A Good Man

by Rosanna Leo

  “Nick’s right, in spite of his tragic bedside manner.” Eli leveled a look at their younger brother. “You need to talk to someone about what happened. You sure as hell don’t talk to us.”

  “I did talk to someone. It didn’t help. Besides, there’s nothing more to talk about. Don’t you guys have something to do, other than nattering in my ear?”

  Once Eli and Nick finally left the room, Michael reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of acetaminophen tablets. So he got headaches here and there. Lots of people did. It didn’t mean he was on his last legs. He popped a couple of pills and chased them down with a swig of coffee.

  When everyone else had exited, Lacey glided over to where Michael was standing, her stiletto heels making no sound on the carpeted floor. She nodded at the pill bottle in his hand. “You’ve been popping a lot of those lately.”

  “Not you too. I have a headache, that’s all.”

  “What happened to us, Michael?”

  “Exactly what should have happened. We broke up.”

  “We didn’t have to.”

  “Lacey, how many times do we need to discuss this? You slept with your ex, Alistair. That’s sort of a deal breaker.”

  It wasn’t often he allowed himself to dwell on the night he’d caught them, on the sight of their tangled legs and sweat-moistened skin. And when he did now, he barely even felt the acid sizzle in his gut as it had in the moment. Once the initial indignation had worn off, Michael had realized he was only pissed because it seemed like the appropriate reaction at finding another man’s hairy ass in his bed.

  He didn’t really blame Lacey, although he questioned why she’d felt a need to go behind his back. He’d known deep down they weren’t right for each other. She might like to put up a fuss, but she knew it too. They’d grown tired of each other so quickly that he hadn’t even felt it coming on. Admittedly, the sex had been outrageous at first, but they’d been incompatible in every other way.

  “I realize I made mistakes, but even before my ex dragged his carcass back on the scene, you and I had stopped sleeping together.”

  He wouldn’t argue there. At the end of the day, their priorities were too different. Lacey loved gourmet restaurants, films with subtitles and boutique shopping.

  Michael wasn’t opposed to the finer things. In fact, if anyone tried to take away his favorite pair of work boots, there would be hell to pay. But, when all was said and done, there were just too many differences between him and Lacey.

  They occupied different worlds. Now he just needed to work with her and keep his cool, something he didn’t do too well.

  After what had happened to Jane Ashton, he hadn’t felt very calm or collected. He certainly hadn’t been in the mood for romance. His failure with Lacey was just as much a case of bad timing as it was incompatibility. “We rushed into things. This whole experience just proves we were never right for each other.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “Hell, yeah. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the swinging lifestyle.”

  “I’m not a swinger, Michael. I had a…lapse in judgment.”

  “Among other things.” The headache made Michael’s tone gruffer.

  “Look, no matter what you think of me, we still have to work together. That means you need to cut out the open animosity. You can’t arrive late to my meetings and treat me with contempt. Whether you like me or not, we are part of the same team.”

  “You’re right, but I agreed to do this show because it had integrity. Little by little, I see it changing. I don’t want any part of that.”

  “Michael, I have your back, but I also need to uphold network decisions. Our show is doing well right now, but it can do better. You can’t call it a day because the network vision doesn’t match yours. Think of the crew. People’s livelihoods are at stake.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint anyone, but I’ve built my career providing a superior service. If the network wants this to become Handymen, Kardashian Style, they’ve got the wrong guy.” He rubbed his temple.

  “Just have faith in me, okay? We’ll find a way to make it work, but surely you understand this isn’t just about hammering nails into the wall. We need to tug at the viewers’ heartstrings and share stories that will make them laugh and cry. We’re not just fixing homes, we’re changing lives.” She dropped her gaze and her long dark lashes swept over the tops of her cheeks. “And for the record, I acknowledge sleeping with Alistair was the worst decision of my life. Let me show you how sorry I am. We could be good together again. You know we could.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Oh, come on, Michael.” She moved closer, crowding his space. Her strong perfume made his headache flare. “Don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit tempted.”

  Anyone else might be. Lacey Styles was a sought-after woman.

  In truth, Lacey wasn’t a bad person, and he knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, not really. If he went back to her, he’d only end up filling her days with frustration. Michael, at thirty-six years old, knew what he liked and knew he wasn’t about to change. If a woman couldn’t accept him and his slouchy, ‘good old boy’ ways, then she wasn’t the woman for him.

  He extricated himself from her still-roving hands. “Lacey, I—”

  “You haven’t forgiven me. I get it. You’re still hurting.”

  “It’s not that I haven’t forgiven you. I’m just not interested anymore. I’m sorry. I need to know you understand what I’m saying. We can’t have this conversation again. It’s time to move on.”

  “Thank you, Michael. I think I’ve managed to absorb the message.”

  It had to be said. He moved to the door and held it open for her, but she dropped into one of the chairs. She turned her back to him and pretended to skim through her notes.

  Michael hated breaking anyone’s heart, but deep down, he didn’t believe it would take Lacey long to get over him. Michael exited the room and let the door shut behind him. Hopefully he’d also closed the door on an awkward chapter in their lives.

