Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

KYLE

" B oss, you'd better get over here to the Riverdale jobsite. There are… issues?" Wayne informs me, sounding like he expects me to read between the lines as if he's spewing Shakespeare. He's my second-hand man, but I would prefer he get on with spitting out the facts and not tip-toeing around shit. Though that's why we work well together. He's the smooth to my rough, the slick to my fuck shit up.

Which makes it interesting that he wants me to come handle something. I'm usually the wrecking ball of last resort.

"What kind of issues?" I ask, half distracted by the bid I'm trying to finish up. My crew went to the Riverdale site to get started this morning while I met with another potential customer to go over what they want in a ‘luxurious, resort-worthy backyard oasis'.

Not my words, but the homeowners'. What did I hear in that description? Cha-ching! Anyone asking for those things, and contacting my company, knows what they're getting into. My jobs start at six figures and go up from there, plus, your design has to interest me, and you've got to wait for me to be available. I don't do dig-and-drop style pool projects. Something that can be done with an excavator and a concrete truck alone aren't my thing. Still, my wait list is currently sitting at over six months out. It could be longer, but I'm picky as fuck about what jobs I want to take these days.

I'm not a pool guy. I'm the pool guy. Anyone within three states who wants a high-quality pool, deck, or back yard area knows that I'm the final boss when it comes to this sort of stuff.

I figure Wayne's gonna complain about Kathy Wilson, the homeowner on Riverdale. She's a pain in the ass, flat-out, but her job is large-scale. Again, read… money. I'm not greedy, and I definitely don't spend my life chasing the all-mighty dollar, but it does make the world go round, and it keeps my guys happy and loyal to me. I haven't lost a crew member in four years, which is an eternity in this line of business.

"Parking?" Wayne ventures, still sounding unsure.

I've been down Riverdale Street three times already—to do the quote, to deliver the bid, and to meet with the permit guy from the city. There should be no problems with parking, not even for our big trucks and trailers. "Let me guess. Somebody hit a mailbox?"

It sucks, but it happens. Surprisingly, Wayne doesn't hum in agreement. "No, but uh… can you just come see for yourself?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, even though stopping by Riverdale was on my to-do list today. Gotta do the smile-and-shake-hands shit on day one of a new project. But I usually stop by later in the day to see how things are going and reassure any nervous homeowners. "I'm not too far. Gimme twenty."

Wayne chuckles under his breath. "See you in like thirty, maybe forty-five."

He hangs up, leaving me confused. What the fuck? Like I said, I'm not far, and I'm not a liar who exaggerates and leaves my guys hanging. Going out to my truck, I climb in and start it up, mentally already telling myself that I'll make it in fifteen to spite Wayne and whatever's crawled up his ass.

Twenty minutes later, I know exactly what he was talking about.

I'm trying to turn onto Riverdale Street, but there's a backlog of big trucks lining the roads all around it. There are trucks parked all along the curbs too and crews of guys hopping out and hustling toward Riverdale.

What the hell is going on? Is there some Snap-on Tools sale or free energy drink samples up ahead?

I slow-roll my way through the traffic until I get close enough to see that all these trucks seem to be stopping at the house next to my latest job.

Fuck!

Kathy Wilson is bad enough, but if she's got a neighbor running some sort of construction crew midday party, we're gonna have problems.

I make my way up to the house and pull over to the curb when another truck pulls out. I yank my ballcap on my head and get out, looking up and down the street in confusion. The truck that's been behind me for the last thirty minutes honks, and I glare at the guy behind the wheel. He gestures to the house behind me like that's supposed to mean something to me.

"Marco!" the guy in the passenger seat yells loudly.

"Uh, Polo?" I mutter, not sure what that's about.

Then, from inside the house, a voice shouts, "Honk at me again and your ass won't be getting lunch for a month, Marco!"

Whoever it is, she sounds pissed enough to carry out that threat. A few seconds later, a woman stomps out the open front door with fire shooting out of her eyes as she finds her target—the guy driving the truck behind me. He holds his hands out innocently, silently apologizing to the woman, and then he points at me.

She turns a narrow-eyed, sharp scowl my way. "Who are you? Is that your truck? Move it."

Having apparently said her piece, she walks right past me and up to Marco's passenger window where she passes over a huge stack of Styrofoam boxes and a few items wrapped in aluminum foil. She talks to them for a second, clearly negotiating something. Since I can't hear her, I look her up and down.

She's sporting a huge, jet-black bun neatly coiled on top of her head that tells me she has either lots of hair, long hair, or both. Her eyes are dark and surrounded by thick lashes. And her loose T-shirt and yoga pants do nothing to hide her full breasts and nice ass.

