Chapter Thirteen
I manage to avoid Reid for almost a week. Not entirely, of course. I see him coming and going. I see him sitting in the space they’ve turned into something of a Green Room. He’s got a chair like the rest of us, and he sits and knits. I’m oddly fascinated with him when he’s got his head down, fingers moving. I’ve started to notice he stretches his hands from time to time, and it looks like he’s in pain.
My father had trouble with arthritis in his hands. My mom taught me how to massage them when they felt locked up. He was a stubborn man, so he often refused to leave the office or whatever site we were working that day.
I am so tempted to take Reid’s big hands in mine and show him some relief.
But only because it’s the nice thing to do.
“Just explain what you did today.”
Patrick nods to the cameraman.
“Well, I woke up,” I begin.
The cameraman is named Mike, and he chuckles. “She caught on quickly.”
“She’s made of sarcasm, like the other one. The one with the computers,”
Patrick says with a shake of his head. “All right, Harper, could you please explain the trouble you had today and why it’s important.”
I have gotten more comfortable in front of the camera. Especially when we’re talking strictly about work. They sometimes try to slip in questions like “how is it going working with the Dorsey brothers?”
That’s when I freeze up, but this is the last shot of the day, and everyone seems eager to go home. It’s late, and I’m looking forward to having a quiet workplace. I’m looking forward to some quiet because when Reid finds out we’ve hit a big pause in the kitchen, he’s going to… Well, I have no idea what he’s going to do. He’s kind of been a rock through everything. This might not freak him out at all.
I face Patrick, who stands slightly to the left of the camera. We discovered this is the best way for me to handle these piece-to-camera scenes. “So we got a surprise when we opened up the west side wall of the kitchen. According to the records with the city, Banover Place was rewired in the eighties. Now as all of my Gen X relatives will tell you, the eighties were a free-wheeling time, and apparently that applies to following code. Whoever was responsible for the rewiring not only didn’t bother to take out the old knob and tube wiring, they left it live. Knob and tube was used in homes in the States from…the late nineteenth century through roughly 1940. Think first-generation electricity. And it’s sitting there still connected while the updated lighting is as well. It’s all connected. Like a string puzzle. Except this string puzzle could potentially shock the hell out of you, and it’s a big old fire hazard. So it has to be dealt with.”
“Can you deal with it?”
Patrick often asks questions during the sessions, but I’ve been told it’s to prompt me for more material since his voice will be edited out. So it’s up to me to in some way repeat the question so the viewer knows what I’m talking about. “This is the kind of electrical work that requires a specialist. Molly is a wiz with modern electricity, but she’s never worked with knob and tube since she wasn’t even born when it was phased out. I’m pretty sure her grandma might not have been born. I mean this stuff is old, and given how it’s wired, we need someone with experience dealing with it. We need to basically take everything out and start over again.”
“What’s the cost we’re looking at?”
This was the bad part. Besides taking time, it’s going to take cash to fix this problem. A lot of it. “Depending on whether we find it in other parts of the house—and I have no reason to think they properly wired the rest of it—we’re looking at rewiring a twelve-thousand-square-foot house. At the very least I estimate a hundred K. It’s more than enough to throw the whole project into chaos. This is the kind of news no one wants to hear.”
A groan goes through the small crew.
Patrick sighs, and the assistant director calls it for the night. “Well, you are a fount of happy news, Harper.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much in the job description.”
There’s a reason people hate contractors, but we have to be realistic. “I already talked to Ani. She’s going to discuss it with Luca and their mysterious buyer.”
I do not ever mention the mysterious buyer on camera. That’s a no-no. We actually don’t talk about the fact that there is often a buyer when they start filming, but we’re running with a skeleton crew right now, and they all know the truth.
“Tomorrow is going to be a fun day,”
Patrick says with a huff. “I’m going up to the office. Everyone wrap up. We’ve got an eight a.m. call.”
I step back into the kitchen as the crew starts to put away the equipment for the night.
It’s getting late, but it’s not like I have anything better to do. I look over at the shelving units that were delivered today. They’re lovely. White Oak. Very high end and will go beautifully in what we’re calling the great room.