  Chapter Two

  Emily Daniels turned the key and unlocked the old house her grandmother had willed her a few months ago. She stepped inside the tiny foyer and held her breath. For a moment, she expected to catch the basil-infused scent of her grandmother’s tomato sauce, or even her grandfather’s homemade sausages, but only stale air greeted her. On a sigh, she dismissed her happy childhood memories and marched into the kitchen.

  Michael Zorn from Handymen would be here any minute and the perfectionist in her wanted to give the place another once-over. Not that there was any need. With renovations starting next week, no one would be concerned about specks of dust and a lack of air freshener. Still, it used to be her grandmother’s house, and Nonna Olivia always took pride in her home. She owed it to Nonna to revive the old place.

  Emily leaned on the cracked laminate counter and indulged in a little daydreaming. Once the Handymen brothers had tackled her grandmother’s house, her house, her business would finally take flight. She’d sacrificed a great deal to get to this point. If everything worked out, her family would be so proud of her.

  She glanced at her watch. Where was Trent?

  The familiar prickle of dread made her skin itch. It seemed to happen more and more when she thought of her fiancé.

  Trent had promised to be here for their first in-person meeting with Michael Zorn. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to him.

  Are you running late?

  He surprised her by answering right away. Running late for what?

  Her shoulders drooped. Not again.

  It’s the meeting with Michael Zorn. I told you the details last week.

  No, you didn’t. I would have remembered something like that.

  Yes, I did.

  Why did he always do this? She knew she’d told him. He’d been standing at the fridge, eating an apple. She’d made him enter it into his calendar.

  I don’
t think so, babe. This is the first I’m hearing about it.

  Gaping at her phone, Emily searched her memory bank. Had she somehow fabricated the conversation? Maybe they’d been talking about something else? She supposed she could have made a mistake.

  Impossible. There was no way she would have screwed this up. Still, sometimes Trent made her wonder if she was losing her mind by questioning her actions and denying the things she said. Some days, she felt like a puppy chasing its own tail.

  She’d have to handle that issue later.

  Well, are you coming?

  I can’t now. I have plans.

  Trent, this is important.

  Then you should have been clearer. Sorry, babe. Looks like you’ll have to meet with Zorn yourself.

  She was about to make a comment about him being selfish but decided it wasn’t worth it. Trent was stressed, but so was she. She’d never been on TV before. Surely he could put himself in her shoes for once. God only knew she’d been doing her best to step into his size elevens.

  After being fired from his high-profile chef’s job, he hadn’t been the same. Although she was in no position to diagnose him, she couldn’t help thinking he might be dealing with a case of depression.

  The Trent she’d met two years ago had been charming and funny. This new Trent withheld information and turned his sharp tongue on her all too often. In his kitchen at the Imperial, one of Toronto’s top restaurants, he’d been the emperor. His staff had kowtowed to him and never questioned his choices.

  In losing his job, Trent had tumbled off his mountain. With no staff to boss around, he’d turned his tyrannical attentions toward her. She’d assumed the role of flunky. Somehow she’d become his sous-chef. A feeble-minded one, if his occasional outbursts were to be believed.

  Emily would have to be patient. Once her business took off, once they became financially stable again, she was certain the old Trent would resurface.

  If he didn’t, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

  She scratched her chest to relieve the nervous itch there and looked at the ceiling to focus her thoughts. It would help if she knew Trent was still on board with the Handymen appearance.

  “Of course, he is,” she chastised herself. “We both signed on to do the show. He’ll be here when the renovations start. He knows how much this means to me.”

  Although, if he lets me down, it won’t be the first time.

  Emily ignored the voice of caution inside her, the one that had been putting up red flags ever since she’d spied the change in Trent. The first time she’d mentioned the soup business idea, he’d laughed. When she’d questioned him, he’d apologized, but it hadn’t felt sincere. Ever since, he’d shown his derision in countless ways. Joking about her ‘cute business’ to his buddies, all while continuing to live off the money she’d put aside to help her get started. He’d also insisted they postpone the wedding date. She understood that. He wanted to be settled and find work again, but married friends had assured her the timing would never be perfect. If they waited for the ideal day and time, they’d be waiting forever.

  Some days, she wondered if he wanted to get married at all. Most days, she wondered if she did.

  With a sigh, Emily chose to remain optimistic and concentrate on the positives. Putting Trent’s failings out of her head, she planned what she would say to Michael Zorn.

  She had written out her business plan years ago, but only recently decided to make it a reality. After taking the plunge and quitting her hellish corporate job, she’d created a company called From Scratch. Her product? Healthy, organic soups made from her own recipes and some her grandmother had taught her. Hoping to cater to busy families who wanted healthy options, she’d package her own spice mixes and even sell fresh soups from her own storefront. The products would have a down-home, rustic appeal. Comfort food that was healthy. She believed people craved a return to good, homemade food, or at least as homemade as possible, and wanted her customers to trust in her products.

