a hint of misconduct was enough in his book. The crew was warned upfront not to harass anyone in the house. Women. Children. Men. Pets. Do the job. Period. If a member of the crew crossed the line—by even a fraction of an inch—he was out on his ass.

  "Freemont can look," Adam conceded. "You let me know if he does anything else."

  "You set up the job, Adam. For which I'm grateful. But Delray Painting is my baby. I'm responsible for my crew's behavior. Unless you don't trust me to keep them in line."

  "I trust you." With a sigh, Adam rubbed the back of his neck.

  "When I hire somebody new, the rest of my crew knows to keep their eyes peeled."

  Melvin was one of the few people who understood why the subject was a sore one. Why Adam's behavior where a woman's safety was concerned often bordered on the unreasonable.

  The good thing about a close friend? Explanations weren't necessary.

  "Dinner. Our place. Next week." Melvin lightly punched Adam's arm. "You name the day. And bring a date."

  "Maybe you should ask Tamara first. With a baby on board, she might not be in the mood to entertain."

  "She's the one who told me to invite you." Melvin paused. "You should bring a date."

  Certain Melvin wasn't serious, Adam laughed. When his old buddy didn't so much as crack a smile, he sobered. Quickly.

  "I always come alone. What's the deal?"

  "Tamara has a cousin," Melvin said. Sheepish didn't begin to describe his expression.

  "No." Adam groaned. In all the time he'd known Melvin's wife, she'd never attempted to se
t him up. Not once. "Why now?"

  "Baby hormones. Tamara's been afflicted with a weird kind of double vision." Melvin held up a finger. Then added another. "Two by two. Everyone needs a mate because a person alone can't possibly be happy."

  "I'm very happy."

  "Try and tell her. But I warn you. One wrong word and she'll start to cry."

  Adam froze. "What words should I avoid?"

  "Hell if I know." Melvin shot him a distressed look. "Sirloin steak? Fettuccine? Paper towels? Pick your poison. Far as I can tell, there's no rhyme or reason to what will set her off. When the waterworks start, I hold her close and ride out the storm."

  A pregnant woman who cries for no good reason? Adam couldn't think of a scarier combination. He wasn't the father. He wasn't ready. Wasn't sure he ever would be. As happy as he was for Melvin, he couldn't think of a single reason he would want to change places with his friend.

  "About dinner—"

  "I didn't mean to scare you off, buddy." Melvin chuckled. "Come to dinner. I can't control Tamara's hormones. But I'll do my best to make certain she doesn't spring a mystery woman on you. Or…"

  "Or what?" Adam wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he asked—in spite of himself.

  "Do as I suggested. Bring a date."

  With a shake of his head, Adam slung the satchel he'd stashed by the pile of paint equipment over his shoulder. Everything he needed for his busy day was packed into the leather case. From his laptop, to a change of clothes, to the sandwich he always threw together before he left his apartment.

  When Adam was younger, his mother would make him a sandwich every morning. Without fail. Until the day he joined the Navy. Once he was on his own without a parent or the military to guide his life, Adam couldn't shake the influence of either. Not entirely.

  Each morning, he rose with the sun. And after breakfast, he tossed together a couple pieces of bread with whatever he could scrounge from his refrigerator in between. Today? Ham and cheese.

  More often than not, the snack went uneaten. But some habits were hard to break. Especially when they were tinged with sappy sentimentality.

  "I'll come to dinner," Adam assured Melvin. "Can I get back to you on the night?"

  Melvin nodded. "And?"

  "Jesus. You're like a dog with a freaking bone. I might bring someone. I'll let you know."

  Adam would let Melvin know. When he arrived. Alone. He didn't want Tamara to have enough time to spring her cousin—or any other relative—on him.

  "Tamara's cousin is a cutie," Melvin said as Adam left the room. "A bit of an overbite. But—"

  "No, Melvin. Absolutely not."

  Adam shouted the warning over his shoulder, his attention was on Melvin instead of where he was headed. And ran smackdab into Calder Benedict. Again.

  To keep them both upright, Adam wrapped one arm around her waist. The other, he used to keep his balance. As a result, her soft body was pinned between him and the wall.

  Not that Calder seemed to mind. Eyes like rich, dark chocolate sparkled with humor as her full, red lips curved into a smile.

  "We have to stop meeting like this." She laughed.

  And Adam, though he couldn't have known, was a goner.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~~~~

  CALDER DIDN'T TRY to move away from Adam's impromptu embrace. Why would she when the press of his body against hers felt so good? So right.

  "You're very tall."

  "Maybe you're short."

  Adam's breath was warm against her face. And smelled faintly of peppermint. Not her favorite flavor. However, given the source, she might rethink her opinion.

  Oh, boy. If the scent of Adam's breath was enough to give her libido a jumpstart, she could be in serious trouble.

  "Five nine in stocking feet." Calder glanced down. "Or, bare feet, as the case may be."

  "Six three." Adam flashed her a grin. "You okay?"

  When Calder nodded, Adam slowly straightened. Assured she wouldn't topple over, he removed his steadying arm. Fancifully, she told herself she witnessed a flash of reluctance in his blue eyes.

  "I've walked these stairs my entire life and never run into anybody. Now, I've barreled into you twice in one week."

  "Sorry to break your streak."

