Any Way You Want It

by Farrah Rochon

  “Dude, who does that?” Dale said.

  “More people than you might think,” Ian replied. “We had to wait almost an hour before it was our turn.”

  Sam burst out laughing. “I guess this calls for a toast.” He held up his can of ginger ale. “To your bachelorhood going down in a blaze of glory.”

  “My bachelorhood was gone the minute I met Sonny,” Ian said. “But I’ll drink to a long and happy life with my beautiful wife.”

  Sam looked at Ian with total disgust. “Just go write greeting cards for a living.”

  Ian flipped him his middle finger as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl. He motioned for Sam to turn up the volume on the TV.

  As Dale observed his two friends, he couldn’t quell a rush of envy. Of the three of them, he was the one who always was supposed to have the brightest future. Everyone knew he would make it to the NFL. From the very first tackle he’d made during tryouts for the varsity team his freshman year of high school, it’s all Dale had ever heard.

  Fast forward a little over a decade later, and he felt like the biggest failure to come out of Maplesville.

  Here was Ian, married to a beautiful woman, working a good job at the concrete plant and slowly building his own motorcycle repair business. And even though Sam had gone through a rough patch over the past year while coming to terms with his dad’s illness, he was gradually getting his act together. Vanessa’s real estate firm was thriving. Hell, Sonny was even making a name for herself with her cupcakes. It was sad that he could be jealous over cupcake-success, but damn if he wasn’t.

  It seemed as if everyone was on the fast track, while he was stagnant, working construction for someone else when he should, at the very least, have his own contractor business by now. If the Grant boys could do it, he sure as shit should be able to do the same.

  Not to mention the way their little sister was straight up winning at life.

  If he were being honest with himself, Dale had to admit that one of his biggest hang-ups with dating Nyree was envy over just how much she’d already accomplished even though she was three years younger than his own twenty-seven years. How in the hell had she achieved so much already?

  He made a good living, but he wasn’t capable of buying a huge property like the Whitmer House. Heck, he still rented the small house he lived in.

  He needed to get his shit together.

  Maybe this renovation job really would be the catalyst for the next phase of his life. Working construction might not be his first choice, but he was good at it and if he actually owned a piece of a business, at least it would feel as if he’d achieved something.

  It was time he got off his ass and started making things happen.

  And it was yet another reason why he should steer clear of any kind of romantic entanglements with his boss. He needed to stay focused on his goals—goals that had nothing to do with the bedroom.

  Chapter Four

  Nyree fixed the tail end of the funnel firmly into the bottle’s mouth. It was the last of several dozen newly delivered bottles that sat on the kitchen counter in her cluttered her apartment. She’d been in the middle of boxing up more of her belongings when the deliveryman knocked on her door. It had been the death knell to packing. She still had weeks before she had to move everything into her rooms at the Whitmer House anyway; she could afford to sacrifice the afternoon.

  Nyree poured the remaining drops of the rosemary and peppermint leave-in conditioner she’d mixed up yesterday, giving a fist pump when she realized she had just enough product to fill the bottle.

  “Couldn’t have turned out better if I’d planned it this way,” Nyree said.

  She capped the first bottle, but was too impatient to worry about the rest of them just yet. Leaving the others uncapped, she pulled a label from the roll that had arrived last week.

  Her heartbeats reached insane levels as she affixed the pale pink oval to the frosted gray bottle she’d chosen for her hair care line. It took Nyree a moment to catch her breath as she stared at the finished product. Seeing the Naturally Nyree logo on her creation…knowing it would soon be sold to the masses. Well, at least to the people in Maplesville and surrounding areas. But that was a lot more than just the handful of Reesa’s customers who purchased her products now.

  With a physical storefront and the online store, the potential to grow this into a skin and hair care empire was certainly within the realm of possibility. She just had to continue putting in the work. And if there was one thing Nyree had never shied away from, it was working hard for what she wanted. She’d put in more than her share of long days and sleepless nights coming up with the perfect recipes for her products. And just look what she had to show for it.

  “I told you I would do it, Aunt Hazel,” Nyree whispered.

  She would not cry. She refused.

  If her aunt were standing here right now, she would call Nyree a crybaby and warn her not to sling snot all over her shirt. But Nyree couldn’t staunch the tidal wave of emotion that suddenly overwhelmed her.

  She had always looked up to her mother’s younger sister, and wanted to be just like her. She’d spent hours after school and on the weekends hanging around Hazel’s salon, soaking in the unique camaraderie between the women getting their hair done, waiting for the day when she could step into that role of stylists, just like her aunt.

  Nyree could still recall the intense hurt she felt when her aunt refused to teach her how to style hair—especially after Hazel took Reesa under her wing. It wasn’t until her aunt explained why she wouldn’t teach her that Nyree finally began to understand just how much Hazel believed in her. She told Nyree that she wanted to see her sitting behind a desk in a college classroom, not standing on her feet all day behind a salon chair.

