A sneer curled her perfectly shaped lips. “What do you care, Zeus?”
When he simply glared at her, she finally lifted her slim shoulder. “Building a stage.”
“A stage,” he repeated, deadpan.
Vanessa set her fists on her hips. “Yes, a stage. We’ll need one for the fashion show. What else did you think the girls would use for their catwalk?”
He hadn’t thought about it, to be honest. If he had, he would’ve built her the damn stage himself.
“I want to finish this by tomorrow, so they can practice properly before the big show next week.”
He nodded toward the sawhorse. If what he saw stacked around the courtyard was any indication, all the pieces for the stage were right there. “Lucy have her hand in this?”
“My dad,” she replied, her lips lifting in a small smile. She grabbed some papers and handed them to him. “He designed these plans, had all the wood cut, and then had everything shipped from San Francisco.”
Jordan perused the plans, which contained solid, lightweight pieces that easily fit together. Like Ikea furniture, but far superior quality. Barone quality.
“You got anyone helping you?” He couldn’t deny that he was impressed to see Vanessa out here, by herself, surrounded by power tools, setting a stage up. But it didn’t mean he liked it. What if the power saw slipped? Or the drill? Just the thought?—
“My dad taught me how to build. I spent my youthsurrounded by sawdust and drafting papers. I learned how to use a hammer before I learned how to write my name.”
He tried to imagine it. A pint-sized Vanessa beside her father in a workshop, hammering a nail into a piece of wood.
A gust of wind blew through the courtyard, and a shiver wracked Vanessa’s body. Jordan watched the tremor as it rippled through her slim frame. Fuck’s sake. Why was she so damn stubborn?
For a second, he thought of letting her freeze her ass off to teach her a lesson. But then she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, like she had that night at the club, and the sight softened something in him.
With a muttered curse, he yanked his jacket off, stalked over to her, and draped it over her shoulders.
“M-mine’s over there.” She pointed to the coat on a large stack of boxes, but she didn’t move to grab it. Instead, she melted against the warmth of his jacket, and the movement did something to his insides that he didn’t care to examine right then.
“Yeah, well, mine’s pre-heated,” he muttered, not liking the way the tip of her nose was turning red. “Go inside and warm up for a minute. I’ll take over out here.”
She shook her head defiantly. “No, I need to keep moving. I was fine before you got here and made me stop.”
She’d been alone when he got there, and he didn’t like it. Especially not with everything going on. He hadn’t found any leads on the flash she’d seen the other night, but he knew she wasn’t just imagining it. Call it gut instinct, or maybe he’d spent too much time around too many bad dudes, but ever since the club, something told him this was more than standard celebrity trolling.
It nagged him enough to call Joel, who said Vanessa had recently mentioned some online trouble to Lucy. After the club incident, someone had anonymously sent her flowers to the apartment.
Vanessa hadn’t shared that detail with him, but between the club, the flowers, and the flash, he was nervous. He didn’t like being fucking nervous. Until he connected all the pieces, he was claiming her safety as his responsibility. She was his boss’ sister-in-law after all.
Which is the only reason, he told himself, that he’d gone from drop-in to live-in rabbit sitter. He was doing his job. Besides, his concerns weren’t unfounded. Stalking wasn’t as uncommon as people thought, and the longer it went on, the more unhinged the stalker became. His willingness to risk this getting out of hand was zero.
“You won’t be able to do shit if you freeze. So why don’t you grab a coffee or something, and we’ll finish this together later.”
Her bottom lip jutted out, pouting in a way that made her look five instead of twenty-five. “I want to do it myself.”
“Why?” He wanted to add that it was short-sighted and ridiculous not to ask for help on a project like this, but he decided he also wanted to keep his balls where they were.
“Because,” she stated, her gaze flicking briefly away from him.
“Because?”Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue.
She studied him carefully, like she was weighing how much she could trust him. Hell, if she had any idea of the secrets he intended to carry to his grave, she’d know he was a vault.
Her gaze dipped to the gravel below her feet. “Because I want to prove to my mother that I can.”
Well, he hadn’t expected that. “Your mother?” He’d met Maria Barone a handful of times.
