Chapter Five

Demi wanted to chuck her phone out the window and never think about it again.

She had typed out and deleted this text a dozen times already, and now she was sweating bullets and feeling like she was going to panic, and for what? For stupid Tyler?

"This is business," she gritted out, typing out another text to the number he'd scribbled onto the back of his invoice.

Just this morning, two of her clients had cancelled their contracts with her to go with Danielle's cheaper quote, and now things were getting desperate. Tyler didn't need to know that part though.

She cleared her throat, which was silly, because it's not like she was speaking out loud. She was texting.

Mr. Tyler Durock,

This is Ms. Darke, and I have put together a contract that will bind our businesses for two weeks; until the night of Halloween, and no further. If you are interested in working with my company, all I need from you is your email address, and I will send you the contract to look over and sign. I have also put together a work schedule that will keep our visits to each house separate. I will expect promptness and professionalism from you, as you will be an extension of my company and the brand I have worked very hard to cultivate over the years. In other words, I don't want you tainting the legacy I have built. If that seems like it will be too difficult, I do understand, and can continue my search for someone who fits my company better. This is business only, and there is no need for us to converse outside of professional texts and emails, such as this. Thank you for your consideration.

Demi Rhone Darke.

Her finger hovered over the send button for a few seconds before she swallowed her pride and sent the text.

She set her phone on the coffee table of her one-bedroom townhome, and stood in a rush. Why was her heart racing like this?

She went to the window and rested her hands on her hips as she watched the orange leaves raining down from the tree in front of her house. This was her favorite time of year, and she didn't like all this added stress on top of her busy season.

Her phone dinged, and she bolted for it. She leapt over the back of the couch like an Olympian and snatched the phone off the table.

No one else would help you, huh?

She narrowed her eyes at Tyler's dumb text and then typed out, Forget it, meathead. I don't need you. Send.

Meathead? I resemble that. I mean resent that. My email is tylerlikesbabes69 at yahoo. Don't judge me. I've had that email since I was a teenager and I'm too lazy to change it now.

That's the dumbest email I've ever even seen. Of course I'm judging you. Send.

A call lit up her phone from one Tyler the Titty Chaser, and don't ask her why she saved his name as that. She still had feelings about him making out with Hannah Duffey directly after kissing her almost two decades ago. God, she had issues.

She hit the reject button on his call, and felt smug as hell.

Be professional, Ms. Darke. I'm calling to talk about the contract, Tyler texted before he called her again.

She screeched at the top of her lungs, and then answered the call. Calmly, she asked, "Yes?"

"You must be desperate to want to work with me."

"I assure you, I'm not desperate. Just taking into account what you said yesterday about us not knowing each other. I can be professional, and am wondering if you can do the same."

"I can. I'll pick you up in an hour."

"What?"

"I'll pick you up for dinner."

"I'm not doing dinner with you, Tyler!"

"Whoa. Lower the volume, boss lady. I don't have my laptop here. I'll sign the contract, but I need to bring it to you in person."

"Great, drop it in my mailbox. No. Scratch that. You don't need to know where I live—"

"You think I'm going to mess with your house?"

"True or false, you and Danny Smithers toilet-papered my parents' house when I was fifteen."

The line went silent.

"That's what I thought. Also, that was the beginning of my mother's disdain for you."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Because you left your school ID in our front yard, you idiot. Just mail me the contract."

Tyler sighed. "Too bad I already asked my sister for your address. Pick you up in an hour. I was thinking Cutter's Grill?"

"What? No! We aren't—" click. The line went dead. Demi glared at the screen of her phone and screamed.

She should've listened to her instincts and thrown the damn thing out the window to begin with. I have to work . Send.

It's eight p.m. and your truck is in front of your townhome. Nice try.

Why are you driving by my townhome, stalker? Send.

To see where you live. Curiosity perhaps. Nice neighborhood, moneybags.

Moneybags? Please. If I was rich I wouldn't be asking you to do business with me.

Ah, so it IS desperation then? Good to know. Maybe I'll have some negotiations for my contract.

I truly dislike you. Send.

Don't wear high heels tonight. It'll make you only a few inches shorter than me, and I have a complex about tall girls. They intimidate me.

Oh yeah? She marched into her room and looked at the line of heels in her closet.

A call came through, and she answered it. "What do you want?" she barked out.

"Ummm, to see if you can come in an hour early tomorrow," her mom ground out.

"Oh my gosh, Mom, I'm sorry. I thought someone else was calling." She could wear the faux-leather leggings she'd just gotten, and her three-inch glossy black peep-toes with the hot-pink bottoms. Maybe a black blazer over a lacy top, like the boss-woman she was. Yep. She would tease her hair up to add even more height.

"Who has you answering the phone like a menace?" her mom asked.

Not about to mention that she was actually considering working with Tyler, whom her mother had always despised, she shrugged it off. "A new potential business partner. He's already asking too many questions."

"Okay. Elaborate on that. Why would you need a business partner?"

