Chapter 10
D ylan didn’t bother opening her eyes, not when she heard the long-suffering sigh, or when she felt the large hands wrap around her ankles and pull her free, or when those same hands picked her up and threw her over an equally large back.
She simply hung there, groaning incoherently to herself as he carried her.
She didn’t know where he was taking her and she didn’t care. Not when every muscle in her body protested in agony whenever she so much as breathed. A few minutes later, she was carried up a small set of steps and nearly groaned when she was hit with cool air and-
“Where did you find her?” came the bored question as she was unceremoniously dumped on the leather couch that she’d been eyeing earlier.
“She was in the fetal position between a pallet of concrete and a stack of two-by-fours,” Tristan said while Dylan lay there, struggling to find the willpower to roll over onto her side.
“And the men?” Quinn asked as Dylan gave up trying to roll onto her back and settled for turning her head so that she could glare at the large bastard that questioned her skills.
“Took turns keeping an eye on her, ensuring that she didn’t get within fifty feet of the toolshed again,” Tristan said, dropping down on the chair in front of Quinn’s desk, effectively blocking her ability to glare at the large bastard.
With a grumble, Dylan slapped her hands on the leather couch and pushed herself up on trembling arms until she was sitting up, which was immediately followed by slumping over onto her other side, wiggling her way to the other end of the couch until she was able to rest her chin on the armrest, and once there, she commenced with the glaring.
“What did Eric find?” Quinn asked while he sat there, absently drumming his fingertips against his desk while he glared right back at her.
“Blackwood Manor should have been condemned years ago,” Tristan said after a slight hesitation, making her stomach drop. She’d spent her entire life focused on one goal, restoring Blackwood Manor, and now, she was about to find out if it had all been for nothing.
“What’s the verdict?” Quinn asked, keeping his gaze locked on her.
“The foundation needs to be stabilized, the framing needs reinforcement, the roof needs to be replaced, the building needs to be secured, and asbestos and lead paint need to be removed, but it’s doable.
He’s going to certify that it can be repaired.
She can start renovations as soon as he files the report,” Tristan said as Dylan lay there, releasing a shaky breath as she felt herself begin to relax.
“Were you able to confirm that they removed the historical designation?” Quinn asked, never taking his eyes off her.
“Complete removal to allow demolition,” Tristan said as she watched Quinn absently nod.
“How much is the land valued at without the house?” Quinn asked, looking lost in thought while he sat there, considering her for a moment as she struggled not to panic.
They had a deal, Dylan reminded herself only to feel her stomach drop when Tristan said, “Five acres untouched on a private lake? Easily one point five million, probably two. If we divided the lot, we could build six houses.”
“That would give us a profit of around five million dollars,” Quinn murmured, watching her as she tried not to panic.
“What do you want to do?” Tristan asked while Dylan lay there, swallowing hard as she thought about what would happen if he went back on this deal.
Getting the house up to code just so that she could renovate it later would cost her close to a hundred thousand dollars, money that she didn’t have and demolishing it would bankrupt her.
She’d be forced to sell it and-
“What do you think? Eight months?” Quinn asked, absently drumming his fingertips against the desk while he watched her.
“From start to finish?” Tristan said, thinking it over. “It’s doable if we get the right crew on it.”
“Only men who have experience restoring historical homes,” Quinn said, still glaring at her for some reason.
“That narrows it down to only Bradfords,” Tristan said, sounding thoughtful.
“Even better,” Quinn said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Pick your crew and file the permits as soon as the certification is complete.”
“Do you want me to handle that other thing?” Tristan asked as his gaze flickered to her.
“I’m still deciding,” Quinn said, never taking his eyes off her.
“Sounds good,” Tristan said as he made his way to the door while Dylan lay there, sighing in relief and-
“I have a few questions,” Quinn said, looking completely relaxed as he made his way to the water cooler and took his time selecting a cup while Dylan lay there, trying not to panic as she watched that muscle in his jaw begin to tick, letting her know that he was pissed.
“And those would be…” Dylan asked, letting her words trail off even as her gaze flickered to the door that Tristan just went through while she debated the odds of making it to the door before he gave in to a lifetime of fantasies and finally spanked her ass.
“This and that,” Quinn said casually as he finished filling the cup with water and dropped a straw in it while Dylan lay there, willing herself to get up and make a run for it while she still could, but her body refused to cooperate.
“Perhaps we could have this conversation with witnesses? Preferably somewhere without the ability to bury my body in an unmarked grave?” Dylan suggested with a hopeful smile.
“I think we’re good where we are,” Quinn murmured as he took a knee in front of her and placed the straw at her lips.
Thankful for the short reprieve, Dylan parted her lips and wrapped them around the straw, gently suckling on it and nearly groaned when the cold water started making everything better as her gaze once again flickered to the door and-
“How did you hide your plans for Blackwood Manor?”
-decided that it was time to make a run for it.
