Chapter 3
Lila Mayweather serves us coffee in delicate china cups with a rose pattern around the edge. For the record, I’m not a delicate cup kind of guy. But when in Rome . . .
Seated in a high-backed chair in her dining room, Lila wears a tennis skirt, and her brown hair swings high in a well-groomed ponytail.
Everything about her is impeccable, down to the fact that she offers us cream in one of those specialty thingamajigs with the spout and then holds up pewter tongs for sugar cubes.
“I’m all good,” I say. I can’t remember the last time I drank coffee from anything but a paper cup or a mug with a broken handle.
But Lila’s home oozes class, and her remodel is one of the fanciest I’ve ever done. I have a feeling it’s going to open a lot more doors for the business. She and Natalie had hit it off from the start, and right now they’re discussing Natalie’s martial arts skills.
Lila drops a hand on Natalie’s arm, bare in her short-sleeved white blouse. “I’d love to take one of your classes sometime. I love to try new workouts.”
“I promise I will make you sweat,” Natalie says playfully, as she crosses her legs.
You can make me sweat.
What the fuck? The horny aliens are back, taking over my brain again.
“I’ve been wanting to learn self-defense. How long have you been teaching karate?”
Natalie is a high school karate champion. Yeah, like that’s not a major turn-on. Not the high school part—the karate. But if I let myself linger on the fact that she knows how to fight, the flag will be flying at full mast all day long.
Instead, I think about sugar cubes. And rose petals on cups. And matching china. Because I’m not Floyd.
They chat for a few more minutes and I drain the coffee, because prissy cup or not, I’m a coffee whore, and I can pound that delicious substance morning, noon, or night.
Lila sets down her mug, folds her hands in her lap, and says, “The reason I asked you both to be here today is I have an exciting new project. Craig is investing in some property, a beautiful new building, and I have carte blanche to redo the penthouse any way I see fit.” Glee seems to radiate off the woman, as she shares more.
“Naturally I thought of WH Carpentry & Construction first, and I’d love to see if you’d consider doing the kitchen remodel.
I’m simply in love with what you’ve done here, and I can’t imagine letting anyone else put his hands on my appliances. ”
I can’t even try to contain my grin, not just because of the unexpected innuendo, but because the work could help fund the new hires.
And the smile just stretches across my face because this would be the definition of a no-brainer.
I’m not really sure why she wanted to set up coffee to ask me to do more work.
Of course, I’m interested. I like work. I like building. I like happy clients.
“It sounds fantastic,” I say.
“Where is this lovely apartment?” Natalie asks.
“It’s on the twenty-second floor. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and it has a stunning view.”
“Sounds amazing. What do you have in mind for a start date?”
“I thought first I could show it to you, so you know what you’re working with,” Lila suggests.
I nod. “Definitely. Want to check it out now?”
She laughs lightly and shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t make that clear. You’ll need to take my private jet to get there.”
I swallow dryly and look at Natalie. She blinks at me. Unspoken words pass between us. I’m pretty sure they are all of the holy shit variety.
You don’t have to say private jet more than once for me to say when do we take off? So I do. I shrug happily. “When do we go wheels up?”
“Is the end of the week too soon? It’s on the Strip.
The building is near the Bellagio.” She brings a hand to her chest. The egg-sized diamond on her finger nearly blinds me as she says contritely, “Oh my, I should have asked. Would you be willing to work in Las Vegas? I’d be happy to pay you twenty percent above your New York fees for the inconvenience of working out of town and needing to find the right crew and workers and so on. ”
I think this woman might be a fairy godmother.
“I would be thrilled to check it out, Lila,” I say. “I’m sure we can figure out how to make it all possible.”
Lila flashes me a smile then tips her forehead to Natalie. “That’s why I thought of both of you. I know Natalie is vital to making all this happen,” she says, waving a hand in the direction of the kitchen, “and it seemed to make sense for you to go together.”
The last word echoes.
Together. Together. Together.
No one says a word at first, then the silence spreads. Grows heavier. Weightier.
I remind myself that we’ve had dinner just the two of us. What’s the harm in traveling together?
I clear my throat and meet Natalie’s blue-eyed gaze. I swear I see excitement in her eyes. “Natalie, would that work for you? For your schedule at the dojo?”
She nods at the speed of light. “Yes. And once we know the scope of the job, I’ll do everything I can to make this fit into Wyatt’s work.”
Lila nearly bounces in her seat. “Wonderful. I can even arrange for you to stay in a suite at the Bellagio. Would those accommodations be suitable?”
She’s serious. That’s the most incredible part of her entire request. That she thinks there’s a chance we’d find the Bellagio unsuitable. “Yes, I believe it would suit us just fine,” I say, in a serious tone. “Natalie, does the Bellagio meet your standards?”
“Considering I’m operating at more of a Motel 6 level, I think the accommodations at the Bellagio would make me break out in cartwheels,” she says to Lila, who laughs sweetly.
Cartwheels. Wouldn’t mind seeing Natalie twirling upside-down. Preferably while wearing a short skirt.
“Do you need a room together or separate?” Lila asks, her eyes darting back and forth between us.
And it’s almost as if we’re puppies tumbling on top of each other, racing to answer separate in the same firm tone of voice. So there can be no confusion, we both repeat it: “Separate.”
We chat some more, and when Lila excuses herself to make some calls, Natalie’s phone dings with a text. As she reads it, her expression falls. “Crap. Hector can’t make it in. Says he didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
Hector is the guy I was counting on to help me with the final details of the cabinet install today.
“Fuuuuuck,” I say, like it has ten syllables. I heave a sigh. “This is why we need to hire some full-time people.”
