by Judi Fennell
There she went with playing with her bottom lip again. He’d think it was an affectation, but she’d done it in her sleep on the sofa.
“Actually, I don’t know. She didn’t say. I introduced myself and we started talking about my furniture, then she wanted to see it, and then she ordered a piece. The end table I’m working on.”
Liam bit back a groan. Gran had been feeling Cassidy out. She made no secret of the fact that she wanted great-grandchildren. But once she’d met Cassidy—learned who she was—she had to have known he wouldn’t be interested.
But he was. And that was a problem on so many levels.
But Gran didn’t need to know about it. It was one thing to be attracted to the woman, but kids were out of the picture. The last thing he’d want would be to have Mitchell Davenport as a father-in-law.
Father-in-la—was he out of his fucking mind? How did he go from Gran stopping by to marrying Cassidy?
“So the glue is for my grandmother’s table?”
“Yes, but don’t worry, Liam. I do know what I’m doing. The drawer will be fine and it’ll be the original piece of wood.”
“With modern glue. You’re going to devalue it.”
“I’m fixing a broken piece of furniture and custom painting it. Any intrinsic value from its original state is going to be shot to hell anyway. But the fact that it’s a C. Marie original will up its value. And I’m not gouging her, by the way. She wanted the credenza, but I told her it was already sold.”
“But it’s not.”
“It’ll command a higher price than the end table. I didn’t want to have to bargain with your grandmother. I couldn’t in good conscience take as much from her as I want for it.”
Liam knew for a fact that Mitchell Davenport’s ethics could be rewired to fit whatever circumstances he found himself in, so it was nice to see that Cassidy’s ethics were a step up. He’d bet she wouldn’t be caught giving a lap dance while she stole the guy’s wallet.
Okay, he did not need to think about Cassidy giving anyone a lap dance. Including him.
“Thank you for that. I’m sure she would have paid whatever you’d told her you wanted.”
“That’s because she’s a nice lady.”
“Too nice.”
“I should be offended, but you’re right. She was being too nice, though I think she might have gotten the wrong idea about us. Or she might be hoping. She wants you married, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.” He scraped a hand across his face. If Gran knew how he was thinking about Cassidy, she’d be dancing for joy.
“But that’s because she loves you and wants to see you happy.”
He knew. And it wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have with Cassidy of all people. Not in light of recent events. Mitchell Davenport for a father-in-law . . . He must have sniffed too much of the paint stripper. “I hope you didn’t feed into her delusion.”
“Feed into—?” Cassidy slammed her hands onto her curvy hips. “What do you take me for? I didn’t even tell her who I was so she wouldn’t get her hopes up that you’d hit the mother lode.”
“Hit the—?” It was his turn to be offended. “Look, Princess, I’m doing fine on my own. Just because my lifestyle hasn’t reached the Baccarat-and-Dom-Perignon echelon yours has doesn’t mean I’m not doing well on my own. I don’t need a rich woman to take care of me.” And he sure as hell wasn’t taking care of anyone else, either. “I make my own way in this world.” And had the vacation home to show for it. No time for the vacation, but that was beside the point.
She held her hands up and Liam noticed that the nail on her ring finger on her left hand was broken.
There was a whole bunch of symbolism in that, but Liam wasn’t examining it any closer. Cassidy Davenport’s love life—or lack thereof—was of no concern to him.
“Whoa, there, mister. You can get off your high horse. I didn’t lead her on in any way, and for your information, I didn’t even tell her who I was. I said I was Cass Marie, which, technically, isn’t a lie, but I didn’t think you wanted her to hear you had me staying at your place. Trust me, I know how people get once they learn my last name. I’m tired of dealing with their reactions and misconceptions. You might think living in that high-rise was a treat, but these last few days of not having to worry what I look like or if there’s going to be some paparazzo staked out in front of your place waiting to catch a glimpse of me without makeup in ratty clothing”—she held out the frayed hem of this T-shirt—“has been eye-opening. In a good way.”