As she talks, she's gesturing back, presumably at me, and I'm guessing Marco is explaining that they were honking at me, not her. She gives him a clipped nod and taps the passenger door. "See you tomorrow."

Marco's relief is written all over his face as the gorgeous firecracker whirls, her glare pining me in place. Marco and his crew pull away, their laughter ringing out the window as they go.

"Good luck, man!" one of them yells. They obviously know things I don't, but I don't have time to guess what as this woman's suddenly right in my face, looking very bothered… and very hot, but not in the way that I'd prefer. Oh, her cheeks are flushed, her dark eyes are full of fire, and her lips are curling at the ends, but it's not a smile. It's more of a snarl.

I cross my arms over my chest, standing my ground against whatever pretty pit bull act she's got.

"What are you still doing there?" she demands. "I don't do orders on the fly, and if you keep blocking my curb, your order won't be accepted tomorrow or any day after that, either."

She seems to think that threat should hold significant weight. The only problem? I have no idea what she's talking about. "What?"

Yeah, I'm brilliant under pressure. But mostly, it has to do with the fact that she's crossed her arms over her chest in almost a mocking imitation of me, pushing her tits up, and throwing a hip out. The only thing missing is the tapping foot. But for some reason, angry looks good on her.

"Move. Your. Truck. Asshole," she bites out, enunciating every syllable to make sure I understand her. She even points at my rig as if I'm too stupid to know what she means.

The order plus the name-calling jolts me from my reverie. "Excuse the fuck out of me while I burst into flames, Princess. But the curb is legal parking in this city."

Her chin drops, and her brows climb her forehead as she stares at me in wide-eyed indignance. She's definitely not used to being challenged, and I can sense that she's gearing up for a firework-filled comeback, but instead, she takes a quick breath.

"I know. Believe me, if anyone knows, I do. But you're interfering with my business." She gestures wildly at the line of trucks, all of whom have their windows down despite the mid-day heat and guys nearly hanging out as they listen to her tell me off. "Move, or you'll have half the working men in this city on your ass before the lunch rush is over."

With that, she throws a wave toward the next truck that's been waiting impatiently for her. "I'm coming, guys. This pretty boy's fucking all of us up today."

She definitely does not say ‘pretty' like it's a compliment. Still, it sounds good coming from that sensuous mouth before she jogs for the front door, disappearing inside. I glance at the guy behind me, who shakes his head in disappointment. With me.

What the fuck is going on around here?

I stride toward Kathy's back yard, intent on getting some fucking answers. "Wayne!"

He pops out from behind the house quickly, letting me know that he saw the whole scene out front. "What the hell?"

He shrugs like he has no idea but reveals, "I talked to one of the guys earlier. Apparently, the place next door is like one of those ghost kitchen deals. Dani cooks lunches for a lot of the local crews every day. They drive down the street, yell out their name—though she seems to know the trucks by sight—and then she brings out the boxes of food. She's had dozens of trucks come through already, and you can see the line down the block."

Okay, that puts some framework around what I saw… and tells me the beauty's name. Dani. I don't say it aloud, but I let it roll over my tongue. Too short. It needs more syllables, more curves, like the vixen it belongs to.

Wayne's info does fill in some gaps, though. My crews' trucks out front probably are interfering with her flow. But it's not like there's anywhere else to park. We need to be close so we can bring equipment and tools into the backyard worksite, and we're parked legally, so the neighborhood cook can deal with it as far as I'm concerned.

Besides, how was I to know she had a drive-thru food service running through the damn neighborhood? Kathy Wilson definitely didn't share that info when we discussed her job.

If she had, I would've turned this job down. I almost did, anyway.

She's the type of customer nobody wants—expects perfection, doesn't want to pay for it, and thinks she's above anyone who does ‘menial' labor. But the scale of the job meant it'd be worth it, especially when I added a hefty pain in the ass fee on top of my usual and told the guys that there'd be a bonus on completion of this job. They knew going in that meant it'd be hard work, and I don't mean in the ‘hauling in materials' way.

"Alright, back to work," I shout to my guys, who are all standing around watching Wayne get me up to speed. To Wayne, I add, "I'll handle it once things settle down out front. I'll have a talk with her and see what we can do. Tell me what else I need to know."

He tilts his head, giving me a ‘good luck with that' look, and then gets back to the job. That's why he's my second in command. Not to mention, he's an older face so when we have clients who doubt my ‘youth', he can step in as the voice of experience. We both know I'm the boss, but we take care of each other.

I spend the next hour working side-by-side with my guys, checking their progress this morning, walking out the plans, and double-checking everything. Okay, more like triple-checking because admittedly, my focus is lacking and my attention is repeatedly drawn to Dani next door. She's friendly with every guy in every truck, smiling and chatting as she brings them food. The near polar opposite of how she was with me.

