14. Partners

Chapter 14

Partners

Joy jumped when her phone rang and dropped the romance book she'd been ogling. One eye glued to the hottie on the cover and one on the back window, she'd been waiting for said hottie's telltale white truck to pull up and park in the empty lot. Surprised to see Sterling's number on her screen, she picked up the call.

"Hey, what's happening in the Windy City?"

"Wow, somebody's chipper," he snorted.

"Well, hello to you too. What's wrong with being chipper?"

"Nothing. I'm just not used to it. Can we FaceTime?"

"Sure."

His face appeared on her phone screen. "When are you coming home?" As he adjusted his device, she noticed his perfectly manicured nails and the gold signet ring he wore on his right hand. A family heirloom, he'd once told her, passed down through generations of Calloway blue bloods. Under the cuff of his Finamore shirt peeked the steel band of his Tag Heuer watch.

Wow. The Chicago broker version of Bruno Keating. Why was she only now noticing these details, like really noticing them? Probably because those details were so embedded in her own life that she'd been blind. That realization left her feeling a bit sheepish.

Joy Holiday, who are you, and what do you stand for?

"Um, I've only been gone two days, Sterling."

"I repeat. When are you coming home?"

"I don't know. The situation here is a bit more complicated than I originally planned for."

"How? You hand a contractor a big fat check, and you leave. He knocks the place down and sends you pictures. The town cheers because you just paid to wipe out an eyesore. Sounds simple to me."

Irritation prickled the fine hairs along her nape. "It's not that easy. Since landing here, I've discovered that this town is a historical landmark, which means they have rules in place when we're dealing with a vintage structure like the store. Those regs say I'm not allowed to just knock it down. They also say we have to bring it up to code, at the very minimum, before we can put it up for sale. That's going to take time, and we need boots on the ground—mine—to be sure it gets done right. I'm staying at least through the weekend."

"Whoa, so long? And who the hell is ‘we'?"

Had she said "we"? She was usually so careful with her choice of words. Lack of meds . "I mean the estate. The estate is ‘we.'" Not me and Charlie Hunnicutt, my new partner and delicious cover model. Nope, we're not the "we" here.

"I miss you." He pushed out his lower lip in an unmanly pout. It wasn't a good look on him or any grown-ass man.

"I don't know why," she sniffed. "Estelle took care of my calendar, and I'm staying in touch with clients. It's not like you're having to pick up my load."

"It's not like that, Joy," he sighed. "I miss seeing you."

"You're seeing me now." She refrained from rolling her eyes. Had Sterling always been this whiny?

He pulled a face, like he'd swallowed something bitter. "Speaking of seeing you, you look different. Don't tell me you're going barefaced these days. "

"Sterling, I've been working in a hot, stuffy, dusty store filled to the ceiling with shit piled on top of shit. I saw no reason to get dolled up." This conversation was going nowhere except higher up her grate-o-meter.

"Maybe I should come out there and spend some time with you."

"And do what, Sterling?" She could just imagine his face when he walked into her mother's store. He'd probably run from the place screaming, then cut ties with her after getting an eyeful of her origins—not that she'd ever hidden them from him. But hearing about them and seeing them up close were two entirely different things.

"Maybe I could help you."

"I don't think you'll want to walk your Bottega Venetas in here."

"We don't have to stay there. There's this nice resort about ten miles up the road—Silver Summit. We could play golf, have a spa day. Have you checked it out yet?"

"Again, I've only been here two days." Her eagle eye caught sight of Charlie's truck, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She gave herself permission to cut the call short. "Look, I've got to go. I'll update you when I have a better idea of when I'm coming back."

Sterling dragged out the good-bye, and by the time she hung up, Charlie was nearly all the way across the backyard. She shoved the phone in her back pocket and opened the door just as his knuckles were poised to knock.

He greeted her with his signature grin. "Good timing, partner ."

"Not so eager, Mr. Beaver. We have lots of details to hash out."

