The Contractor's Risk

Chapter 1

“You should totally fuck his boss,” Alex announced from where she lay sprawled on my bed, a hot honey peach margarita in her hand.

Unpacking clothes from a moving box, I rolled my eyes. “I’m not fucking his boss.”

“Why not?! It’s not like Jean-Carlo is a dog.

The man is gorgeous, single, aaaannnddd once he’s enslaved by your pussy, I bet you could have him fire that bastard and his walking advertisement for condoms.” Alex downed her drink, her blue eyes brightening.

“Oh! You can fuck him on Jeremy’s desk and film it!

Maybe ‘accidentally’ send it to Jeremy as a please-fuck-off-on-a-rusty-spike present. ”

I chuckled, my traitorous brain picturing it.

Jean-Carlo, in one of his perfectly tailored suits, his belt open, fly down just enough for his cock to be out.

Me, bending over, hiking up my dress… Shaking my head, I shoved the image away.

“You know I’m not going to do that. And get back to work.

” I pointed to the box she was supposed to have unpacked an hour ago.

“I know,” Alex sighed dramatically, getting up. “Still, we have to find some way to get even with the man-ho and his slutty cunt.”

“She’s pregnant, Alex,” I reminded her. It was the one reason I hadn’t gone to Jeremy’s ultraconservative company’s HR and told them their accountant was screwing another coworker, most of it happening on company time.

“Ugh, fine.” Alex placed her hands on her hips, pouting. “I’ll figure something out.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Leave it alone, Alex.”

Alex went to argue then stopped at the look on my face. “So what time is he-whose-nameth-we-shall-never-speak bringing Lock home?”

Jesus, why did everyone seem to shorten my child’s name all of a sudden? “Lachlan,” I corrected her, checking my watch. “And any minute now.”

“Pshhtt,” Alex snorted. “How is Lock taking all of this?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Surprisingly well. He’s happy about the move. You know he hated the kids at his school, so he’s optimistic that he’ll meet kids ‘on his level’.” Understatement of the century.

Alex laughed, breaking down the box she’d finished emptying.

She knew my struggles with my son. The kid was crazy smart, and a smart-ass, partly thanks to his maniacal godmother.

He’d had a hard time making friends in his old school.

They wanted to play “little kid” games, and that just didn’t work for him.

I’d given up pointing out he was the same age as those “little kids” when he was in third grade.

“You can’t blame my godson. He clearly inherited my excellent taste in playmates. And the kids at his school were total tools.” Alex disappeared into my walk-in closet that had been a huge selling point when I’d bought this run-down Victorian manor, putting my shoes on the uneven shelves.

Moving here had been a massive step for me.

I’d been born and raised in the city, so moving to tiny Maplehurst, Georgia, population a whopping three thousand three hundred and eleven people, was an adjustment.

Atlanta had been my home, but after Jeremy’s cheating and the constant strain of my family and their disapproval over my choice of career, I’d decided a fresh start was in order.

Thanks to a flat tire, I’d ended up in this quaint town and fallen instantly in love.

It was some kind of destiny that day. Not only had I ended up three towns away from where I was trying to go (not even GPS could save my direction-challenged self), but I’d broken down in front of this run-down, late eighteen-hundreds, Victorian manor with its dilapidated wraparound porch, lawn that was more weeds than grass, with bricks that were cracked and some missing, and a questionable smell coming from the bathrooms. It screamed “money pit” and migraine. It was perfect.

While I waited the two hours until the only tow truck in town could come and help me (talk about a shock), I’d called the number on the “For Sale” sign. Wouldn’t you know it? The real estate agent was not only free, but she was around the corner!

The second the creaky front door swung open, the smell of old wood, dust, and stale air hitting me, I smiled, which I’m sure freaked her out.

I mean, who smiled over that? Still, she diligently walked me through the house.

There was a large formal living room, a dining room, and a study.