He really should have checked the clothes before he’d brought them home for her. Cassidy’s casual clothing left a lot to be desired—namely, her—and didn’t leave much to the imagination. Two things designed to drive him nuts.
“For the first time in my life, I’m able to be me. Who that is, I’m not quite sure yet, but I’m definitely not the Cassidy Davenport you see in the papers. It was nice being just some woman in your house to your grandmother.”
Except there’d never been just “some woman” in his house—Gran hadn’t even seen Rachel in his home because Liam had made sure to keep those parts of his life separate. He knew Gran wanted the four of them to find matches like she’d had with their grandfather, so he’d been hyper-conscious of not having women over until he’d found The One.
It figured that Cassidy Davenport was the woman Gran had seen in his place. He knew for a fact that Gran would recognize her no matter what name she’d used because Mitchell had been in grade school with their father, and Gran liked to follow the local-boy-turned-tycoon stories in the press. She used to tell them that they—like Davenport—could do anything they put their mind to. She knew a lot about the guy. And his daughter.
Cassidy had seemed like a spoiled princess living in the gilded tower from Gran’s stories. Funny, how he hadn’t seen the same thing in Rachel. Or rather, the same wannabe thing. Rachel had downplayed her ambition. He’d thought she’d been real.
Showed what he knew. She’d been all over Mr. Ivy League Frat Boy, trying to pass for a college co-ed, looking for someone with a fatter checkbook and entrée into the world Cassidy inhabited. He’d missed it until it’d been staring him in the face. Or rather, the face of the frat boy motorboating her.
Liam kneaded the back of his neck. Why couldn’t Cassidy be what he’d thought she was? “So, great. You’ve made a sale. Is it enough for you to move out?”
For a second, a hurt look crashed over her face, but she masked it so quickly that he realized she’d had a lot of practice hiding her hurt.
But why would she be hurt that he wanted her out? It wasn’t as if this was supposed to be a permanent thing. And sure, she might be enjoying the anonymity at the moment, but no way was she going to trade the high-rises of her world for his Handyman Specials for the long term. Not that he was going to ask her to.
“What kind of person would I be if I charged your grandmother that kind of money?”
She crossed her arms now, and that wasn’t much better than when they’d been on her hips because it only emphasized an area he was trying hard not to notice.
“I charged her a nominal amount. I can pay you back for the glue, but I’ll need the rest for the phone.”
“Okay. Fine. Whatever.” He dipped the brush into the stripper again. He didn’t want to talk money with Cassidy. Money was at the root of all evils. Case in point: Rachel. And money was, after all, the reason she was in his home. The irony of one woman thinking he didn’t have enough of it and another needing what he did have was laughable.
Too bad he wasn’t laughing.
* * *
CASSIDY chewed the inside of her bottom lip. Something had crawled up Liam’s butt, but it couldn’t be her. She was going to pay him back and she’d been nice to his grandmother. He couldn’t be mad at her.
Well, he probably could, since she’d pretty much barged into his life, but she was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her side of the garage was as neat as she could keep it and s
till be creative. She’d cleaned his house, cleared space for his gym, kept Titania out of his hair, been nice to his grandmother, and was custom painting a piece for her only slightly above cost. And that markup had only been because she hadn’t wanted Mrs. Manley to figure out that she was cutting her a deal. Cassidy wasn’t going to make anywhere near what she should for her time and talent, but there were some things more important than money. Her integrity being one of them.
Hmmm, which parent had she gotten that from? Or maybe it was a latent gene in the family tree.
“So what are you planning to do with this place? Are you going to live here?” She couldn’t imagine him wanting to leave where he was now, since it was such a beautiful house, but she’d seen the peaceful look on his face when he hadn’t been aware she was outside the six-paned front door. He’d been scraping the paint from the shelf, his attention focused yet relaxed. His mouth had been curving up a bit at the corners and there hadn’t been all the tension in his shoulders that was there now.