So why is it here in the kitchen? The great room is on the ground floor or what would have been known as the parlor floor. The kitchen is on the garden floor. I have zero idea why these shelves are in here. I need the space to work because I have to take down a whole lot of walls to make it easier to start the rewiring. Ani simply shook her head when I told her and asked me to start the process.
Part of the process includes not having a bunch of insanely heavy boxes in my way.
I pick up the delivery invoice from the large island we’re replacing in a couple of days. Maybe more now. The white marble has already been delivered and is waiting for use, taking up more space I’m going to need to get into the walls. It was signed for by one of the crew who I’m going to have to talk to about putting things where they’re supposed to go. The elevator isn’t working—another thing I need to plan for. So these will have to go back up the stairs. Somehow.
It’s actually a lot of shelves. Is Reid planning on filling every spare inch of wall space in the great room with floating shelves? There’s art we’re supposed to use. Now that I study the paperwork, I can also see it’s not all white oak. There’s several boxes of walnut with a live edge. These two things do not go together, and I have no idea what Reid is thinking. I especially have no idea since there’s a third shipment of cherry shelves. He might be putting floating shelves in every single room for all I can tell. I only know they don’t belong here in the kitchen, and I have to do something about it.
I need some help, though. These boxes are super heavy.
I was hoping I could turn on some music and spend a couple of hours tearing out walls for the electrician who’s coming in tomorrow to see how bad the situation is. I know it sounds weird but it’s soothing. Especially alone, with no one asking me for directions or telling me they found a nest of pigeons in one of the upper bedrooms. True story. But it’s going to have to wait because the space is too crowded.
I make my way up the stairs, and I’m surprised at how quiet it is. Although I should have known. The crew can get the hell out of here fast when they want to, but usually Patrick hangs around for a long time after work is over. I make my way to the ground floor and turn down the main hall.
No one. It’s perfectly quiet. I sent my own crew home hours before since they don’t have to sit around and wait for the director to be ready.
I do not. If I go home, I have to deal with calls from my mother about the upcoming holiday season, and wouldn’t it be lovely if the company helped out the family? Wouldn’t paying for a car for Cousin Steve be a Christmas miracle?
I’m the Grinch.
I’m weary, working fourteen-hour days because I can’t trust Paul to do the right thing for the business. It’s almost like he wants it to fail so he can come in and save it from himself. And then likely figure out all kinds of ways to milk the company for his own good.
The real problem is no one else sees anything wrong with it. I’m being forced to save them from themselves, and it’s making me tired.
I want a night of peace and quiet where I tear apart stuff and go sleep on the air mattress I set up in the butler’s pantry. Is that too much to ask?
I’ll wake up, rush to get back to my place, take a shower, down some coffee, and then get back here pretending I’m a normal person who didn’t stay up working until long after midnight, got four hours of sleep, and is back for more.
Where did everyone go?
There’s the sound of the keycard on the door pinging and it comes open. Through the stained glass I see a tall figure moving to the inner doors.
Reid. I would know those shoulders anywhere. He strides through the inner doors, looking far more casual than I’ve ever seen him before. He’s in track pants and a hoodie. How does he make it look so good? He glances around, and his eyes laser focus in on me. “What the hell is this about the electrical costing a hundred thousand dollars? In what world does it cost that much? What the hell are you trying to do to me, Harper?”
Well, that is one way to greet me. When I saw him I kind of thought maybe he was here to talk. Like a real person. He is definitely not going to help me. It looks like there’s no one who will, so I should get started.
“This is a twelve-thousand-square-foot home. Yes, it can certainly cost a hundred thousand dollars to rewire it. If you have a problem with budgeting, talk to Luca.”
I turn and stride back toward the stairs. He probably came here to look for them anyway. They often stay late, but tonight they have some kind of party at the embassy. He obviously didn’t get the memo.
The week had been okay up until now. We sniped at each other from time to time. We sparred over a couple of choices that weren’t practical, but for the most part we’ve ignored each other. We hold to the whole “we’re coworkers and don’t have to hang or even like each other.”
