2. Anthony
Chapter 2
Anthony
T HE WATER HEATER isn’t doing its job again.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Jim warned me I needed to replace it when he was up here last week, but I shrugged him off. How much could the man really tell from a five-second glance at the slightly rusting cylinder that looked like it’d seen better days?
Apparently, a lot.
I add it to my mental list of improvements that need to be made to the space I’m now living in, begrudgingly putting it at the very top after taking a bracingly cold shower. Toweling off, I step out of the makeshift bathroom and make the trek across the wide-open loft to the area I’ve designated as my bedroom. I pull on my usual uniform of jeans and a Hall’s Balls black T-shirt. Some socks, a pair of boots, healthy application of deodorant, and a two-minute teeth-brushing session later, I’m heading downstairs to the main portion of Hall’s Balls and dialing Jim.
“Awful early for a chitchat,” he answers, the knowing I told you so grin evident in his tone.
“Water heater’s busted,” I grunt in response. Why bother with pleasantries with the town’s hardware store owner?
“You around today?”
“Jim. I’m always around.” There are days when I don’t even step outside, never mind that the building sits just off the boardwalk and I could have my feet on the sand in literal minutes if time allowed.
“We’ll get you fixed.” He hangs up without another word.
Good man. I appreciate the whole interaction, especially the part where he didn’t make me exchange pleasantries. He’s one of the few who seems to understand that a person only has so much to say in a day, and if I wanted to talk, I would.
I check my watch. Time to polish the bowling balls and oil the lanes. There are only four of them, but they require nearly the same amount of attention as the rest of the place combined. Granted, there’s only so much that the arcade area needs, and Harrison helps with nearly every other aspect of the venue.
The man himself appears around an hour later, after I’ve tended to the lanes and restocked the bar.
“What’s up, boss?” He grins and adjusts his ball cap.
“You need a haircut.”
“Says the man with sleeve tattoos,” he quips. “Besides, the ladies like it a little unruly. Gives ‘em something to hang on to.” He gives a devilish smirk as he sidesteps me.
I roll my eyes. Harrison’s been working here almost since the day I opened. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t annoy the absolute shit out of me, though.
It’s well past lunchtime when Darcy Belle saunters in, stopping to talk with Harrison before making her way to where I’m stationed behind the bar.
“Mr. Hall,” she chirps, her cherry-red lips widening into a knowing smile that gets under my skin every time.
“Anthony,” I bite out.
She shrugs, the movement serving only to move her blouse up and down against generous breasts. Breasts that I have exactly no business looking at.
She is a child.
Well…she’s not a child, but she’s around Harrison’s age, and whatever age that is, it begins with the number two. Considering my age begins with the number four, I think it’s a safe bet that I should keep my eyes the hell off her tits.
Along with the rest of her.
“Mr. Hall suits you.” The way it comes out, it seems as though she’s had an entire conversation with herself about what, precisely, I should be called and decided that her way—which is the exact opposite of my way—is the winning option.
My jaw ticks.
“How do you want it?” she continues.
I blink.
“The water heater, Mr. Hall.” She smirks. “Your place of business is open, and I assume you don’t want my guys delivering the water heater through the arcade to get to your loft door. Is there another way? Outside stairs or anything?”
How is it that on anyone else, a bandana wrapped around her hair would look absolutely ludicrous, but on Darcy, it looks perfect? She’s like a twenty-first century Rosie the Riveter. I’d never paid too much attention to her until she started coming in to bowl, and suddenly, there was no escaping her. “Stairs outside,” I agree.
She smiles brightly. “Excellent! We’ll get started.” With that, she swivels away from me, hips swaying in denim overalls that I swear were made specifically for her.
I force my gaze elsewhere.
Half an hour later, I find myself upstairs, unable to handle people in my space without supervision.
Darcy. Darcy is people. The guys aren’t any big deal, but Darcy can’t be left alone up here. I can’t explain why. But she can’t.
“Mr. Hall.” She raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Just wanted to see progress.”
“We’re installing a water heater, not painting a masterpiece. But speaking of painting, when did you move in?” She walks into the wide-open loft, casting a dubious gaze across its expanse.
I don’t like her tone. “Why.” No need to sound curious when I’m not.
She smiles brightly, eyes crinkling, and when she speaks, it sounds as if I’ve unknowingly walked right into a trap. “Because I think I should handle the renovation.”
“What renovation?” To be honest, the place needs about a million years’ worth of work. It’s simply too overwhelming to think about. I moved into the loft because I was tired of paying rent when I knew there was a perfectly acceptable area up here, and I own this building. Not outright, but still.
“The renovation you clearly need.” She walks farther into the sparsely furnished space. “I’ve got a ton of ideas on how to turn this into a gorgeous, livable home.”
“It’s already livable. I’m up here, aren’t I?” I grumble.
She twirls back to me, her aquamarine eyes glittering. “Aw, Mr. Hall. Do we need to talk about the difference between living in a space and loving the space you live in?”
The hell is she talking about?
She pivots and gasps, walking to the windows. “Holy shit, this view! Sorry. I mean, this view is amazing! How do you not have the entire place configured to maximize it?”
I move toward her, my eyes locked firmly on the incredible view—the one outside, not her body. Massive windows overlook the ocean and the white strip of sugary sand just in front of it. There are days when it almost looks fake, like now, when cotton candy clouds dot the cobalt sky and seagulls swoop and dive for their meals.
See? It’s so beautiful that it turns me into some kind of poet, talking about cobalt skies and shit. Or maybe Darcy’s got me befuddled. Wouldn’t be the first time. I clear my throat. “The view is exactly why I bought the building. That, and the fact that it was right on the boardwalk.”
She turns to look up at me, and I catch a whiff of her scent. Cherries, maybe? Jesus. I do not need to be wondering about this. “You’ll let me do it? I’ll keep costs low—this will be my first time doing something like this so I’ll discount my services, but of course I can’t give you any kind of deal on materials—and?—”
“Stop.” I don’t think twice about interrupting her.
She does, but her eyes flash. She did not appreciate being told what to do, that’s for damn sure.
I don’t care. Not when it’s about something this important. “Do not ever—and I mean ever —discount yourself or your expertise for anyone. Why would you do that?”
Her head jerks back, as if I’ve slapped her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Consider this a lesson in business.” Though, my God, the other kinds of lessons I could teach her. “Never offer a discount up front. Your time is valuable. Your expertise is worth something. Don’t undervalue it.”
A slow, sexy-as-fuck grin spreads across her face. “Why, Mr. Hall, are you saying I’m smart?”
I fight the urge to huff. “I’m saying there’s no way I’m paying a discount.”
“So that’s a yes?” she says hopefully.
“I—” Shit. Did I just get played? I honestly have no idea. “You know what? Fuck it. Sure.”
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands.
Do not look at her tits. Do not look at her tits. You are not a creep. Do. Not. Look. At. Her. Tits. My fists are clenched so tight it’s a wonder my nails haven’t drawn blood on my palms.
“Darcy!” A man’s voice hollers from near the water heater. “Think we’re all done here. Wanna come check?”
Her eyes slide to me. “Wanna come check?” she repeats. “Since, you know, that’s what you came up here for in the first place?”
Brat. She’s impossible. And loud, mouthy, and generally a whirling ball of undeniably sexy chaos any time she’s downstairs bowling. How the hell did I just agree to let her into my home?
Sighing, I wave for her to lead the way. And this time, I manage to keep my eyes to myself.
This will all be fine. I need the place to be renovated, that much is true. Did I need it done by someone who drives me crazy? No.
But it’s fine. It’ll all be fine.
Just fine.