Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
NASH
My plans to avoid Rory were completely shot to hell. Since my conversation with my dad yesterday, I’d worked through every possible scenario. Had crunched numbers, looked at the year’s projections and my bank account balances, and had come to the same conclusion. I was fucked.
Unless I figured out a way to dramatically increase the number of clients in the pipeline and the revenue from them, I wouldn’t be able to buy King Construction. That meant that not only would my family legacy be gone, but I could find myself working for a shitty operation doing shitty work. Or worse, out of a job completely.
Last night, after too many beers at The Willow Tree, I’d been spinning my mug around on the bar top, trying to figure a way out of this mess. It’d been in the haze of alcohol and commotion that the idea had come to me.
Every time I went into the bar, someone stopped me to comment on the joint work Rory and I had done in the place. There was no denying it—our personalities might not mesh well, but our work sure as hell did.
And that was how I found myself easing down the long dirt road that led to Rory’s new home. I hadn’t been to Old Man Morris’s place for years—not since my pops had replaced the front porch. That had been almost two decades ago, and well before Miss Rory Haven had taken up residence.
I rolled to a stop in front of the dilapidated house. Not exactly the lap of luxury I’d pictured Rory living in, but I had to give her props for holding her ground and not giving in to her daddy. If Richard Haven had his way, she’d be living on his land in a brand-new house he’d wanted me to build for her.
The Havens had more land than they knew what to do with. Mac already lived on the property—along with Will, before she’d moved in with Finn a couple months back—and Daddy Haven had wanted Rory to join in the tradition.
Apparently she’d put her foot down, because after Richard’s initial inquiry for a quote, I hadn’t heard anything more about it. Much as I could’ve used the paycheck from a job like that—now more than ever—I couldn’t say I wasn’t happy about how things had turned out. I hated the idea of Rory swapping out one controlling man for another, especially when she was perfectly capable on her own.
The front porch obviously hadn’t been worked on again since the last time I had been there with my pops. I climbed the steps, careful to avoid the rotting boards. Music poured from the open windows of the house, and the rustic screen door banged against the frame in time with the breeze.
“Son of a bitch ! This stupid fucking thing! Just stay . Put .” Rory’s voice came from inside, but instead of going on in, I just stood there, stunned stupid.
The only time I’d ever—and I meant ever —heard Rory swear was the night last year when she’d been lit at The Willow Tree. The night she’d found out exactly what kind of man her ex-husband was and exactly what kind of extracurriculars he’d been getting up to. The night she’d told me how attractive she found me.
“Listen to me, Aurora Jane,” she said. “You’re gonna put up this godforsaken thing, and you’re gonna do it all by yourself. Why? Because you don’t need any damn help. And because it makes for a gorgeous design aesthetic and will turn this shithole into a semi-decent home, even if puttin’ it up is akin to slappin’ lipstick on a pig. ’Sides that, there’s no one else to deal with this shit but you , so suck it up, buttercup.”
I grinned at her little self-directed pep talk, amused by the fire in her tone. I pulled open the screen door, irritated that she hadn’t locked up. She shouldn’t be out here in the middle of nowhere with the doors open so just anyone could walk in. I was proof enough of that.
The house had a fairly open floor plan, which meant I could see her from where I stood just inside the door. She teetered on an old wooden chair in what I figured would soon be the dining room. Holding up a long piece of crown moulding in one hand and a cordless nail gun in the other, she was attempting to keep it level before nailing it in. Seamless crown moulding meant it was a two-person job—no ifs, ands, or buts about it—but damn if Rory wasn’t dead set on doing it all by herself.
“Need some help?” I asked.
Rory screamed, spinning around to face me and letting go of the piece of crown moulding in the process. I jerked forward, though there was no way I could get there before it crashed to the floor.
Holding the nail gun at her side, she clutched her chest with her other hand, her eyes narrowed on me. She lifted the nail gun and shook it in my direction. “I’d think you, of all people, would know better than to scare someone holdin’ one of these. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you with it! I don’t know why you’re dead set on givin’ me a heart attack, but I’ve had just about enough of it.”