So why the minute I realize we’re alone and he’s in a mood does something light inside me? Something angsty and twitchy. Something that keeps building between us, that wants let out of this cage we put it in.
We need some distance, so I keep walking.
And he keeps following.
“Tell me you didn’t do this to get back at me.”
Reid sounds way more irritated than I’ve heard him in forever. It makes me realize he’s been handling me.
I don’t know that I want to be handled. I turn as I reach the garden level. “You think I went back in time? Am I the one who installed the original wiring, or did I pop back to the eighties and make the terrible decision to leave them all live?”
“You know damn well you could take that wiring out yourself,”
he accuses. “It would add time, but it wouldn’t take a hundred thousand out of my budget when the new buyer is completely insane with her demands.”
That was a him problem. “I am not trained to handle this kind of work. I work on modern systems. As you’ve pointed out so often, I work on big ugly boxes. Guess what big ugly boxes don’t have? Knob and tube wiring. I suppose I could try, and then my almost certain death by electrocution could solve your problem. Or I could burn the whole place down. Then I’m sure you would get all kinds of publicity. Think about it, Reid. You could do PSAs on how you should never work with poor people.”
“For fuck’s sake, Harper. Stop trying to turn me into some robber baron bad guy. This is a project we’re both working on. We need to make it successful, and taking a hundred thousand dollars out of the budget is going to hurt,”
he argues.
“Then do it yourself.”
I stalk into the kitchen. “That should save money, but I’m not risking anyone on my crew so you can have more money. And you think you’re not a robber baron. You know you would fit right into this place. The Gilded Age was great for millionaires. Not so good for anyone who wasn’t. Send in the poor kid. If she gets electrocuted, we’ll replace her.”
A low growl comes from his throat. “Not what I’m saying. Damn it, I’m handling this wrong. I came looking for my brother. I should have turned and walked away when I saw you because there’s not one person on this planet who sends me into beast mode the way you do.”
“I don’t care.”
His words hurt, but it’s not like I’ve never been told I’m annoying. I don’t get it. “I’ve left you alone. I do what you tell me to do.”
“Sure you do.”
“Unless it’s going to harm the integrity of the structure.”
“Oh, I’m not sure how the wallpaper for the powder room harms the integrity of this building.”
“I’m trying to defend her dignity, too, and that wallpaper is a crime against my eyeballs.”
His fists clench. “That wallpaper was designed from artwork that was originally in this home. I fucking selected it for you, damn it. I didn’t even select it. I had it made. The art is now in a museum, but I wanted to tie some elements into the history of the house to please you. But there’s no pleasing you.”
He did what? I stop, my eyes widening. “You did that?”
His head shakes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll chuck it out and go with my first instinct.”
I know exactly what he’s going to say. “No shiplap.”
He gets right in my face, bending his tall frame down so he can stare into my eyes. “Yes, shiplap. Guess what. I don’t care what you think.”
“You never cared what I think.”
He huffs. “Why the hell have I invited you to every design meeting I could? Why did I change my plans for the marbled hallways?”
“So no one dies.”
I don’t back down at all. “It was impractical. It’s slippery.”
He points my way as though I’m making his point for him. “This house isn’t about practicality. It’s about design, and I’ve let you seep into my art.”
I groan. “Yes, I’m your muse.”
“You’re the damn devil on my shoulder, and I’m fucking sick of ignoring you.”
I feel my eyes narrow. “Well, you do an excellent job of it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not. I can’t ignore you, and I can’t do what I want to do.”
He stares for a moment and then curses and takes a step back along with a long breath. His fists are still clenched at his sides like he doesn’t quite trust himself.
I’m not sure I want to know what he wants to do. I’m worried it’s what I want to do, and it will ruin me. “It doesn’t matter. You know what. Do your worst. You want to turn this place into some beige McMansion you could find in any suburb, do it.”
He turns, and I can tell I’ve pushed him over some edge. He’s a little predatory as he glares my way. “Which one is it, Harper? Am I too erudite, hence the murdering marble, or too bland?”