The kitchen was at the back and opened up to a massive backyard.

Five bedrooms made up the upstairs, and there were four bathrooms, which was surprising in a house this old.

But my favorite part was the three fireplaces: one in the living room, one in the bedroom, and one in the study.

Fireplaces were hilarious given this was Georgia and it was hot as hell, but I loved the ambiance they provided.

I offered full asking, daydreaming about what this house, Winterbourne Manor, could be, not seeing the missing floorboards, the peeling paint, the absent kitchen island counter, or all the other things that made this place a dump to anyone else.

The real estate agent stood staring at me, mouth open, for a solid two minutes. I raised an eyebrow at her. It took a moment for her to recover, and then she told me the weirdest sale term I’d ever heard.

Now, it was mine and, thank God, livable until I started renovating.

Our fresh start had begun.

“And by the way, how about we not encourage Lachlan calling his classmates ‘tools’,” I warned my friend.

Emerging from the closet, she threw up her hands comically. “You want me to encourage him to lie?”

Laughing at the way her eyes bugged out of her head, I answered, “Not lie. But maybe we could be a little more tactful?” Yeah, tactful and Alex were not two words that went in the same sentence.

“I want him to have a decent chance of making friends here. Lachlan telling the first kid who asks him to play marbles he’s a lame tool probably won’t go over well.

” Just like it didn’t go over well with the Von Zieglers.

I shook the memory of Richie Von Ziegler’s parents yelling at the principal because Lachlan had made the kid cry and feel stupid out of my head. Some people were so dramatic.

Alex huffed, blowing the lock of blond hair that had fallen across her face out of the way. “If I must… But only until we are sure the kids here aren’t tools.”

“That’s fair,” I chuckled, ripping open another moving box.

God, moving sucked. I hadn’t had to do it in nearly fifteen years and already was over it.

Lachlan and I had decided to leave pretty much everything other than our clothes, Lachlan’s toys, books, and other “necessities,” as he called them, and a couple pieces of sentimental furniture behind with Jeremy in the Atlanta house.

I couldn’t bring myself to call it my house anymore.

I’d lived there with Jeremy for our whole marriage, and it had never really felt like home. So, against my divorce lawyer’s stringent advice, I signed the place over to Jeremy as part of the settlement. It wasn’t like I needed the money from the sale anyway.

Thanks to my books, I made more than enough, and that was the whole reason my divorce still wasn’t finalized.

Money. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want child support or an equal division of assets.

Thinking it was fair, I only wanted the money I’d earned from the time Jeremy had started cheating, even though, really, my marriage was over long before that, and a handful of things.

Jeremy fought it. It didn’t matter that he’d berated me endlessly about writing the romance books, which had started my career.

He wanted half the money, and when he found out about the romantasy trilogy I’d written (technically before we’d even met, but I was only now publishing them), he wanted half of that, too.

Hell, he wanted half of all future earnings, claiming he made them possible by supporting me while I “lazed around at home.”

If he found out about the upcoming movie deal, I knew he’d drag his feet about the divorce and try to take that from me, too.

Jeremy and Layla thought they were so freaking smart.

What they forgot was Georgia wasn’t a “no-fault divorce” state.

His cheating, according to my lawyer, meant I could sue for emotional distress, among other things and win.

Wasn’t it fantastic to live in a conservative, religious, Republican state?

In fact, Jeremy should be served with my statement of claim tomorrow as my response to his demands during the mediation.

We’ll see how he likes that, I mused, grinning.

If only I could be there to see the look on his face when he realized his doormat wife was no longer going to let him wipe his boots on her anymore.

“That fucker!” Alex’s snarl had my head snapping around. She spun on her heel, storming past me. “I’ll kill him.”

“Damn it!” I added my own curse, hot on her heels, after looking out my bedroom window.

We’d made it to the top of the old stairs when the front door flew open with a loud thwack against the wall that rattled the windows. “MOM! AUNT ALEX! YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT DAD AND LAYLA GOT ME!”