She stepped down from the chair and bent to retrieve the fallen moulding. “And, no , I do not need any help. I’m a perfectly capable, independent woman who can take care of herself. If that tiny thing on HGTV can rehab houses all by herself, I can certainly put up some stinkin’ crown moulding.”
I pressed my lips together to stop a grin from spreading. She’d just sworn like a sailor, and now that she had company, it was back to stinkin’ ? “You sure about that? ’Cause if you did need help, I’ve got some time in my schedule, and I’d be willing to offer my services.”
Ignoring the daggers she shot me through angry eyes, I strolled over and held up one end of the moulding, pulled out a small level from my tool belt to double-check that everything was straight, and gave her a nod.
She narrowed her eyes at me, her hesitation over accepting help as obvious as if a pink elephant were perched in the corner. I just wasn’t sure if it was my help in particular she wasn’t fond of receiving, or if it’d be the same if anyone had offered.
Finally, she lifted the nail gun, pressed it against the moulding, and pulled the trigger.
We didn’t speak as I continued to hold the moulding up while Rory nailed it in place, even when she stood so close, I could smell the hint of floral coming from her hair. The Rory I saw in public was enough to haunt my dreams, but this Rory? She was going to haunt me every single moment for the rest of my life.
Not only had I never heard her swear, but I’d never seen her less than perfect. She’d always been made up—gorgeous, sure, but beautiful like a glass sculpture you didn’t want to touch for fear of mucking it up.
Now, though, her face held no hint of makeup. Her hair was piled on her head in some kind of knot, and she wore a pair of the tightest workout pants I’d ever seen, showcasing her ass in an obscene way. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, she also wore my shirt, tied at the back in deference to our size difference.
“Tell me, princess,” I said, my throat rough, my cock thickening behind my zipper. She was so close, her tits eye level with me as she stood on the chair, and I had to physically restrain myself from closing the distance between us. “Would your impeccable manners dictate that you strip off your shirt if I asked for mine back right now?”
She smiled down at me—the fake smile she used on everyone else, and I absolutely hated that she tried to pass it off on me. I’d take her anger over her smiles any day of the week so long as what she gave me was real. “Sorry, sugar, but I’m currently usin’ all my manners to keep from kickin’ you outta my house, so the shirt’ll have to wait.”
A slow grin spread over my mouth at her sass. “You gonna respond to my proposition, then?”
She stepped down from the chair, going to get another piece of the moulding she’d already apparently trimmed down to size. Goddamn if it didn’t get my dick even harder with the evidence that she knew how to use power tools. Especially when everything about her screamed diamonds and champagne.
“Does it look as if I’m livin’ like royalty here?” she asked, sliding her chair over to another wall and hefting the moulding over her head. “I can’t exactly afford your services.”
Without a word, I followed behind and propped up one end of the moulding, once again ensuring it was level for her. While her attention was focused on the task, I allowed my gaze to slide over every inch of her, from her feet encased in sneakers, to the long line of her legs wrapped up in black lycra, to the tool belt hanging off hips so thick I wanted to take a bite out of them. Jesus. Christ. A sliver of her stomach showed as she shot another nail into the moulding, and I wanted to taste that too. Wanted to know what her skin smelled like…what it felt like on my tongue.
By the time I spoke, my voice was husky with need, but I didn’t bother trying to hide it. No sense in doing that after I’d run my mouth the other day and told her exactly what I thought of her. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
She whipped her head around to face me, her cheeks flushed and her breathing coming faster than normal. “Nash King,” she said, except it came out feathery and light instead of forceful like she’d no doubt intended. Straightening her shoulders, she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re implyin’, but I’m certainly not that kind of woman. So I’ll thank you kindly, but the answer is no.”
I wondered if saying those words had been as hard for her as I imagined. As much as I wanted to, there was no denying the chemistry between us. No denying the way she looked at me—had been looking at me for months. Like I was the juiciest steak on the menu and she hadn’t eaten in a week.
“I know exactly what kind of woman you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re strong, Rory. The kind of woman who won’t take a handout. Who wants to get ahead on her own.”
She looked taken aback for a moment before snapping her mouth closed and giving a short nod. “That’s right. So you can understand why I won’t be able to accept your offer.”
“And what if my time came in exchange for yours?”