“You can be both.”
I hate the me he brings out. I’m not this person. Not in any way. I’m the patient one. I have to be because I work with men all day. I can’t lose my temper or I’m emotional. I can’t show irritation or I’m probably on my period. I have to be gentle when I instruct the men on how I want a job done because I might hurt their egos. I’m never, ever mean. Except with him. “You can be a boring, erudite prick, and guess what, you can haul these ridiculous bland floating shelves right out of my kitchen.”
“Why would I do that? They go in here. They’re to be installed on either side of the range.”
I feel my jaw drop. “To what purpose?”
“Because they will look beautiful and properly showcase the family’s dining ware.”
I shake my head and point to the space. “First of all, are you only allowing basketball players to buy this place? Because I’m fairly tall and I can’t reach where the third shelf would need to go.”
“That’s what they make ladders for,”
he says between clenched teeth. “And the higher shelves are for dishes they don’t use every day. The lower levels are for everyday China and barware. It’s going to look beautiful.”
“But there are no standard cabinets in the kitchen now.”
His eyes roll. “I assure you the shelves provide space for all of it. Appliances not considered attractive enough to display can be stored in the pantry.”
He has obviously never, ever had to deal with an actual family. “And where do the sippy cups go, Reid?”
He stops for a moment, and I worry he doesn’t even know what a sippy cup is. “No one who lives in this home will ever use a sippy cup. And while we’re at it, no, they won’t save the plastic cups from Yankee Stadium or have a single red Solo cup. And I desperately want to kiss you right now. Like I need to walk away this second or I’m going to do something that will send our director right back to whatever spa he recovers at.”
Thank god it wasn’t just me. I know I should tell him to run, but I’m physically incapable. I’m standing in front of this man I loathe, and I can’t think of anything except getting my hands on him. “I still hate you.”
His eyes flash and he moves in, my words not stopping him at all. “And I still think you’re a stubborn, annoying harpy. You are not my type.”
“And you aren’t mine,”
I hiss back.
Then I can’t think straight because his mouth is on mine, those big hands of his on my hips, pulling me close. The kiss immediately goes wild. The flash fire that’s been building between us can no longer be denied. He kisses me like I’m water and he’s been alone in the desert for days. Eternity. His tongue surges in, finding mine, and we fight for dominance. Every stroke of his tongue goes straight to that part of me that has taken over all thinking. I no longer care that this is a mistake. This will almost certainly come back to haunt me in the worst way, but I don’t care. I do care about getting his shirt off and feeling his warm skin against my hands.
I tug at his T-shirt, and he briefly lets me go so he can drag it over his head and toss it away.
“Now you.”
He nods my way, and his words come out on the grunty side.
I like caveman Reid. I pull my T off and let it drop to the floor.
He moves back in, towering over me in the sexiest way. “We should go to my place.”
That’s not realistic. “You have two minutes before my brain takes over again. This is a terrible idea, and if we’re going to make this mistake it’s going to be in the next five to ten minutes. No one’s here. They’ve all gone home. Kiss me now or we can go back to screaming at each other about floating shelves.”
He growls my way. “Annoying woman.”
But his fingers sink into my hair, and he practically inhales me. I wrap myself around him, luxuriating in the feel of his body against mine. So long. It’s been too long since I had this thrill of lust. If I’m honest, I never felt this way. Never been swept up into anything. I think things through. I do the right thing.
This time wrong feels so right.
When he tugs on my hair, I let my nails dig in slightly, rewarded with a hiss and a nip to my earlobe that I swear goes straight to all my pink parts.
His hands go to the waistband of my jeans, and he unbuttons the fly. I manage to somehow toe out of my boots before he drags the pants right off me. I toss them away, and I hear something crash. My head turns, and his hands come up to bring my attention back to him.
“Not now. This now.”
I love the fact that he seems to mostly cling to one-syllable words when he guts lusty. It makes me forget about whatever we broke. Makes me forget about anything but him and the way his hands brush over my skin like he needs to touch every inch of me. “This now.”