She’d put that tension there. She had to have. The minute he’d answered the door with his gruff greeting, his hackles had risen.
Her first instinct had been to call him on it. After all, no one treated a Davenport with disrespect. But then she’d remembered she wasn’t throwing her father’s name around anymore and being a Davenport hadn’t really done much for her these past few days.
“I can’t live here. Zoning’s changed in this part of town and it’s no longer residential. My real estate guy has a couple of professionals interested in this place for their office.”
“What about a daycare?”
Liam pointed to the fireplace. “Not a good idea with the fireplace that’s still operational. I don’t want to seal it up. It’s a good feature for the sale, especially once I stain these floors walnut.”
“What about cherry? Give it a high-gloss finish?” It was a Cape Cod; he ought to embrace the characteristics and go full force on the New England feel. “Paint the walls hunter green with white trim and maybe re-point the brick surrounding the fireplace with black mortar? That’d punch up the impact when you come through the front door. Make it a focal point of the room.”
Liam looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
She got that look a lot when people actually took the time to get to know her—as if they didn’t expect her to have a brain in her head. Thank God she wasn’t blonde; she’d never even get the opportunity to show them she had brains if she were. “I studied interior design. My father wanted me to be part of his design team.” But then one of his Flavors of the Month (who’d lasted longer than a day) had had an issue with “Mitchell’s daughter” giving her advice, and dear old Dad had switched Cassidy’s status to Showpiece. When the Flavor had been dismissed, Cassidy had been too mortified to head back to the team. Everyone knew she’d gotten the job because she was Mitchell’s daughter and had been replaced because of his lover. Bad enough her parents had ping-ponged her between them while Mom had been around; Cassidy wasn’t reliving it in her career. So she’d pasted her perfected smile on and been the best damn Showpiece anyone could want.
And look where it’d gotten her. On the marriage block and, now, out on the street.
Still, she did have her talent and her eye for design. Dad couldn’t take those from her. “You’ll want to have a couple of plant stands with ferns when you stage the room.”
Liam arched one of his eyebrows in a sexy, rakish way that made her stomach flutter. “I don’t stage a room. The agent brings buyers to an empty space.”
“Seriously?” She ordered the butterflies to quiet down. “You ought to try staging it. Not everyone can visualize the opportunities of an empty room, plus the place looks cold and impersonal without anything in it. Even if someone’s going to turn it into an office, seeing the hearth with a rug and seating group in front of it, a few pictures on the wall . . . It’ll do wonders for people’s impressions. And I bet it’ll up the offers you get.”
The arched eyebrow settled back on his brow and if she weren’t mistaken, moved downward with the other one. “Look, Princess, that might be how you do it in your world, but I’ve been flipping properties for years and know what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t. Just trying to help, but you’re right; this is your business. But if you change your mind, I could pull a few pieces together to help out when you’re ready. If you’re interested, that is.”
Yes, she might be shooting herself in the foot by not trying to sell the pieces immediately, but she could see the sideboard beneath those leaded windows. She might go with a hunt scene on it, or maybe just a cascade of fall leaves. She could finish the top in the same high-gloss cherry stain as the floor, tying the room together—
Except that it wouldn’t be staying in the room. Still, the round plant stand had the same claw-foot design as the sideboard and there was a hutch that she could tie in with them that’d look perfect in that nook.
She crossed the room and paced off the space. She’d have to check it against the width of the hutch, but it would look perfect there if it fit. She’d suggest ivy in a tarnished brass pot on the upper shelf, trailing down the side with a matching planter on the stand between a set of Queen Anne wingback chairs and a matching upholstered settee squaring off the hearth—
“What are you doing?” Liam’s voice cut through her vision.
“Measuring.”
“For?”