"You mean work through."

"No, I mean hash , as in argue."

He closed the door. "Sweet. I love winning arguments."

God, he was cocky! The eye-roll she'd been holding back during her conversation with Sterling gathered steam and came out in spectacular fashion. Lord, what had her unchecked impulse led her into? She quickly cut from that thought to noticing he'd pushed his long sleeves up to his elbows, exposing gorgeous forearms and that fascinating tat—

Oh shit!

Panicked, she glanced down at the floor where, below the windowsill, the book lay face down. She sidled over to it and gave it a kick. Unfortunately, that kick didn't land right, and the book flipped right side up.

She dropped to the floor and snatched it up against her chest .

"You okay down there?"

When she looked up, Charlie's expression was part amusement, part concern.

"It's true," she wanted to say, "your new partner is a complete lunatic." Instead, she blurted out, "Just wanted to be sure neither of us stomped on the book. It's going to a, um, sale."

He held out his hand to pull her up, but she was so busy clutching the book to her chest that she couldn't spare a hand. She rocketed to her feet, and as she did so, she lost her grip on the book.

His hand shot out to catch it. "Here, let me—"

"No!" she shouted and batted his hand away. Wide-eyed, he hopped back in surprise. Yeah, who could blame him?

She grabbed at the book and pressed it back against her chest. "Let me, um, I'll just … uh, I'll be right back." She scurried into the bedroom, tossed it on the bed, and slammed the door. Straightening the hem of her T-shirt, she slowed her steps and returned to where he still stood, hand on his jaw and puzzlement etched in his handsome features. No, not handsome. Just plain old everyday manly man features.

Time for a distraction . She lifted her chin toward his hand. "Any significance to the rings?" He wore two on his left hand—one on his middle finger and the other on his forefinger. On his right hand, his ring finger sported a single band. All three were silver.

He examined his digits as if he'd forgotten the adornments were there. "Yeah, as a matter of fact. One belonged to my great-grandfather and the other to my grandfather. They were crafted right here in Fall River from silver mined in these mountains." He held up his right hand. "This one I made myself after I graduated high school. It was sort of a ‘Yay, me!' present I gave myself when I first opened the business."

"Oh. There's history there."

"They worked with their hands. A lot. We Hunnicutts are very skilled with our hands."

Was he intentionally throwing out the innuendo? She stared at him for a beat, but his expression was guileless. "What about the bracelets? Did someone in your family make those?"

He twirled said bracelets on his thick wrist. "A cousin made the beaded one, and I made the other one. "

The "other one" was crafted of a length of braided leather threaded through four silver barrels the same size as the tip of her pinkie. Small knots evenly spaced in the leather kept the charms in place. Each one had lettering etched on its surface, though the writing was too small to make out.

"What do they say?"

"Each one has the name of a family member." He pointed at the first barrel. "That's my dad, this is my mom, and then my brothers. Kinda dumb. I made it a long time ago when I was practicing engraving." He gave her a sheepish smile.

The man was full of surprises. "That's not dumb at all." In fact, it was so damn sweet she wanted to melt like an ice cream cone on Bowen Street's sizzling sidewalk. Instead of telling him so, though, she kept that bit to herself.

His eyes ran over her chest, and an unexpected thrill coursed up her spine. He cocked an eyebrow. "A Miners Tavern T-shirt?"

The thrill went up in a puff of smoke the instant she realized his wasn't an appreciative appraisal. What the hell was wrong with her that her mind was ziplining to nonexistent innuendos and flirtations?

"Hailey gave it to me." Joy hadn't brought anything suitable for the dirty work she'd been elbows-deep in, and the T-shirt had been the perfect alternative. Now she needed a suitable pair of jeans to replace the expensive capris. Later, if she ventured to Montrose for a coffeemaker, she could explore the city for an upscale boutique.

They sat at the table, where Charlie pulled out two of his original folders.