There will be time enough for me to pound my head against a wall tomorrow. I’ll do it anyway, so I’m going to have the pleasure he’s promising me now.
Somehow everything seems to go soft and wild. Like the world isn’t as hard edged as it always seems. While he’s definitely into this, there’s something gentle in his touch. And then he’ll nip me like he wants a taste. It’s a wild combination I’ve never felt before, and it’s got my head spinning.
His hands cup my rear, and he lifts me up. “I wanted this from the moment I saw you. Never wanted anything the way I want this.”
He sets me on the kitchen island. It’s huge and his pelvis aligns perfectly with the edge. Like someone designed it for a throwdown when the couple who owned the place didn’t want to go up two flights of stairs to get to a bed.
He moves between my legs, nestling against my core, and I can feel how much his words are true. “Tell me you want me.”
There’s no place for lying here. We can do that later. I won’t even lie to myself here. “You know I do. You know I wanted you the moment I saw you, and then I discovered what a massive ass you are. And I still want this.”
“We need this,”
he says on a low groan.
“Maybe if we have this, we’ll be able to think straight again.”
Well, maybe I lie a little to myself. Or maybe I’m finally being honest and this is absolutely what we needed all along.
I gasp as his hand finds my breast, thumb rasping over the rock-hard nipple. He traces the areole and then leans over, kissing his way down my torso, starting at my neck and pressing his lips every few inches until he licks his tongue right over that desperate nipple.
I groan and my back flexes, offering him more and more.
He takes it. He takes everything I’m offering him. He plays with my breasts, sucking on my nipples and lavishing them with affection. He kisses his way down my belly, right to the band of my undies before slipping his thumbs under them and tugging them off me. They join the rest of our clothes.
“Lie back,”
he commands.
“Reid, it’s…”
I begin, ready to tell him it’s chilly.
He gets to his knees and brings my ankles up so my feet are placed on his shoulders and I’m open and utterly vulnerable to him. Also, I’m suddenly not cold. The granite underneath me can’t touch my inner temperature, which is skyrocketing because he’s looking up my body, our eyes locking even as he lowers his mouth.
“Is there something you wanted, Harper?”
He stops, his mouth hovering over my clitoris. I can feel the heat of his breath, know he’s so close.
I know when to not complain. “Nope. I’m good. You can proceed.”
That arrogant smirk is back, and it’s sexy as hell. “Good. I was hoping that was the case since I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I fucking laid eyes on you.”
When his mouth covers me, I can’t think at all anymore. Not about anything but the most important—how this man can make me feel. Powerful. Desired. Needed. Over and over he lavishes pleasure on me. I press myself against his mouth, wanting that strong tongue to lead me where he’s promising.
He puts his thumb right on my clitoris and spears me with his tongue, sending me over the edge.
Before I can come down from the high of that orgasm, he’s rolling a condom on and pulling my legs around him. “Harper, tell me it’s okay.”
I like that he’s not taking this first time for granted. Later in a relationship things get established but now, he wants to know I consent. I shouldn’t, but there’s zero way I’m not letting this man have me any way he wants. “Yes.”
The word seems to work some magic on him, and he leans over with a smile and kisses me. “You won’t regret it.”
I’m pretty sure I will, but the feel of him thrusting inside me is all I care about right now. I’m so aroused the tight fit doesn’t bother me. He thrusts in and drags out, pulling me up so my arms can go around his shoulders.
“I want you close,”
he whispers. “I want to be able to kiss you.”
And he does. Even as he hauls my hips closer and thrusts inside me, his tongue rubs against mine. We’re as close as we can get, and it feels fabulous. It feels warm and right. I hold on as he finds the exact right spot, and this orgasm has me gasping for air and digging my nails lightly into his shoulders. He tightens around me and loses control. I feel the moment he comes and hold him.
And then it’s over, but instead of stepping away and letting the regrets begin, he eases me down and rests his head against my chest. “Now that was what I needed. And a great way to send this countertop off. What were they thinking?”
I can’t help but laugh and wonder what I have gotten myself into.