"I can't come in early for my shift, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm honestly not sure if I can work a shift tomorrow night at all. I'll be decorating a house until late. It's for a new client. I don't know their interior layout that well. Can you get Ben to come in early?"

"I'll figure it out. Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah. Absolutely. I'm awesome. Doing fantastic."

"Hmm. Well, if you need anything, you know you can come to me, right? Or the Murder?"

She tossed her leggings and heels on the bed, sighed, and sank down onto the edge of it. "I'm really okay. Just stressed with work stuff."

A knock sounded at the front door. With a frown, she made her way to the front window and peered out.

Tyler stood on her doorstep, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the tree in her yard.

"Oh my freaking goodness," she gritted out. "Mom, I have to go."

"Okay, well, call me later. You're sure you're all right?"

"Yep, I'm sure. I'll call you before I go to bed." She hung up and yanked the door open. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Tyler turned toward her, a baiting grin already stretching across his lips. "I thought about waiting in the truck, but the game is on."

"So you're…" She frowned in disbelief on what he was asking. "So you're wanting to come, what? Watch a football game in my home? Uninvited?"

He pushed past her and made his way to her couch, grabbed the remote off the coffee table, and started clicking through channels.

"Are you serious right now?"

He pointed the remote down at the heels that dangled from her fingertips. "Too tall."

She was frozen into place like a popsicle. The audacity.

And even more frustrating? He was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt that hugged his gym-rat muscles, and dark-wash jeans that actually looked clean. He was filling up her senses with one of those hot-boy colognes that did funny things to girls' insides, and his beard was a work of art. He had this perfect model scruff on his chiseled jaw, and his eyes were that bright blue as he stared back at her.

"You like what you see?" he asked.

She scoffed. "I wasn't checking you out."

"Mm-hmm."

"I wasn't!" God, he was so irritating.

"I did some research on your people, and it says you can sense a lie."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "So?"

"So, I can too."

"You're human. You have exactly zero superpowers."

"Maybe I could always sense a lie."

"This conversation is boring. No one cares about your imagined powers," she muttered, heading toward her bedroom.

"You lied when you said you weren't checking me out," he called.

"Not every woman in your general vicinity goes ga-ga over you, Tyler," she spat out.

The smile fell from his lips. He tossed the remote to the couch and strode toward her with the grace of a predator. She froze, and the air got caught in her lungs as he closed the distance between them, eyes boring into hers. He was taller than she remembered, and she couldn't deny the dominance she could sense from him. He slid his hand to her neck and leaned down, his lips near her ear as the butterflies in her stomach rampaged.

She gripped his wrist as his lips brushed her ear, and she rolled her eyes closed.

"Where is your bathroom?" he rumbled.

Her eyes flew open, and she shoved him back. "Why do you do that?" she demanded.

"Do what?" His laugh was so irritating.

"You just live to pester me. You used to do that when we were kids, too, and it's not cute anymore."

"So it was cute back then?" he asked.

"Stop!" She shook her head, frustrated. "I don't want to go to dinner with you, and I don't want you to be here. Sense the truth in that."

The smile faded from his lips and he cocked his head to the side, studied her. Tyler gestured to the small stack of papers on her kitchen table. "Is that the hard copy of the contract?"

"It's my copy, yes. You can save us some time and effort if you want to just sign that one, and then you may leave."

He stared at her for a three-count, and then asked, "You got a pen?"

She huffed a steadying breath and nodded. "Sure. Top drawer by the fridge."

She'd told him that so she wouldn't have to walk right past him to get it.

As he turned his back to her, grabbed the paperclipped contract, and made his way into the kitchen, she let out a long sigh. Why did he affect her so much?

"I don't know why I do that," he said with his back to her as he signed the contract on the kitchen counter. "I don't do it with everyone." He turned and rested his hands back on the counter. Annoyingly, it made his arm muscles flex attractively. "I'm not trying to pick at you. I guess I just fall into old habits."

"Of picking at me."

He nodded. "You make me want to play." He saw that as play? The banter? "You were always around my sister when we were growing up. You were just a part of the house, you know?"

"When your dad wasn't around. He always thought I was strange."

"My dad's opinion of you doesn't matter, just like your mom's opinion of me doesn't really matter."

"Why do you say that? I love my mom. She does matter."

"But to my life? If she didn't like me, it was no skin off my back. I can tell from the way you just took that shot at my dad, you're bothered that he didn't like you."

"Doesn't like me," she corrected. "I wanted to work with him first."

He chuckled and shook his head. "He doesn't like shifters."

"No shit. I could tell from the way he signed a petition, and was the one to present it in front of the town council in an attempt to run my Murder out of town."

Tyler chewed the corner of his lip. "If you know he doesn't like your kind, why ask him to join your business?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Desperation."

"Mmm." He pushed off the counter and strode for the door, slapping the signed contract on the dining table as he passed. "I tried to get my dad for you. He wouldn't take the bait. You're stuck with me, Darke."

That drew her up short. "Wait, what do you mean you tried to get your dad involved?"

"Doesn't matter. Didn't work. He's a stubborn old bastard, and he ain't movin' on his opinions of you and your family. Or your Murder, or whatever your crew is called."