She nods. “We need some accountability. Regularity. He says he can be here tomorrow, though.”
I shake my head. “Won’t do. Besides, what if Sleeping Beauty doesn’t get enough shut-eye again?”
She wraps her hand around my forearm. “Let me call around and see if I can round up any other last-minute guys.”
Finishing a job on time is always my goal, and I can’t let Lila down. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it all. I’ll just stay late to finish.”
Natalie shakes her finger at me. “You’ll do no such thing. Working too many hours in a row is dangerous. I’ll help you.”
I give her a look. “Appreciate it, but Hector wasn’t going to be doing schematics or scheduling. He uses a drill and a circular saw.”
She arches an eyebrow then taps her chest. “Wait. After six months together, you think I can’t operate a circular saw? Or hammer a nail?”
“I know you’re capable enough to hammer a nail—”
She cuts me off and holds up three fingers. “I can fix a leaky faucet.” Two fingers. “I can knock a grown man to the ground with my bare hands.” Last finger. “And not only can I inhale habanero peppers, I can screw anything.”
My jaw drops. I can’t even respond. I can’t even speak, and I don’t think she’s aware of the double entendre because she’s focused on darting her hands to my waist, and holy fuck, that’s a mighty nice spot for them. If she could move them just a bit lower, my fantasies might come true.
Fine, I’ve dreamed of screwing her hard. Like that’s a fucking surprise.
She unfastens my tool belt, slings it around her waist, tightens the buckle, and proceeds to look hot as fuck.
Jeans. White blouse. My worn leather tool belt sitting low on her hips.
For the rest of the day I will be working next to her.
Please, please, please let the horny aliens inhabit the planet of another man’s mind today.
* * *
Temptation, thy name is Natalie.
“Where’d you learn to play with tools like that?” I ask as we work side by side.
She rolls her eyes at me then sticks out her tongue.
It doesn’t have the intended effect. She looks cute.
Just like when girls pull down their pants to moon you as some sort of insult.
It’s not an insult. It’s a win. Not that any girls have done that lately.
Come to think of it, no one’s mooned me in years.
Would be nice if Natalie broke my un-mooned streak.
“The same place you learned to play with dolls,” she tosses back.
“Oh, shots fired,” I say.
As she dips her hand into the tool belt for a screw, she says, “You think just because I’m a woman I’m not handy?”
I scoff. “That’s the last thing you can pin on me, sweetheart,” I say, and then I stop. Sweetheart? I don’t usually call her that. But, you know, it fits her.
She aligns the screw into the wood then says, “For your information, I learned from my mom.”
“Your mom, the surgeon?”
“Yeah. Funny thing is, surgeons play with tools, too. Scalpels, scissors, even, get this”—she pauses, and her eyes glint with wicked playfulness—“drills.”
I pretend to shudder. “Anyway, I’m impressed. I knew you could do the basics, but you’ve been keeping the extent of your handywoman skills a secret. Then again, you didn’t tell me for months you were a ninja.”
She laughs. “Not a ninja. Just a black belt, third level. And besides, I’m not trying to pretend I’m a master carpenter like you. I can get by, but I can’t hammer like Wyatt Hammer. You’re a master at hammering, right?”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Like I had any other choice for a career.” I grab a drill bit from the toolbox on the floor. “Anyway, you cool with going to Vegas?”
She nods. “Absolutely. I’ve never been. It sounds like fun,” she says, then quickly adds, “I mean, not that we’re going to sightsee. We have work to do.”
“Hey, I’m sure we can find time to ride the rollercoaster or Ferris wheel or whatever you want.
Play roulette, see a show. By the way, I meant it the other night when I said you deserve a raise.
If this new job comes through, I’m giving you a ten percent pay increase.
” I line up the cabinet door. She’s doing the same with the one next to me, when out of the corner of my eye I see the door start to slip.
On a fast track for her face.
In an instant, I’m behind her, my hands shooting out on each side of her, catching it before it swings wildly off the hinges.
“I got it,” I say, gripping the cupboard door in place.
“Shit. That almost whacked—”
“Your head,” I say softly.
She nods, her hair brushing against my cheek. That feels better than it should. Like, too good. “That would have sucked to have my face flattened by a cupboard,” she says, trying to make light of it, but she takes a deep breath, and her shaky voice gives her away.
“But you’re okay,” I say, since now’s not the time for jokes.
“Thanks to you. You moved fast.”
“Didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
My chest is sealed to her back. My crotch presses against her rear. My face is in her neck, and as I breathe in, the scent of Natalie floods my brain. I’ve never been this close to her, and she smells exactly like I’d expect her to. Fresh. Clean. Like sunshine.
Like I’m lying in a hammock in the yard, the grass newly cut, and she wanders over as the golden light of late afternoon halos her face. She slips into the hammock, yanks off her shirt, tugs down my zipper, and we fuck. A lazy, unhurried afternoon screw, with this woman who smells like sunshine.
I inhale her one last time, and her breath catches.
She makes a little sound, a soft oh, and that sound does something to me.
Makes me start thinking. Start wondering.
Start tripping down the dangerous trail of maybe Natalie’s hot for me, too.
Maybe I’m not the only one nursing some lust. I swear I feel a shudder move through her body like a ripple in a lake.
“Be careful,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if the directive is for her or me.
“I will.”
“No face pancakes on the job, okay?” I say, and now I’m the one trying to make light of things.
I lower the cupboard door to the counter and back away. She turns around, looks down, sweeps a lock of hair from her forehead.
Neither one of us says anything more as we finish.
I reason if I can survive a day with her working beside me, I can handle a weekend trip.
What could possibly go wrong on a business trip to Vegas?