  If she closed her eyes and dug deep enough into her memory, Nyree could remember just how it felt when Hazel wrapped her arms around her and refused to let go after hearing that Nyree had earned a full-ride scholarship to Dillard University. Her aunt told her that it was one of the proudest days of her life. Nyree only wished she’d been healthy enough to see her walk across the stage when she earned her degree, but by then Hazel’s body was so riddled with cancer that she was barely able to move.

  Nyree closed her eyes and pulled in a deep, cleansing breath, willing the tears to remain at bay.

  There would be no more tears when she thought about her aunt. Her mission these days was to keep Hazel’s memory alive through the legacy she’d left behind. Every jar of Naturally Nyree product would be a tribute to Hazel, with a percentage of the proceeds going to the Cancer Treatment Center at the hospital in Slidell that took care of her aunt in her final days.

  Nyree capped the remaining bottles of leave-in conditioner and affixed the labels to them. Once that was finished, she put her hands on her hips and looked around her living room and kitchen, which were both cluttered with packing boxes, mixing bowls, blocks of pure Shea butter, and too many bottles of essential oils to count.

  She had two choices: clean up around here or don’t. She picked don’t.

  It would just look this way in a couple of days when she whipped up the body butter and cuticle cream she planned on making this weekend. Besides, she had more important things to do with her time than to worry about the mess in her apartment.

  Like worrying about the mess at Whitmer House.

  Nyree wanted to cry when she thought about how much work remained, yet she couldn’t help but marvel at what Dale had been able to accomplish over these past three weeks.

  Especially this last week, when she’d only managed to spend a few hours pitching in. She’d planned to spend most of her time at the Whitmer House, having saved up enough vacation time to work only two shifts a week for the next several months. But after a coworker’s entire family came down with a late-season flu, Nyree found herself working in the lab all week.

  Of course, it was probably for the best that she had some time away from Dale after the way he’d flaked
on her. She’d been so sure that they were on the same page after they left her grandmother’s shed a couple of weeks ago, but the following day he’d said that he didn’t think it was a good idea to see each other.

  At first Nyree told herself to just let it go. She couldn’t force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He thought it best they remain professional, despite the torrential dose of chemistry that bubbled up between them whenever they came in contact? Fine. She’d have to live with it.

  Then she’d come to her senses.

  Dale had been on board until he found out who her brothers were. There was no way Nyree would allow those two meatheads to be the reason she and Dale didn’t get a chance to explore the white-hot attraction that singed the air between them.

  Dale thought his declaration a couple of weeks ago was the end of it, but he’d underestimated her. Because once she set her mind out to accomplish something, she didn’t stop until she reached her goal.

  In this case, her goal was Dale Chauvin.

  A text message came through on her phone just as the alert system Desmond had installed above her front door dinged, indicating that someone was approaching. Nyree pulled up the text as she made her way to the door.

  She stopped mid-step as she read the text from Lance.

  I’m on my way up. Let me in.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come on, Nyree. Open up,” her brother called.

  Nyree let out a frustrated sigh as she unlocked the door and opened it for him. “What are you doing here?” she asked as Lance stood just outside the door. When he didn’t enter, she asked, “Are you waiting for an invitation to come inside?”

  “From the way you’ve been acting lately, I don’t know if I’m welcome,” he said.

  “Stop being such a drama queen.” She pushed the door open and walked back to the kitchen. “What are you even doing in this part of town right now?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “This,” he said. “I came here to talk to you. I want to help you with the house.”

  Nyree rested her hip against the kitchen cabinet and folded her arms over her chest. “Really? Did you have this change of heart after you found out I hired Dale Chauvin to do the job?”

  “I don’t give a crap about Chauvin. I promised you I’d work on the house for you. You should have come to me instead of just going through Desmond.”

  “He’s the one who makes the schedule for Grant Construction.”

  “I don’t care about what is and what isn’t a Grant Construction job, either. I told you I’d help you out, now let me,” Lance said.

  Nyree could hear the frustration and regret in his voice. She hated that her relationship with her brothers was so complicated, but her own resentment toward them had built up so much over the years that it was often hard to see past it. Just because Lance had suddenly suffered a bout of guilt over leaving her in the lurch again, did that mean she should automatically forgive him and accept his help with a smile?

  Not today.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Nyree said.

  The pain that flashed across his handsome face nearly made her take back her words. But she excelled at being stubborn, so instead of apologizing, as she should have, she walked back to the front door and opened it. Lance stood in the kitchen for several long moments, staring at her with those amber eyes that were so much like her own.

  Nyree fought the urge to smooth things over. She was always the one expected to be the bigger person when it came to her two brothers. She’d spent her life watching their needs get catered to by her mother and grandmother, feeling compelled to do the same because everything had always been about Desmond and Lance.

  Well, it was about her this time. She didn’t need their help. When Any Way You Want It Salon and Spa opened its doors, she could be proud of what she’d been able to accomplish without them.

  Lance finally moved, walking to where she stood. He stopped just outside the door. “You sure about this?” he asked.

  “See you at dinner on Sunday,” she said in a saccharine voice, just because she knew it would irritate him.

  Okay, fine. So she could be both stubborn and petty. She really needed to work on that.