The contrast is annoying.

I'm used to being able to charm my way out of nearly anything. Have been since I was a kid, really. Dani didn't even give me a chance to be charming, though. She was piss and vinegar from the jump. But I'll fix it. I always do.

I work and watch, watch and work. But I'm not paying attention to my guys. No, I'm listening to every truck that pulls down the street, peeking over the fence to see Dani walk out, her curvy hips swaying right and left, to deliver large amounts of lunch to guys who're just as hungry for her easy smiles as they are her food. As she's hustled back and forth, nearly wearing a path in her yard, her hair has slowly fallen from her once-neat bun, leaving face-framing tendrils hanging long. She's not afraid of work, that's for sure. I think she's delivered dozens of meals at this point, maybe a hundred or more different boxes or packages.

Several times, I see her talking animatedly and rolling her eyes as she gestures toward Kathy's house, and I presume she's talking shit about me and my guys. It's all I can do to hold myself back from approaching her to handle this issue right the fuck now, especially before she screws up my reputation over a misunderstanding.

But I don't. She's still busy, and knowing when to jump in and when to wait will be key to resolving things to both our satisfaction.

I'd like to satisfy her. All night long.

Okay, that's a dog-level thought and I'm not a horndog, despite my brothers thinking the opposite. But something about Dani's got me riled up, and it has nothing to do with the midday sunlight pouring down on us from high in the sky.

By our three o'clock break, the noise next door has died down, and I catch Wayne's eyes silently before jerking my chin toward Dani's house. His lips quirk as he fights a smile. He's eager to bear witness to me losing my shit, a rare but entertaining sight.

I leave the crew sprawled out in the dirt beneath the small amount of shade on the back of Kathy's house and make my way to the front yard before detouring toward Dani's front door. I'd like to make a better impression than I did earlier, so I swipe the sweat from my face with the hem of my T-shirt and straighten my hat on my head. It probably looks like a nervous habit, which it is, but I'm solid. Nerves of steel here. Just gotta deal with a prickly neighbor, that's all.

A beautiful, mouthy one.

The door is open, and though the screen door is closed, I can hear music coming from inside. I raise my fist to knock, hard enough to be heard over the tunes but not so loud I sound like the jerk she already thinks I am. Nothing happens, and when I squint, I can see into the house a little bit, but I don't see any movement or silhouette of a person.

Until Dani dances into view. I thought her hips were swaying when she walked? Nope, that was nothing compared to what they're doing now. What's that Shakira song? Hips Don't Lie or something like that? Well, Dani's hips are telling the god's honest, fucking truth right now.

I clear my throat and knock again. I see her whirl in place, all dancing instantly stopping, and as she stomps to the door, she's no longer smiling and happy. Her anger is back in full force. Her temper is whiplash fast and burns scalding hot.

That shouldn't be attractive, but on her, it is.

I silently wonder if I should get my head examined. My sister-in-law, Samantha, is a therapist of sorts and would be all too glad to shrink my twisted thoughts and fucked-up mind.

"What do you want?" Dani demands, not opening the door but talking through the screen.

Unconsciously, I scratch at my lower lip with my thumb, trying to find the words to smooth this over. It's day one of a job that's going to last weeks, and I really don't want this situation to be adversarial the whole time. "Hi, Dani. My name's Kyle. My crew and I are doing Ms. Wilson's pool next door," I say, figuring an official introduction is a good place to start. "I just wanted to?—"

She interrupts me with a huff and a held up hand. "My friends call me Dani. You can call me Miss Becerra."

I can't hide the grin that steals my lips. God, she's stunning. Strong, mouthy, and bossy look good on her. Not many people, women especially, would tackle my whole crew plus all the guys who came through for lunch today and have every single one of them eating out of the palm of their hand. But she does.

"My apologies, ma'am. Nice to meet you, Miss Becerra." I emphasize her name, tasting it the way I did with her first name earlier. Dani Becerra. Much, much better. It's as well-rounded in my mouth as her dancing hips were.

She rolls her eyes at my politeness, not the least bit charmed. "Wish I could say the same, but your trucks screwed up my business all day."

I look forlornly behind me at my truck parked in front of her house. "Yeah, sorry about that. I had no idea until I got here in the middle of things. I was hoping to talk about the parking issue with you and see if we can work something out."

"Nothing to work out. Don't park there and we won't have any issues." She says it like there's no conversation to be had. She declared it, and that makes it so.

Before I can counter, she shuts the door in my face.

Gobsmacked, I stare at the white-painted wood. What the hell just happened?

A second later, the music turns up even louder and I think I hear Dani singing along.