Quinn wasn’t exactly surprised when Dylan suddenly went still or when she swallowed hard, mumbled, “I’ll just see myself out,” or even when she moved to make a run for it only to end up rolling off the couch, hit the floor, and released a pained groan.
For a moment, he simply knelt there, taking a sip of water as he debated his options only to decide to take pity on the little pain in the ass.
With that, he finished the rest of the water, tossed the empty cup in the trash and reached down and picked her up before tossing her over his shoulder with a murmured, “Why don’t we take this to a secondary location? ”
“I’d really like to make a run for it now,” Dylan mumbled sadly against his back.
“I’m sure you would,” Quinn said as he made his way to the door, pausing to shut off the lights before he headed outside.
“Why does everyone keep manhandling me?” she asked, releasing a heartfelt sigh as he made his way to his truck.
“Why are you a pain in the ass?” Quinn countered as he opened his passenger side door and carefully dumped her onto the seat.
“It comes naturally,” she said, making his lips twitch as he helped her sit up only to sigh when she slumped over onto her side.
“Something occurred to me this morning,” Quinn said conversationally as he carefully belted her in.
“Oh?” Dylan murmured after a slight hesitation.
“Several things in fact,” Quinn said, double-checking that she wasn’t going to roll onto the floor before he closed the door and made his way around the truck only to sigh when he opened the driver’s side door to find her struggling to release the seatbelt so that she could make her escape.
When she saw him, Dylan stopped mid-struggle to clear her throat and slap a hopeful smile on her face as she said, “You were saying?”
“I’m curious about something,” Quinn said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the truck.
“What are you going to tell Brooke?” Dylan asked, trying to change the subject, and for the moment, he allowed it.
“About?” Quinn asked as he pulled out of the driveway and began making his way towards the back roads.
“B.T. Construction working on Blackwood Manor,” Dylan said, moving to sit up only to think better of it and settled for curling up onto her side.
“She doesn’t get a say in what jobs B.T. Construction takes,” Quinn explained, turning onto the road that would take them home as something occurred to him. “What the hell were you thinking when you made that deal with Brooke?”
“I had a feeling she was going to screw me over, but I really didn’t have much of a choice, not if I wanted to live,” Dylan admitted with a heartfelt sigh.
He opened his mouth only to mutter, “Fair enough,” knowing that her father would probably lose his fucking mind if he found out what she was up to.
Besides the historical designation that would have fucked her over, making it harder for her to get permits and requiring her to hire specialists that would have charged her a fortune, it would have taken her years and everything that she had to renovate the house and that was only if she didn’t run out of money first.
She would have been lucky to break even in the end.
When their fathers first started out, they got fucked over a few times, lost money on some bad investments, only to almost lose everything on a house like Blackwood Manor.
It had taken them three years to renovate the house and that was only because their permits kept getting delayed and rejected at every turn, forcing them to drain their savings to keep up with the loan and the demands the city put on them in order to get the permits.
By the end, they’d burned through their savings, lost money on the house, and were forced to start over.
It made them determined to make sure that none of their children made the same mistake.
“How did you make sure that your father didn’t find out?” Quinn drawled as he pulled into his driveway.
“Luck?” the little pain in the ass said, sounding really fucking hopeful that he would drop this, and considering what he found out earlier, he really couldn’t blame her.
“And the fact that you moved out of your apartment and sold everything a few years ago so that you could couch surf and crash in my trailer?” Quinn asked as he threw the truck in park and-
“Ow.”
-fucking sighed when the little pain in the ass tried to make her escape only to end up rolling onto the floor.
“I had to save money,” Dylan reluctantly admitted when he opened his door and climbed out.
“What else?” Quinn asked as he opened the passenger side door.
“You already know about the designs and blackmail,” Dylan said as he reached down and grabbed her.
“I also know that you’ve been breaking into Blackwood Manor so that you could create your designs, but I’m not sure how long you’ve been doing it,” Quinn said as he pulled her free and threw her over his shoulder.
“I’d rather not answer that for my own safety,” Dylan admitted as he carried her towards the front door.
“And I’d rather you stop pissing me off,” Quinn countered as he unlocked the front door and carried her inside.
“I can see why that would be a problem,” Dylan mumbled as he pulled a chair out at the kitchen table and carefully placed her on it.
“Are you going to tell me?” he asked, only to immediately bite back a sigh when she slumped over onto the kitchen table.
“Are you going to let me live?” she countered against the kitchen table, making his lips twitch.
“I’m debating it,” Quinn said as he made his way around the kitchen table and sat down across from her.
“Seven,” Dylan admitted on a heavy sigh.
“You’ve been breaking into Blackwood Manor since you were seven?” Quinn asked, hoping like hell that he’d misheard her.
“I was practicing my burglary skills,” Dylan said with a heartfelt sigh as she turned her head so that she could watch him.
“You were practicing pissing me off,” Quinn bit out, tempted to throttle the little brat as he sat there, thinking of all the things that could have happened to her in that house.
“That, too,” Dylan said, making him wonder how much he actually knew about the little pain in the ass.