  Unfortunately, not long afterward, Emily’s grandmother had passed away. A confident, passionate woman, Nonna Olivia had also been Emily’s greatest champion in the kitchen. She’d left her this house on Beatrice Street with the dying wish that her granddaughter renovate it and use it for her soup business. It was the perfect location, in the heart of Toronto’s trendy Little Italy, but the building was as fresh as peeling paint.

  Emily had worked her way through her savings after Trent had lost his job. Without enough money to renovate the old house on her own, she’d become desperate, searching for ways to keep her dream alive while helping her fiancé stay afloat.

  She’d spotted an advertisement for the Handymen show. To her delight, the producers had thought her a great candidate for the show. She couldn’t have been happier. Appearing on Handymen was the only way Emily would ever be able to get From Scratch off the ground without having to sell her grandmother’s house or her own body.

  As a plus, she’d get to meet those dishy Zorn brothers. She’d been glued to their show since its inception. Even though her fascination stemmed primarily from older brother Michael’s dark bedroom eyes and bulging biceps, she admired their work—the Zorn men and their large crew paid attention to detail and craftsmanship.

  She appreciated Trent’s meticulous grooming, but something about Michael Zorn’s scruffy exterior had her sighing. With his hint of a dark beard and unkempt black curls, he was the picture of raw masculinity. Michael wielded a saw as if it were an extension of his arm and some of Emily’s favorite moments on the show were when Michael leaned over to cut a piece of wood, his back rippling under his shirt.

  She had taken his image to bed with her several times, only the Michael in her dreams looked up from his projects and turned hungry eyes upon her. He’d put down his tools, still sweaty from his hard work, and remove his tool belt. He’d stalk toward her in his steel-toed boots…

  “Good Lord, Em.” She shook her head. “Lusting after a TV contractor when you have a perfectly good man in your life? When did you sink so low?”

  Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Michael Zorn wasn’t just a TV contractor. The local papers thought he was a hero.

  While doing repair work for one of his contracting clients, the owner of a home daycare, he’d stumbled into a violent domestic dispute. The owner’s ex-husband, angry about their split, had broken into the house with a loaded gun. He’d managed to shoot his ex-wife before Zorn tackled him. If the handyman hadn’t taken action when he did, the children there might also have been killed.

  But Michael Zorn had saved the day, as much as he could under the circumstances. The media had been all over him, despite his apparent reluctance to discuss his act of bravery. Zorn refused to look at the camera, and said, “No comment,” as he darted away from the reporters.

  Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she whipped it out. “Hello?”

  “Emily? This Michael Zorn.”

  She swallowed and realized her throat was parched. She ran her hand through her hair. “Oh. Hello, Michael.” Was it her imagination, or was his voice even deeper than it sounded on TV?

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way. The traffic is a bit intense at Spadina, but I’m almost there.”

  “That’s very considerate of you. Take your time. Thanks.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time Trent had actually called to tell her he was running late. Just last week she’d texted him, asking what he was up to, and he’d accused her of ‘keeping tabs on him’.

  She barely had time to keep tabs on herself, never mind another person.

  She ended her call with Michael and walked into her grandmother’s powder room. The old mirror still hung there. Emily checked her reflection, only to see that she’d grown flushed. Not only were her cheeks pink, the top of her chest was covered in red blotches as well. Her short hair stood up from where she’d run her hand through it.

  “For crying out loud.” All Michael Zorn had do
ne was call her on the phone, and she looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly debauched.

  Thank goodness she kept a brush in her bag. She tidied her hair, feeling nervous. The specter of guilt raised its hand, shaking its bony finger at her.

  So she liked the sound of the man’s voice. So what? It didn’t mean she was about to run off with him and have his lovechild.

  She splashed water on her face until she was content that her guilt no longer manifested. Emily then squared her shoulders, returned to the front room and awaited Michael Zorn’s arrival.

  Chapter Three

  Heat scored Michael’s face as he shook hands with the pretty blonde in front of him, although he didn’t understand why meeting her should make him erupt in mottling worthy of an embarrassed Dalmatian.

  Lacey had given him the basic details on Emily Daniels and her fiancé, Trent Andrews. He’d even seen several photos of them, so he already knew Emily was cute. Her smile had struck him as genuine and heartwarming. Anyone with eyes could see that Emily was attractive. Between her short blonde locks, green eyes and freckles, she could be the wholesome girl-next-door.

  Out of his peripheral vision, he took note of an ample bosom. He’d never lived next to any girls who appeared so effortlessly sexy as this one. Her faded jeans emphasized curvy hips. She wore a red plaid button-down shirt, the kind many men wore. It looked better on her, like the sort of thing a woman might steal out of her boyfriend’s closet.

  It made Michael wonder what Emily Daniels would look like wearing one of his shirts and nothing else.

  She has a fiancé, dimwit.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”

  She colored and grinned.

  “I mean, in person.” Heat streaked through his cheeks. Again.

  “It’s great to meet you too, although after all our emails, I feel as if I know you already.”