  "Believe me, I wasn't complaining." Calder wanted to reach out. Draw Adam back. Rather than give in to the impulse, she kept her hands at her sides.

  Adam gave her a long, contemplative look, one brow raised, his eyelids half-closed.

  "Are you flirting with me?"

  "If you must ask, I need to take a refresher course."

  In what Calder could only term gentlemanly, and a bit old-fashioned—endearingly so—Adam took her hand, leading her to the top of the stairs.

  "When I barely know a woman, I always ask. Saves misunderstandings. On both sides."

  "Smart." Calder's smile widened when Adam kept her hand in his. "Just to be clear. My flirt is in full gear."

  "Good to know."

  Adam moved a step closer. And Calder's senses went into overdrive. She noticed the way he tipped his head just a bit to the side, his gaze intent. For the first time, she noted the silver striations in his wildly blue irises. And her brain went from crystal clear to fuzzy.

  "I have cookies." A nonsensical thing to say. But Calder wasn't thinking straight.

  "Is cookies a sexual metaphor? As in…?" Adam looked confused. Rightly so. "You'll have to help me out."

  "Cherry Delights and Chocolate Dreams." Calder laughed when she realized how her brief explanation could be misconstrued considering the direction of their conversation. "Both are cookies. I bought them at my favorite bakery. For you and the other painters."

  Adam leaned a little closer, his eyes locked with hers. "I'd love a cookie. Even though I'm not a painter."

  "Mrs. Finch set them out in the kitchen with iced tea and lemonade. If you want to tell the others, I'll…" Calder paused as Adam's words sank in. "Wait. The other day you had paint in your hair. On your boots. Which makes you—"

  "Someone who helps out when a friend is shorthanded."

  Now, Calder was confused.

  "You don't paint walls for a living?"

  "Nope."

  "Not a bouncer."

  "A fact we established the other day."

  "You have on a suit." Between her thumb and forefinger, Calder touched the material of Adam's lapel. Lightweight gray gabardine. Finest quality. And if she didn't miss her guess—which she rarely did—sported a designer label. "A very nice suit."

  "My tailor and I thank you."

  The twinkle in his eyes made Calder's stomach do a slow roll. Was there anything sexier than a man with a sense of humor? And a hard, well-conditioned body? And a face with an interesting flaw or two—to allay any comparisons to perfection.

  "Funny, you like expensive clothing, yet you seemed to have a problem with my date's attire. Called him the suit, if I recall, Mr.…?"

  "Stone." Adam shook Calder's hand. "Nice to meet you. And I didn't have a problem with what he had on, but his attitude.

  Calder couldn't argue. Milo Prendergast was a jerk.

  "What exactly is your occupation, Mr. Stone?"

  "What I do is hard to explain."

  Damn it. Calder felt a wave of disappointment. She was all too familiar with prevarication. Her father was a master of the art. And though she loved him, she wouldn't bet a nickel on his ability to tell an undoctored version of the truth if his life depended on it.

  "Illegal?"

  Adam looked surprised. Then annoyed. "Of course not."

  "Illicit?"

  "What's the difference?"

  "Depends on who you ask." Calder's father loved to split hairs. She was more of a black and white person. At least where the law was involved. "Is your profession legally or morally suspect?"

  "No."

  His gaze steady, Adam's response was firm. Not a twitch or tick
to be seen. So, if he were squeaky clean, why didn't he simply answer her question?

  "The explanation of what I do is convoluted, not illegal. Or immoral. I promise." Adam literally crossed his heart. "Have dinner with me tonight. I'll satisfy your curiosity. And anything else you want."

  "We'll start with my curiosity and see how things go from there. Pick me up at seven. Casual? Dressy?"

  "I'll take you any way I can get you."

  Holy crap. Calder mentally fanned herself as Adam's blue eyes heated. The man was dangerous. Hopefully, in all the best ways.

  "However," he said. "Wear something like the blue number you had on the night we met, and you'll be fine."

  Flattered that he remembered, Calder nodded. "Mid-casual chic."

  "If you say so." Adam looked amused.

  Calder started back the way she came. Down the stairs at her usual jog.

  "And don't forget to tell the painters about the cookies," she reminded him.

  "What about me? Don't I get one?"

  At the bottom of the stairs, Calder turned. Casually leaning against the wall, Adam waited.

  "As long as you tell me the truth, you can have anything you want."

  "And if I lie?"

  "Take a cookie. As for the rest?" Calder made a slow turn so Adam could have a good look at exactly what he would never touch. "Not even a taste."

  Adam seemed a bit bemused—exactly her intention—as if he had yet to wrap his head around the consequences of a lie. Never a taste of her? She hoped he found the prospect unacceptable.

  "See you later, Adam Stone."

  ~~~~

  "I DON'T HAVE a thing to wear."

  Billie burst into Calder's room, highlighted blond hair in curlers, the ends of her silk robe flapping in her wake. As always, her face was perfectly made up. She never left the safety of her bathroom without several coats of what she liked to call glamour.

  If the house caught fire, Calder was certain her mother would make the fireman wait while she made herself presentable. Billie's version of the holy trinity. Lipstick, mascara, and blush.

  Used to such declarations, Calder stood back rather than risk bodily injury. Nobody got between Billie and a closet filled with potential outfits. Not if they wanted to live to tell the tale.