Chapter 19 #2
I’m not entirely sure who the hell they all are—bodyguards, assistants, coordinators, stunt doubles, whatever other titles they go by on the Left Coast—but I recognize Nolan Montague immediately, even though we’ve never met in person.
Glancing at Kiki, I notice the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she locks eyes with the director.
I don’t miss what that appreciative gaze means.
So this is her type. That tracks. A rich powerful guy who also happens to be my boss.
Fucking wonderful.
Mr. Montague strolls straight toward Kiki, his hand extended. “You must be Kiki Wilder. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Your designs are spectacular. You’ve brought this house to life, and the job hasn’t even begun yet.”
It’s as though a switch flips inside her, as Kiki straightens her shoulders and meets his compliments head-on. “Mr. Montague, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
It’s uncanny. The same voice that was hesitant and small with me only moments ago is suddenly confident and strong, and she’s having zero issue navigating in those ridiculous heels.
One hell of a mask, sweetheart.
“I really appreciate you entrusting me with this project,” Kiki continues, motioning toward me. “But Eddie’s the real miracle worker here. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Montague’s gaze shifts to me. “How are you doing, Eddie?”
His grip is firm, strong. But so is mine. “Good, Nolan. How are you?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Kiki’s surprised look at my use of Nolan’s given name, but hell, that’s what the man told me to call him.
Seems I made the right choice as Nolan grins, shooting a finger gun at me. “Good man. You remember.”
I shrug. “I have a good memory.”
“A memory like a damn elephant,” one of my guys calls out, earning a round of laughter across the room.
“Always a good thing,” Nolan concurs. “Well, since I’m always traveling, my assistant has offered to stay here in town. She’ll keep me abreast of everything, hopefully not get in your way, and maybe even raise some spirits on sight. Par for the course, isn’t it, Romy?”
A tall blonde at the edge of the entourage slips her phone into her bag, flashing Nolan a quick wink before heading our way.
So this is his assistant? She’s a sun-kissed, gorgeous California type, probably not a day over twenty-five.
Yeah. My guys are going to have a field day flirting with this one.
Romy crosses the room with an easy confidence, wearing heels that make Kiki’s look tame by comparison.
She pulls Kiki into a quick hug before stepping back with a bright smile. “I’m so thrilled to meet you.” Then she turns to me, plants her hands on her hips, and grins. “All right, big man, I’m ready for the grand tour.”
Oh boy. This one’s trouble.
I gesture toward the living room. “Right this way. But be careful where you step.”
I lead the group through the house, winding around discarded furniture and half-finished repairs.
Nolan asks a myriad of questions throughout the tour, bouncing between me and Kiki as we move from room to room. The man seems to know exactly what he wants, and he’s got a solid grasp on period architecture, which always helps.
The more they know, the less I have to teach them.
By the time we circle back to the foyer, Nolan is damn near bursting with excitement.
“I have a very specific method in which I want this renovation done,” he states, sweeping his hands around like he’s directing a movie.
Can’t wait to hear this.
“I want this completed in steps.”
So far, so good, considering that was my plan all along.
“I want each room completely finished. Soup to nuts. There are fifteen rooms in the house, so let’s start with six—living room, dining area, kitchen, main foyer, a bedroom, and a bath.
And we’ve officially gone off the rails.
Kiki and I exchange a look.
What the hell kind of nonsense is this guy spouting?
I step forward, my hands raised and my voice low like I’m approaching a growling dog. “To be honest, that’s not how we structure a restoration. Normally, you tackle each phase across the whole house—plumbing, wiring, sheetrock. It’s the fastest, safest, and cheapest way to do it.”
“Cost isn’t the issue,” Nolan cuts in. “I’m aware it shies a bit from the norm, but I want to see progress on my visits.
I don’t want to walk into a house that’s all studs and sheetrock dust. I want a finished bathroom, a finished bedroom, a finished nook.
I want to watch this house come to life piece by piece. ”
Low murmurs ripple through the crew, which Nolan picks up on immediately.
He pins me with a sharp gaze. “It is possible, isn’t it?”
Translation: If I can’t do it, he’ll find someone who can.
I run a hand over my jaw, chin lifting once in acknowledgment. “Anything is possible. It’s just going to take longer to go room by room like that.”
“I don’t care about that,” he replies, waving off my concerns. “This is my new home. An investment. A legacy, perhaps.”
Whatever you say, boss.
“One last thing.” He starts toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, then pivots on his heel and points at Kiki. “You need to be here every day.”
That gets my attention.
“What for?” I demand. “My guys don’t need a babysitter.”
Nolan chuckles. “Of course not, but you two are a team. You created this vision together. I don’t need Kiki on a ladder swinging a hammer, but I need her present every day, because great art requires collaboration.
You don’t make a film without the full crew there.
You need everyone—your actors, your cinematographers, your designers, your director. That’s how you capture the magic.”
Is this man really babbling on about magic? Christ almighty.
“Unless…” Nolan runs a finger along a dusty windowsill, then rubs the dust away against his thumb. “You have a problem with Kiki being on-site every day?”
Every pair of eyes in the room swings to me. Kiki’s included.
Do I have a problem? Yeah. A big one.
Seeing her today is hard enough. Now I’m supposed to see her every day for God knows how long? Hell, with Montague’s parameters, we might be here until next Christmas.
But instead of throwing a fit, I click my tongue against my teeth and offer a curt nod. “It’s fine by me, so long as Kiki’s okay with it.”
“I can absolutely be here,” Kiki jumps in.
How considerate of her. Of course she can.
Which means I’m officially screwed.
“Wonderful,” Nolan beams. “The chemistry between you two is obvious. Just look at the designs you submitted. This is going to work out perfectly.”
Doubt that, buddy.
But there’s no time to argue.
Nolan’s phone rings, and he’s off like a shot to the next room, talking to God knows who about God knows what, probably tormenting some other contractor across the country, completely oblivious to the fact he just turned my fragile facade on its head.
Kiki steps beside me and gives my forearm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve got this, Eddie. It’s going to be okay.”
I force down the tightness rising in my throat, a mess of emotions twisting through me.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “We’ll make it work.”
Even if my sanity doesn’t survive it.