They turned into the graveled driveway at Belle Maison, and Phil felt the blood drain from her face. A whimper of alarm climbed from her throat, and her entire body went cold at the sight of a huge backhoe tractor shoving its metal claws into the heart of her mother’s painting room.
“Dammit,” Jamal whispered as he slowed the truck to a stop.
Phil opened the door and sprang from the truck, rushing over to the side of the house where the room was located. She waved her hands over her head, trying to catch the driver’s attention, but to no avail. The claws impaled another section of the room, taking out a side wall and two of the huge windows.
“Shit,” she heard Jamal say as he came around the house. He ran over to the tractor and climbed the side of the moving vehicle, banging on the window. The machine screeched to a halt and the driver pulled off his earmuffs.
Phil could hear the two talking, but she didn’t try to make out what they were saying. What did it matter? The damage had been done. Half of her mother’s room lay in rubble. She wrapped her arms around her stomach in an attempt to stave off the rush of grief threatening to overwhelm her.
“Stop it,” she ordered herself.
Straightening her back, she steeled herself against the emotion clogging her throat and banished the tears that had attempted to collect in the corners of her eyes. She wouldnotcry. After everything she’d been through these past few years, she would not let her emotions run away with her.
Jamal climbed down from the tractor and started toward her. The sorrow clouding his face brought Phil a measure of comfort…but only a small measure.
“Phylicia, I am so sorry about this,” he said. “I was supposed to cancel the wrecking service, but with everything that was going on, it slipped my mind.”
She gave him a sharp nod, not fully trusting herself to speak. Not fully trusting him, either. What if he’d never intended to save the room? What if he’d only made that promise in order to get her to continue working on the house?
Her gut told her Jamal would never do that, but she had relied on her gut with Kevin, and he’d proven to be the exact opposite of the man she thought he was. The same could be true of Jamal. She just didn’t know.
And wasn’tthatthe truth smacking her in the face?
Reality washed over her like a tidal wave, bombarding her with a fact that was hard to swallow. This man was more of a stranger to her than ninety percent of the population of this town. But because it had made it easier to share her body with him, she’d created a false sense of familiarity.
It was time to leave this dream world she’d been immersed in for the past thirty-six hours. Jamal Johnson was her employer. She’d allowed him to become her lover—a mistake she would no doubt pay dearly for.
“Let’s load the crown molding into the truck,” she said, turning on her heel and heading for the front entry, where she’d stacked the molding yesterday.
“Phylicia, wait.” He grabbed her by the elbow, halting her steps.
Phil pulled her arm out of his grip and turned to him. She ached to lash out at him, but she quelled the impulse. Employees had no right to be insubordinate to their employers.
“Yes?” she asked in the calmest voice she could muster.
“I’m sorry about the room,” he said.
“This is your house. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
His head reared back, his eyes narrowing into slits. “You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” she said, still calm. Score one for her.
“The hell it doesn’t,” he argued. “I’m telling you the truth. I was supposed to call the wrecking service when I left your house last Monday, but I got sidetracked. I forgot to call.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. This isyourhouse,” she reiterated. “I have no say in what happens to it. Now, can we please load the molding into the truck so I can get it back to my shop? We’ve lost too much time over the past day and a half. I have a lot of work to make up for.”
Jamal’s eyes slid shut. He brought his hand up to knead the bridge of his nose. “Phylicia, don’t do this,” he said in a pained voice.
“Once we get everything loaded, I’ll need you to drive me home,” she said before walking away.
Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into her driveway. Phil grabbed her keys from the front compartment of the bag that held her painting supplies. She entered through the side door of her workshop and then raised the garage door from the inside. She cleared off a spot on one of her worktables.
She looked over at Jamal’s truck to find him still sitting behind the wheel, staring at her with that brooding look he’d had for the past twenty minutes. He opened the door and got out, shutting it with more force than necessary.
They hadn’t said a word to each other since she’d left him standing in the yard at Belle Maison.
Phil went around the back of the truck and reached for a strip of molding.