Joy peered at their contents. "Where's the bare-bones option?"

"If we're partnering on this project, there isn't one. I'm not going to have Past Perfect's reputation associated with bare bones. If you can't come to grips with that, then partnering is off the table. But if you can, then you and I need to figure out whether we swing for the fence, and if we don't, where that happy medium lies that we can both live with."

Wow, bossy much? Where had the golden retriever gone? He was all business. "You're serious?"

"Deadly."

He was taking charge, and for some reason she was letting him. For now. "Please go on. "

"Before we dig into the details, though, there's one thing I'd like to know. What made you change your mind about partnering with me?

"It wasn't a ‘what.' It was a ‘who.'"

Charlie leaned back in the chair, and it creaked under his solid frame. "Hailey. I knew it."

Joy shook her head. "Not Hailey. Bruno Keating."

He sat up, his back ramrod straight. "Say what?"

"Bruno Keating paid me a visit and offered to buy my building." She filled Charlie in on the snake's unexpected visit.

He barked a mirthless laugh. "That son of a bitch! He did the same thing to Noah. He offered him a measly thirty cents on the dollar for the Miners Tavern, or something close to it."

"Oh, if only I'd known I could talk him up from twenty-five to thirty, I would have held out." Her tone dripped with sarcasm.

"He's been dying to move Dell's to Bowen Street ever since he landed in Fall River, but he doesn't want to pay the price to do it. He pulled all kinds of crap on Noah when we were trying to remodel, questioning permits, filing complaints, being a general pain in everyone's butt."

"You know, for such a small town, you have more than your fair share of bad actors."

Charlie shrugged, the motion tautening his T-shirt, molding it to hard muscle. "A few, that's all."

"Yeah, but on a percentage basis, it's probably more per capita than a big city."

"Well, at least you know who those players are in a small town." He gave her a pointed look. "Ready to dive in?"

They pored over the estimates. Soon they were toe to toe, debating which was the best approach, him advocating for all the bells and whistles and her trying to rein in his grand plan. She didn't necessarily disagree with his logic, which left her unsure exactly why she opposed him, other than the devil's advocate inside her was stirred up and wanted to spar.

As they went through the proposals, he took time to educate her on construction nuances about which she had little or no clue. He was patient and persistent, she'd give him that. But with each line item, the discussion grew more heated.

Joy sat back and tossed her pen onto the table. "Too much. I want the number closer to this." She tapped at the lower plan's number .

"If you half-ass this thing, princess, it's going to sit on the market longer and you're going to end up taking less for it. Plus, a buyer will be suspicious about the work that wasn't done and ask for extra during the inspection phase." He tapped the bottom line on the other bid. "And remember, you're in a small town, where your buyer pool is limited."

She glowered at him. "Princess? Do you always use terms of endearment for your clients?"

He puffed out an exasperated breath. "No, sorry about that. You're the rare client who brings it out in me. Did you hear anything I said after ‘princess,' or do I need to repeat it?"

"Of course I did," she snapped.

They both cinched their arms over their chests and played a game of chicken to see who would blink first. Charlie did, and Joy felt a little wave of triumph … until one corner of his mouth curled up. He reminded her of the cat that got the cream. What was he up to?

He pushed away from the table. "C'mon. Let's walk the job."

"Excuse me?"

"We'll go room to room and go over each scenario, along with what's feasible and what isn't. It helps to visualize the fix-up when you're staring at the space."

"Oh, all right," she groused.

"Let's start with the kitchen since we're standing in it." He painted a picture as he panned around the room. Soon she was nodding along. She liked what he made her see, though she didn't care to admit it. She also liked standing next to him—a little too much—where she could pull in his sandalwoodsy smell and feel the heat rising off his body.

"Store's next." They moved into that area, and again, he opened her eyes to a fresh perspective.

He pulled her back into the apartment and pointed out walls they could take down to bring in more natural light.

