He’d been lying to her since the day they met.
He retrieved the blueprints, which he lazily scanned as he made his way down to the cabin. Neve really did have an eye for space. He’d die before he’d say it to her face, but he’d probably have swapped the kitchen sink to the far wall of the kitchen. It would’ve made more sense for the floorplan but also added significantly to the plumbing costs.
The cabin buzzed like a hassled beehive. Kay, who looked more like an eleven-year-old every time he saw her, worked alongside Finn, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Their faces masked, electric sanders blasting through the quiet.
Duke wondered what Neve had ordered for the countertop. Granite seemed like overkill, but laminate wouldn’t cross her mind unless they’d blown their budget completely. He imagined quartz or stone. He didn’t doubt for a minute she’d already taken the measurements from Finn’s completed woodwork and was having it custom built.
Inside the cabin, Duke ran a critical eye over the walls. He’d get to know them intimately in the next week. Braces were installed, the spray foam hardened. He spotted Neve but ignored her and the scurry of workmen to duck his head into the bathroom.
No more of him would’ve fit with the two men working within. Andrew Bale had completed his job, so plumbing was a go. Pipes stuck out of the wall, patiently waiting for someone to plug in the commode and sink.
The rubber membrane in the shower stall had been applied and a drain hole cut. The miniature concrete mixer Duke had noticed out in front of the cabin likely held the batch ready to go down next. Once the concrete had had time to cure, they’d put in the shower stall and hook up the water. Finally, another team would come in and lay the wall-to-wall tile Duke had picked out at the hardware store.
It’s all coming together. He had to smile as he left the men to their task. His grin fell away at Neve’s voice, raised and edged with real anger.
Duke joined the gathering and leaned against one of the newly constructed walls.
Neve’s ever-present clipboard rested on a jutted hip, a hip hugged by a pair of low-rise jeans. She wore a men’s loose white button-up, with the tails knotted at her navel. It was the sort of disheveled professional look many aimed for but few achieved. Her hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, a few wavy strands flying free. Even coming apart, she looked amazing and together. Designer to the core.
She all but growled at Vince. “Dedication is all peaches and cream until it’s not. This is a workman’s comp issue, Taggart. We’re liable. You can’t work with your injury. Find Duke and have him drive you to town. If you want to work, it’ll be with a doctor’s signature stating you’re healthy enough.”
The old man stood his ground with an equally fierce expression. “All due respect, my ankle’s been looked at.”
A vein popped out on her neck. “By a cow doctor. An unqualified cow doctor, I’d add.”
Vince shook his head. “I ain’t filing no paperwork, and I ain’t going anywhere.”
A moment of silence passed while Neve studied the determined geezer. She set her jaw. “Fine. You can work under one condition.”
The old man grunted and issued a challenge. “Name it.”
“You sign a waiver clearing Gavin and myself of all liability. You don’t want to play by the rules, that’s your call. But don’t come looking for the playbook when your ankle sours and you’re a damn amputee. Put plainly, there won’t be anywhere to send that bill.”
Unbelievably, Vince cracked a grin. “Deal.” They shook on it, Neve’s slender hand engulfed by his larger one.
Neve whirled away from him in a huff, muttering unintelligibly under her breath as she glanced at her clipboard. Her gaze came up and slammed into Duke. “You.”
He tried on a meek grin. “Me.”
“Good. Walls are ready for you. Since Vince is apparently all better, you’re free to get to work. A day early suits me fine, if you’ve got nothing better to do.”
Despite the impatient edge to her voice, Duke said what he’d determined to say. Instead of waiting for Neve to track him down and pry an explanation from his fingers, he’d give it willingly. “Actually, I wanted to talk.”
Her disinterested golden gaze swept over him before returning to her clipboard. “I’m not your wife or your mother. As far as I’m concerned, those are the only two women a man should ever explain himself to.”
Whoa. This didn’t come close to what he’d expected. “But you’re my friend, and I hurt your feelings. I feel I owe you something.”