Her brow furrowed. “How so?”
“You’ve been workin’ on some homes in town. Doin’ some designs for a few people.” For free , which I thought was dumb as hell, but I wasn’t about to bring that up now. “And word’s gettin’ around Havenbrook that you’re the one to call if someone wants the best.”
She stood a little taller at the compliment. “That’s nice to hear, but I’m afraid I’m still not followin’. And I’ve gotta pick up the girls from Momma’s soon, so you’ll need to spit it out.”
“Ever think about why it is you feel comfortable snappin’ at me like that when you wouldn’t dream about doin’ it with anyone else?”
A flush spread over her cheeks. “Perhaps it’s because you’re the only one who irritates the livin’ daylights outta me.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, princess.”
She huffed, holstering her nail gun before crossing her arms. “Are you gonna get on with it or not?”
“I’m proposing a partnership.”
Her brows lifted. “A partnership of what?”
“After I finish up Miss Norma’s remodel, I’m startin’ on Mrs. Gene’s. She’s demanded I get you in to work with me on design.”
Rory’s mouth fell open, shock replacing her anger for a moment until she seemed to catch herself. “Oh. Well, that was awfully nice of her, but I’m just not sure I’ll have time. It’s already a juggle since the girls don’t start school till next month, and I’m workin’ at town hall three days a week. Not to mention tryin’ to get everything here squared?—”
“We can work around your schedule for any client work. And I can pull whatever shift you need over here to help in exchange.”
She snapped her mouth shut and stared at me for long moments, her eyes broadcasting her fears so clearly, they might as well have been thought bubbles above her head. She was scared to death about working so closely with me again. There was no denying the sparks that had flown between us when we’d both been working together on The Willow Tree. And now that she was newly divorced, there wasn’t anything she could fall back on as an excuse.
Except her sister, or that she used to babysit me, or the fact that she was damn near royalty here in Havenbrook and the only thing royal about me was my last name.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she finally said, her voice and posture so proper, even while she looked like a home-improvement warrior with sawdust on her chin.
“You do that, princess. But let me know soon. Mrs. Gene isn’t gonna be happy when I tell her you’re playin’ hard to get.”
She huffed, her fists clenching at her sides. “I am not playin’—”
“What’s with all the upside-down glasses all over in here?” I lifted my chin to the cup in the corner of the dining room. I’d seen two others in random places on my way in.
“Nothing,” she said far too quickly.
“No?” I strode over to the one in the corner and squatted, which was when I saw a tiny black dot encased beneath the glass. I reached out to lift it.
“Don’t!” she yelled, then cleared her throat and brushed a hand down the front of her shirt. “If you must know, there are spiders under those glasses. I don’t, um, believe in killin’ ’em, so I’ll deal with ’em later. I just haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Spiders.”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
I hummed, standing to my full height and taking in her stance. She was jittery, her eyes continually darting over to the glass next to me as if to make sure the spider hadn’t somehow figured out how to escape. “I could?—”
“Oh, shoot !” she said with a glance at her watch before she spun on her heels to snatch her purse from the side table in the living room. “I’m late to pick up Ava and Ella. I gotta run. Which means you do too.”
She practically shoved me out of the house, the screen door slamming behind us both as she ushered me down the front porch steps. “You’ll have to forgive me for bein’ rude, but I?—”
“Love bein’ rude to me?”
“Now you’re just testin’ my patience.”
“One of my favorite pastimes, princess, it’s true.” I pulled my keys from my pocket and spun them around my finger. “You’ll let me know about my proposition?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” She nodded, then hustled over to her car, an old Honda sedan that’d seen better days and was a far cry from the Land Rover she used to roll around town in. With one last glance at me over her shoulder, she slid into the driver’s seat and didn’t wait for me to leave before she sped off down the long driveway.
I watched her go until the dirt had settled on the road. Then I pocketed my keys, climbed the steps of the porch, and let myself into her house. I was really going to have to talk to her about locking up. While Havenbrook wasn’t exactly a den of sin, I didn’t like the idea of her all the way out here, no neighbors as far as the eye could see, without using a lock to keep her safe.
But I could do that some other time. First, I had some spiders to take care of.