He opened the door, but she called out, "Tyler."

"Yeah?"

"You're okay with working with a crow shifter?"

His eyes sparked as he stood up straighter. "You're still Demi to me." He grinned. "You'll always be the annoying little pipsqueak friend of my sister's. Remember when you two had matching braces together? And glasses?"

She giggled, hung her head, and closed her eyes at the memory. "You want to know the stupidest part about that?"

"You didn't need the glasses, because shifters have superior eyesight?" he guessed.

"I didn't need the glasses," she agreed. "Rachel was talking about how cool her glasses were, and how she wished she could match with one of her friends. I was afraid she was going to ask Anna Simmons to match with her, so I got my mom to take me in and get me glasses with no magnification. I had to work a whole season at the pumpkin patch with no pay that year to earn those glasses."

He laughed and leaned against the open doorway. "Y'all were so stupid back then."

"Hey, we were really cool. In our minds."

"Listen, how do you want to do the schedule?" he asked. "You mentioned putting something together, but I'm going to start in the morning."

"Do you still remember how to do holiday lights?"

He arched his dark eyebrows. "Ummm…"

"What?"

"Do you not know what I do for a living?"

"I don't know. Find sugar mommas, use them up, throw them away for a younger version—rinse and repeat?"

"Damn. You really hate me, don't you?"

"Kind of," she chirped.

"When you grow up and rid yourself of your judgmental tendencies, ask me then."

"If I nail this schedule, we'll rarely have to talk to or see each other until you leave town, so there won't be a need for that discussion."

"Perfect," he said, his smile refusing to reach his eyes. "Send me addresses and times, and I'll take care of it. Goodnight, Darke."

As the door clicked closed, it was a lonely sound. Confusion swirled inside of her. "Goodnight, Durock," she uttered on a breath.

She'd felt something when he'd cupped her neck and whispered into her ear, and she hadn't liked the feeling of the loss of control. She didn't like that he still affected her. But his admission that he saw picking at her as play made sense with his personality.

Something else was bothering her though. Demi picked up her phone and texted Rachel. Your brother said he tried to get your dad to help me. Send.

Rachel would tell her straight up if he was full of crap. She would tell her immediately if he was just using some line on her to secure the contract, or get in her good graces, or whatever it was he was trying to do.

A video came through the text with the caption, Obviously I had to record the drama.

The video opened up on yelling. It was a shaky shot of the Durock dining room, where Tyler was on one side of the table, arms locked against it, angry gaze on his father, who was pacing and yelling from the other side of the table. Mr. Durock said, "Of course you would come back and pull this shit immediately. I'm not even surprised."

"By shit, do you mean talking about a good business move? Have you seen what she does to those houses? Have you seen what her family has done with the pumpkin patch? They are Halloween around here! You want to extend your income by months? Then get in on the All Hallows Lights Festival!"

"Not if it means working with those shifters—"

"Are you serious right now? Dad, you are the only one holding onto that. No one else cares. She's a good person! You've known her since she was a kid, and she's still the same hard worker you knew back then—"

"I'm not tethering my business to her or her people—"

"Her people? She's not a fucking alien. You know her! Your daughter is one of her people!" Tyler yelled, jamming a finger at Rachel. When he noticed the camera, he yelled, "Stop recording us."

And the video went dark.

I don't know what you said to Tyler, but they were yelling for ten minutes at least. Super entertaining. Tyler has clearly forgotten that you're supposed to just let Dad have his prejudices and move on with your life. He won't ever change.

Why were they talking about me in the first place? Send.

Hell if I know. Tyler came in with a chip on his shoulder and an axe to grind, and apparently, today, you are that axe. He was PISSED that Dad wouldn't work with you.

None of this made any sense. Why would Tyler even care? Mr. Durock's opinion about shifters had been loud and obvious from the moment they were outed to the public. Why was Tyler getting involved at all?

Can we do a girls' night soon? Rachel texted. It's been a long week.

Demi frowned at her phone. Rachel never planned girls' nights in advance. She always just showed up at her house or work and dragged her into it. You okay? Send.

Yep! I'm always great!

Hmmm. It's my busy season, but I'll see when I can get a night off.

You love Halloween, Demi. Don't overwork yourself and forget how to enjoy it.

Demi bristled, and put the phone down before she could get defensive. Rachel didn't understand that Demi was taking a hit on her business from a rival, or that her income had been cut, or that she didn't have enough for her property taxes yet. It wouldn't be fair for Demi to lash out at her when she didn't truly understand why Demi was having to focus so much on work.

She picked up the phone and pushed play on the video again, and watched it twice more.

Tyler was a beast when he wanted to be. He had been intimidated by his dad back when they were kids, and had tried so hard to please him, but now? Tyler had learned to look a grown man in the eyes and tell him he was wrong.

Huh.

And he'd done it sticking up for her.

She's a good person.

She's still the same hard worker…

She's not a fucking alien. You know her.

Of all the people in her life that would've defended her in a room she wasn't in, she would've never in a million years predicted Tyler Durock.