The Neve he’d momentarily forgotten existed emerged then. She’d been playing nice, he recalled too late, keeping things light while they worked together. Apparently, that deal was off, Gavin or no Gavin.
She laughed, a light tinkling, mocking giggle, lazily letting her head fall back. Then she gathered herself and placed a pitying hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Duke. We’re not friends. Do you recall the conversation we once had about your usefulness? If you can’t bear to get your hands dirty, go play fetch with Darcy the Pit or something. Anything, really, so long as you’re not underfoot.” She laughed again, turning away from him.
The men working around them pretended very hard not to hear every word, but each syllable carried in the small area.
With nothing to lose, Duke caught her arm before she could move away. She’d embarrassed him. So what? Backing down now wouldn’t take the blush from his cheeks.
Besides, if Vince had the stones to stand up to her, surely Duke could muster the courage. “Why don’t you catch me up on everything? I’ve been outside the loop for five days now.” He’d kept tabs easily enough, but maybe something work related would entice Neve to forget she hated him. At least long enough for him to steer the conversation where he wanted it to go.
Neve tugged her arm free and walked toward the gaping space where they’d eventually install French doors. “Your professional interest warms the hard little nugget in my chest I assume is my heart.” She glanced back once, as if to see if he followed, and went through the gap, disappearing outside with a sly smile that made him nervous.
Duke trailed after her and stepped outside.
His head spun as he realized he hadn’t stepped down a set of steps into the backyard. He stepped onto a deck.
No one had ever mentioned a deck. Not in the blueprints, not in any discussions with Gavin over his wish list. Not even in random talk of all the possibilities for the cabin. It stretched from one end of the cabin to the other with a set of three stairs on the far end, giving yard access, and a simple railing enclosing the space. It was huge, nearly a third of the depth of the cabin itself.
He gaped at Neve.
She rested against the railing with a nonchalance that jabbed, no doubt as she intended.
“What in the hell is this?” He hardly recognized his quiet voice. “Gavin didn’t ask for this.”
“Of course not.” She had the nerve to look at him like he’d lost his mind. “It’s a gift.”
“A gift?” Indignant, frustrated anger bubbled up. “If you want to surprise a client with a gift, you give him a bottle of fine wine. You definitely don’t make expensive changes to his house without asking. Are you fucking insane? Gavin’s going to flip his lid.”
“Quite sane, thank you. You’re the one out of your depth and about to embarrass yourself.”
The way she took his anger in stride, coupled with her condescension, made him see red. “Me? Out of my depth?”
“Absolutely. Hell, I haven’t even told you about the hot tub yet.”
She was baiting him. She’d intentionally led him to the deck, which she’d managed to keep secret from him throughout its construction, choosing her weapon with uncanny precision.
But this went beyond some little head game. “You’ve taken Gavin’s money and made an unauthorized change to his property. This isn’t your house, your money. Who are you to make a decision like this without consulting anyone? Me, mayb
e. The consultant, handpicked by Gavin to be his ultimate decision-maker. So tell me, Neve, why the hell wasn’t I consulted on a thousand-dollar side project?”
She smiled with no humor and hard eyes. “Because you’re an idiot. For starters, Duke, you have no idea why you’re here. Just why is it so terribly important to Gavin that you signed on for this?”
Duke might’ve questioned Gavin’s motives once or twice, but it hardly had a thing to do with the topic at hand. However, something in Neve’s hard stare told him she might have more of an answer than she offered. “He trusts my judgment. Yet another reason why you should’ve come to me with this.”