"We can also add a window in here." He twisted the knob to her bedroom. The door squeaked on its hinges. Her eyes darted to the bed, and horror gripped her. The book sat in the middle of the bed, cover up. His eyes moved there too, and he broke out in a smirk. She could feel heat blaze over her cheekbones.

"Nice reading material," he murmured .

"Don't be so judgy," she snipped. "It's not mine anyway. I found it in my mother's shop."

He looked down at her, and if she read his expression correctly, the words "Sure you did" danced on the tip of his tongue.

She parked her fists on her hips and peered up at him. "Does it look familiar?"

The creases between his eyebrows deepened. "No. Should it? It's not exactly my jam." His gaze gave away nothing as he gave the book a cursory glance.

"Never mind." Maybe it wasn't him. Either way, she'd just made a spectacular fool out of herself. Fortunately, he moved them through the awkward moment when he launched into the room's potential.

When they'd completed the tour, they sat back down in the kitchen. He stretched a long leg under the table. "Well?"

"I see where you're coming from, I do, but that's a lot of money. It's risky."

"Then let's talk about removing some of that risk so you're more comfortable. How about you cover the materials, and I take care of the labor costs for my crew? Like you, I won't get paid until it's sold."

She wagged her head back and forth. "Maybe. How are you going to protect me if Bruno and his buddy Carl decide to pull the crap on me they pulled on your brother?"

"I have a few more friends in the building department than those two clowns do—Bea's current state of pissed-offness aside—and I won't hesitate to use those connections if they decide to play games with this project."

"So you've got my back?" The word choice unfortunately conjured an image of his solid chest against her back—the chest on the book cover. They were naked, and he had her pinned against a tile wall, hot water sluicing over their bodies. His hand played between—

"I've got your back." Oh God, yes, you so have my back. His gray-green eyes drilled into hers. Was he simply communicating the conviction of his words? Or was he seeing the dirty picture playing out on her mind's movie screen?

Heat raced up her neck. Blushing was becoming a common occurrence around this guy. She yanked her fingers through her hair. "Right, um, good to know." She rocked forward, shaking off the remnants of the vision. "All right. You talked me into it. When do you start?"

"I'll be here at daylight tomorrow."

"Wait, what?"

"Okay. Seven, then. I just figured since you're on Chicago time … There's a lot to do, and we don't want to waste the daylight. That work for you?"

"Can't you wait until I'm gone?" Her voice pitched high, sounding screechy even to her own ears.

"When will that be?"

"I haven't figured it out yet."

"Makes it a little tough to plan." He gathered up the paperwork and tucked it back into its folders. "These are yours. I'll see you in the morning."

"Oh, all right," she grumped.

"I'll bring the coffee." He flashed her that roguish smile again, only maybe that was his real smile, and it had a wicked component to it that was natural rather than intentional.

This was one of the many fascinating facets to Charlie Hunnicutt that she considered after he left. Chin cupped in her hand, she stared out the kitchen window and pictured it bigger and modern in her mind's eye, the way Charlie had helped her envision it. Below it would be a farmhouse sink, gray cabinets, and a stone countertop. Beautiful. The man certainly had a talent to impart his visions and help her see past the sagging wallpaper and peeling paint.

It occurred to her he wasn't only a contractor. He was a crafter, a creative, like her. The more she learned about him, the more his appeal grew—and that was spilling over into the personal category too, which was dangerous. No way could she let herself fall for that devilish smile and the gleaming green eyes that went with it. She had to keep him in the contractor zone. Fortunately, she wasn't interested in him in any way other than as a builder, and he obviously had no interest in her.

Her thoughts turned to his rings. More than mere adornments for vanity's sake, they held history and the memories of generations past. In his own way, Charlie Hunnicutt was a blue blood—a Fall River blue blood. Though they were from vastly dissimilar universes, a parallel existed between the Hunnicutts and Sterling's family .

She was right smack between them, partners with two very different men.

And she could not allow herself romantic entanglements with either of them.