  When she closed the door behind him, Nyree felt another twinge of guilt, but she managed to shake it off. Lance’s hurt feelings were not her problem.

  She went over to the fridge and grabbed the sliced smoked turkey breast she’d picked up from the deli on her way from work a couple of hours ago, along with a loaf of 12-grain bread. She packed the sandwiches, a couple bags of potato chips and two apples into the refrigerated bag she’d gotten for participating in last year’s walk-a-thon at work.

  Twenty-five minutes later, Nyree pulled in behind Dale’s pickup in the driveway at Whitmer House. It was funny that she still thought of it as Whitmer House, even though she now owned it.

  “The bank owns the bulk of it,” Nyree reminded herself. And they would own it for many, many years to come.

  Unless the Naturally Nyree line took off and made her millions, of course. It was a long-shot, but longer shots had happened for others. Why not her?

  Nyree grabbed the bag with the sandwiches and climbed out of her SUV. A light mist had begun to fall on her way over from St. Pierre. She scampered up the walkway and entered the house through the front door. She was greeted by the whirl of a table saw, and the sexiest naked back she’d ever seen in her life. Her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed a handful of the sawdust flying through the air.

  If not for the power tool’s buzzing and the music pouring from the speaker connected to Dale’s cellphone, Nyree was certain he would have heard her pulse’s erratic thumping.

  God, but he looked good. She’d missed seeing him this week. Missed him so much more than she ever thought she could miss someone who was, technically, just an employee.

  His choice, not hers.

  He’d stubbornly stuck to his guns regarding the two of them not getting involved, but the sight of those muscles bunching underneath his sweat-slicked skin had her once again thinking of ways to change his mind.

  She leaned against the new, unfinished wooden doorjamb he’d installed since she was last here, crossing her feet at the ankles and her arms over her chest. Nyree settled in, ready to enjoy this sexy display of flesh for as long as possible.

  But with the spidey sense of a cock-blocking chaperone, Dale’s head popped up and he turned his goggle-covered eyes on her. He immediately grabbed the t-shirt that draped off the edge of the sawhorse and pulled it over his head, covering up all that beautiful brown skin.

  Damn him! She could have stood there for the next hour watching his muscles flex.

  Dale picked up his cellphone and lowered the music, but he didn’t turn it off. Nyree recognized the song. It was the latest by a local R&B artist from New Orleans who had been blowing up on social media lately.

  She nodded toward the phone. “I didn’t realize you were a fan. I just bought Simone’s newest single on iTunes. She did one of those Beyoncé-style drops last night. No one even knew there was a new album in the works.”

  “I hadn’t heard about a new album,” he said. “I’ll have to download it.” He gestured to the padded cooler still hanging from her shoulder. “Please tell me there’s food in there?”

  “I made sandwiches.”

  The genuine smile that traced across his lips as he walked to her made her skin tingle.

  “You must be psychic,” he said. “I was just about to stop so I could grab something from that store around the corner.”

  “Not psychic, just used to taking care of my brothers and their friends. They used to spend hours outside playing basketball, and wouldn’t come inside to eat unless my mom dragged them into the house.” She motioned to the saw. “I can tell that’s your version of shooting hoops.”

  He laughed. “Football’s my sport, remember? And you have to admit that saw is a pretty sweet toy.”

  He reached for the bag
, but Nyree pulled it away. She pointed to the small bathroom just off to the right of the parlor.

  “It will gross me out if you eat this sandwich with all that dust on you. At least wash your hands.”

  “I’ve been inhaling dust on construction sites for the past five years. Washing my hands won’t do me much good.”

  She just continued to stare at him.

  “Fine,” he said in the same tortured voice her brothers would use when she interrupted their basketball games. Nyree couldn’t help but laugh.

  As he washed up, she used a towel to sweep as much of the saw dust from the floor as she could, then used the soft-sided lunch bag as a placemat, setting the sandwiches and fruit on it so they wouldn’t get dirty. She openly ogled Dale as he walked back toward her. She wondered if he maintained that body strictly through working construction or if, like her older brothers, he spent enough time in the gym to list it as a second residence on his taxes.

  He dropped down to the floor with a slight grimace. “Old football injury,” he said.

  He sat with one knee bent, his arm resting on top of it. He looked as if he was posing for the cover of a romance novel.

  Well, maybe if he took the shirt off again.

  “I think you may have a problem with your pipes,” Dale said.

  “Huh?” Had she heard him right? She’d been so mesmerized by the way his worn jeans stretched over his thigh that she couldn’t be sure. “What about my pipes?”

  He gestured toward the bathroom. “It’s the second time I could hear rattling while washing my hands.”

  Ah, those pipes!

  “What’s going on with them?”

  “Not sure,” he said. “I looked for rotting when I tied in the plumbing for the shampoo stations, but that was only a small section. You never know what’s lurking in the walls, especially in an old house like this one that hasn’t had anyone living in it for a while.”

  “How much will this set us back—time wise—to look at all the pipes?”

  “It won’t take long to run some tests on the pipes,” Dale said. “But if we find out that they’re rotted, you’re looking at weeks.”