“I’m not done, sweetie. Let me answer the rest of your questions.” She took a moment to readjust her feet, crossing her ankles, getting comfy. “You’ve wandered into the part of the story where you embarrass yourself, and I’m nothing if not helpful. You ask who I am to make the decision. The one paid to make it. I’m in my element, while you’re hell and gone from yours. For the sake of illuminating you, let’s spell it out. This isn’t a restoration. It’s the last time I’ll say it, Duke. You work with cemented guidelines. For example, before the late eighteenth century, no one knew what the hell a paisley pattern was, so strike that off the design board. Your choices are made for you. My job, now…I don’t think you could handle it. The freedom would undo your feeble little mind. In my world, everything is given up to my whim and interpretation. Gavin isn’t paying me for my carpentry skill or my way with a sewing needle, he’s paying me for my style. You’re right, this deck isn’t in the schematics. But I’m designing a retreat, and that is what I’ll build. Gavin will come home to his cabin after a long day of hiking or birdwatching, or whatever the hell he imagines he’s going to do out here, and have a Jacuzzi to slide into. To make this happen, I did this thing with my supplies and my budget called math. Obviously, it fits within both time and budget constraints.”
Duke rubbed his jaw and worked his brain to deny her point. She was right for the most part. Restorations were strict replications. Little freedom to be found, even in the choosing of patterns and materials. Not if he wanted to perfectly mimic the original.
Still, the deck was an outlandish expense, as was a hot tub. “I’m not an idiot, Neve, but you still don’t see how you’ve taken your authority too far.”
She snapped then, the cool façade of nonchalance falling away as she stepped toward him. She pointed an angry finger in his face. “You are an idiot, Duke. An idiot and a liar.”
Anger surged him forward, and it didn’t surprise him when she didn’t step back or even widen her eyes at a grown man coming at her. “I wouldn’t have lied if you weren’t such a horrible person who terrorizes everyone you meet! I lied because your last neighbor warned me against getting involved with you. Now who’s the idiot?”
The moment the words escaped him, he wanted to suck them right back into his mouth with a vacuum hose and pretend they’d never passed his lips. They were the truth, but a hurtful one he hadn’t intended to dish out in anger. His stomach flipped and his throat went dry.
“Now who’s the idiot?” Neve quietly posed the question like she truly wondered at the answer, head cocked slightly. Her hands were on her hips, and she swayed idly from side to side. The perfect blankness of her expression unsettled him. Then she met his gaze squarely. “Still you. Because only an idiot walks around with half a story in his pocket and thinks he owns the library.”
He struggled with a reply as she strode past him, down the steps and into the yard, where she disappeared around the side of the cabin. Duke cursed, hung his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
A big hand came down on his shoulder. Duke glanced up into Vince’s disapproving green eyes. “She’s right. You’re the idiot.”
“Of course. Neve’s never an idiot.”
“She’s tough.” Vince’s gaze swung toward where Neve had disappeared from sight. “Tougher than spit. But she didn’t deserve that. Now, I don’t much give a damn about whatever personal business is between the two of you, but I know it ain’t got no place out here.” He paused and squeezed Duke’s shoulder. “Besides, if you gotta dig that deep for ammo, boy, it’s because you done lost the fight.”
* * * *
Son of a bitch.
Neve didn’t know if she wanted to thank Duke for finally answering the question burning in her mind since discovering he was straight, or gut him for doing it in front of an audience.
She sighed, disgusted with herself and the scene they’d caused. She had to strong-arm respect from the men, especially Vince’s team while he was laid up with his injury. Every inch was gained with a pint of sweat and buckets of well-aimed barbs that made them think twice about questioning her authority. She couldn’t do the job without authority. And it wasn’t something people handed out—it was something she had to take. Always, every time, at every job.
How much had she lost with Duke’s little confession? How many loogies would she have to spit to gain that respect back?
At least she finally had the honesty she wanted. Late, but unshaded by niceties. She couldn’t be upset by what Duke had said, only the time and place he’d chosen to say it. He had no right to tell her how to do her job, but the bit about her being a horrible person…well, she hadn’t come this far in life by being delusional.
She’d pushed Austin away with her attitude. Hell, Gavin had probably been as straight as a west Texas highway until the day he’d met her. No, she wouldn’t be upset with Duke for calling her out on her personality flaws.