“There’s a hutch that I think would fit here—”
“Cassidy, I appreciate the suggestion, but I’m not staging the room. The professionals my agent will be bringing through already know what they want. It’ll be a matter of the right price per square foot. If I have to rent furniture, it’ll cut into my profit, which I’ll have to pass on in the square-foot cost. I’ll be priced out of the market. Besides, that’s unethical. Or at the very least, coercive. Artificial. As if you’re trying to pull something over on them. If I walked into a space like this that’d been tricked out, I’d be lifting the rugs to check for termite damage or something.”
She refrained from pointing out that there would never be termite damage in a Davenport property. Dad was all about branding and the last thing he’d do was let an insect damage his image.
His daughter, too, apparently.
“Okay, then. I’ll just be out of your hair and head back home after the store. I have a lot of work to do.” And she didn’t need to stay around here and have him patronize her “little ideas” like her father had done for years. That was what she was trying to get away from.
So she’d head back, get to work, and get those pieces ready for sale. She could do this, and she would.
Then they’d all see who the real Cassidy Davenport was.
Chapter Sixteen
TELL me you brought beer.” Liam reached for the cooler Sean carried, praying his hand didn’t shake.
What the hell had come over him? Cassidy had made a couple of innocuous comments and he’d immediately gone off on her, defending his business as if she were an authority he had to answer to.
“Yeah, it’s five o’clock somewhere.” Sean flicked the lid open when Liam set it on the sawhorse table he’d set up in the middle of what would be the entrance foyer of someone’s new office. Without a hutch or a sofa or anything. “Domestic or imported?”
Liam grabbed the first bottle he found. “Doesn’t matter. I just need something to quench my thirst.” And calm his spinning mind. He couldn’t decide if it was anger at Cassidy for insinuating he didn’t know his business, or the fact that she’d looked so damn appealing and he didn’t want her to look appealing. Whatever it was, the last thing he needed was for Sean to find out. Thank God she’d left fifteen minutes before his brother had shown up unannounced and unexpected. If Liam had known he was coming while Cassidy had been here . . . He didn’t want to think about it.
“So how’s working for Cassidy Davenport?”
So much for that.
Liam twisted off the top without answering. Not sure how to answer it.
“What?” Sean tilted his beer away from his mouth. “Is it some big secret?”
“Me working at her condo? No.” Liam took a tentative swallow, still waiting for Sean to warn him off getting involved with another high-priced user.
“Well at least we don’t have to worry about you with her.”
Liam choked on the swallow. “Me with her?”
“Yeah, you know. Having a thing for her. I mean, you have to admit, the woman is hot.”
Liam started to get hot. Sean shouldn’t be noticing how hot Cassidy was—
Oh. Damn. Not cool. Not cool at all. Bros before hos. And she wasn’t even his ho—
Liam shut down that train of thought because that’s exactly what he’d thought of Rachel when he’d found out she wanted to live off the fruits of his—or any guy’s apparently—labor, simply by putting out to reap all the benefits. Classic definition.
But the same didn’t apply to Cassidy. Why that was worried the crap out of him. He had to keep some perspective here.
“Yo, Lee?” Sean waved a beer in his face. “You in there? Or did I just wake you up to the fact that your client is one hot babe?”
“Could you stop saying that, please? You don’t know her or you wouldn’t say that shit.”
“Shit? Are you blind? Or, wait. Did she turn out to have a soul after all? One that hasn’t been sucked dry by her father’s millions?”
“Drop it, Sean. I’m not in the mood.”
“Protesting too much perhaps?” Sean couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face.
Liam wasn’t finding it funny at all. “I’m not protesting anything. You’re a moron if you think I’d go down that road again. End of story. I just want to get this place in shape to put it up for sale. The realtors are bugging me. Seems there’s a pending zoning change that’s going to make this area a hot market.”
Sean looked around. “Uh, Lee? Do you realize how much work there is? Those steps outside are hazardous.”