Lachlan raced up the stairs, accepting the kiss Alex dropped on his forehead as she continued on her mission. “Check it out, Mom. It’s the new Nintendo Switch. Isn’t it cool?” He held up the box of the gaming system we’d agreed not to get our son.

“Who the hell do you think—”

Gritting my teeth, I forced a smile, ignoring the raised voices on my porch. Thankfully, Alex pulled the door closed behind her, but now was a fine time to learn it wasn’t soundproof.

“Do you think I can use your phone to call Russell and tell him?” Lachlan looked at me hopefully.

If ever there was a time to be thankful an internet installation guy hadn’t shown up, this was it. “Is this how you greet your mother?” I gave Lachlan my sternest look. It was a game we played, but really, manners were important no matter the circumstances.

Lachlan smiled sheepishly. Going on his toes, he kissed my cheek. “Hi, Mom. How are you? I missed you,” he recited all the things he knew he was supposed to. “Now, can I call Russell?”

Snorting a laugh, I ruffled his curly brown hair, which earned me a disgruntled complaint. I said, “Sure, kiddo. My phone is on my bed.”

“Yes!” he cried, racing past me with his package.

“You and your thunder-slut aren’t even supposed to be here,” Alex snarled, her fisted hands resting on her hips.

“How dare you call me—” Layla’s irritating voice was interrupted by Jeremy adding his own stupidity to the situation. Great, a fight was in full swing right on my front porch.

Jeremy’s face was flushed and furious, and Layla had that pinched look of calculation on her face, making bells scream in my head.

“Get out of here, Jeremy.” I grabbed Alex’s arm, moving her out of my way.

I pulled the door closed behind me, forcing Jeremy to take a step back.

“You aren’t welcome here,” I said without preamble, feeling my annoyance rise at the glare Layla gave me.

What did she have to glare about? It wasn’t like I screwed her husband and got pregnant behind her back.

“Fuck you, Phoebe. How dare you do this!”

It was then I saw the papers clutched in his hand.

Weren’t those supposed to be delivered tomorrow?

“Well, they were delivered today,” Jeremy fumed, letting me know I’d spoken aloud. “You have no right to do this!”

Alex gave him a derisive look, scoffing, “Ugh…” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Sack of Stupid? What did you expect when—”

“Oh, shut it, Alex—”

“Enough!” I snapped, my head starting to hurt. Looking around, I tried to see if anyone on my new street had heard me. I began rubbing my thumb and forefinger together, something Jeremy saw and smirked at.

Clenching my hand into a fist, I leveled a look at him.

“Leave, Jeremy. You don’t get to come to my house and make a scene just because you don’t like the consequences of your actions.

And don’t think it’s escaped my notice that Layla is here and clearly spent the day around Lachlan in violation of our custody agreement. ”

“Screw the custody agreement!” Jeremy dismissed me in that way that had my teeth clenching. “It’s only temporary and doesn’t mean a damned thing.” Glancing around, I shifted on my feet, making the boards underneath creak.

“Yeah,” Layla added in her two cents. “No judge is going to care if you and your son don’t want me around. I’m having his baby. I have rights.”

I didn’t miss the way she said “you and your son” dismissively. Judging by the way Alex sucked in a breath, she hadn’t missed it either.

“You little—” Alex pulled her ponytail tighter, trying to step around me.

A bird took off, making me jump, followed by the slamming of a car door.

My fingers started rolling together again.

“Actually…” I tried to keep my voice calm with forced patience.

“If you bothered to pay attention to our mediation last week, you’d remember the custody arrangement had been ordered and signed by a judge.

It says, ‘Court Order’ on the top of the page.

” The board creaked again, and I swallowed, even though I was the one who did it.

So much for the new Phoebe. “Now, leave.”

“You don’t order me—”

“Is there a problem here?”