But her history with Ernie was something else. If Duke had bothered to get her side of the story, he could’ve saved himself two years of trouble.
The guy who’d been her neighbor before Duke had been a smooth player who’d talked Neve into a committed relationship—her last, actually. She’d agreed to be exclusive. Ernie hadn’t kept his end of the deal, continuing to see a few tarts on the side. He’d deserved everything she’d thrown at him in the aftermath. But for all everyone’s opinions about her, all she’d ever had in her arsenal were words. She’d never brought home guys to make Ernie jealous, hadn’t scorched his clothes, slashed his tires, thrown pots and pans at his head. She had her spiked tongue, a vibrant, extensive vocabulary, and a knack for keying in on weak spots.
But that was all. It was all she’d ever had. Who the hell was anyone to begrudge Neve her armor?
What had been the cost for Duke to pretend he was gay for years for the sake of avoiding her? What could Ernie have possibly said to him?
Watch it, she’s mean. Yeah, she’ll call you names. Better steer clear, pal.
Amazing. Utterly amazing. Two years, and she’d never questioned. She’d taken him at face-value. At his word. Damn. Just when she’d thought she’d learned her lesson about trusting people.
“Neve, wait!”
She squeezed her eyes shut. No matter how calmly she wished to confront Duke, the fury simmering in her belly flared at the sound of his voice. She knew herself. She knew her caustic insults came from a deep well of resentment. She’d annihilate him. Whether she willed it or not, her mouth would take over, and she’d shred him into ribbons without ever laying a finger on him. He needed to go away, and he needed to do so for both their sakes.
“Neve, please. Let me apologize.”
She kept walking. “An apology won’t save you, Duke. The deal’s off. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be so fucking miserable you’ll run home on foot.”
“Please.” He caught her hand, forcing her to a sudden stop.
Neve almost tripped but caught her balance in time. She whirled on Duke and shoved against his chest with both hands.
With eyes almost comically wide, he fell onto his ass in the dirt and grass. He gazed up at her in astonishment.
“I’m like a museum exhibit, Duke. Look, don’t touch, and try to keep your voice down.” She strode away from him, resisting the urge to kick dirt in his stupid face. Why
did men think a simple word fixed everything? An apology didn’t unsay a biting insult—she should know—anymore than it could un-screw a girl at the gym. She didn’t often bother with them. She took care to say exactly what she meant and mean every word she said. That was exactly the problem. If she blew up, every syllable she uttered would be utterly, painfully true.
“Neve, stop.”
With gritted teeth, she did. “I swear, if you say you’re sorry, I’m going to hit you right in your colossally hairy mouth.”
He came around to stand in her path, this time careful to avoid touching her. “Please, listen. What I said, it’s only partially true. Yes, Ernie told me about what happened between you two after you broke up and warned me to avoid you. But I swear, you weren’t the reason I played the gay card. At least, not to begin with. Ernie brought his sister along when he showed me the loft. She kept eyeballing me, and I was still hung up on Candice. I told them both I was gay. Ernie laughed and quit telling me horror stories about you, and his sister rolled her eyes at me.” He shrugged like the whole story confused him. “I’ve been gay ever since. It seemed, at the time, like the answer to staying single and out of the market, avoiding getting too close to anyone.”
Neve puffed out her cheeks. “You’re still married, Duke. Candice called herself your wife and said she wasn’t signing any papers.”
Duke’s grin had an edge she knew wasn’t for her. “Oh, we’re divorced, all right, no matter how creative Candice wants to get with her introductions. The papers I sent—”
She didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Even if he had his reasons, she was talking to a man who’d invested astounding diligence and perseverance into the pursuit of his deceit. Two years. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Every joke about his clothes, every stupid comment about turning him straight—she burned with mortification. “Isn’t this exactly the sort of involvement you pretended to be gay to avoid?”
He glanced at his feet and toed a spot on the ground. Then his dark blue gaze met hers. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
To the Studs Page 15