She wiggled out of his grip.
“No, it was just a few drops.” She backed up toward the pebbledpath that led to her grandmother’s cottage. “I’ll just go get cleaned up. What time is everything supposed to start?”
Before Simon could answer, tires crunched over the gravel driveway.
“Um, now?” he said, wincing.
Jordan groaned. “You really need me for this?”
“You’re the lead carpenter, Jordie, and a family member. They want you on film.”
She blew out a breath. An honorary role at best. No way her brother actually trusted her with this job. She already knew he’d hired a contractor—some guy named Josh Foster out in Winter Lake—and contractors had their own carpenters on staff.
She should know; she used to be one of them.
Still, Simon had promised he’d already worked it out with Josh, howJordanwould lead,Jordanwould work closely with the designer,Jordanwould be the point person for all carpentry work. The thought both excited and terrified her. There was a time when carpentry was more than a job, it was a passion. She loved woodworking, loved creating, dreamed of producing her own line of furniture and opening up her own shop.
Or she used to, at least, before an electric saw in her hands turned into a literal occupational hazard.
“Fine,” she said to her brother. She’d play along. Shedidwant to be involved in the reno, after all. She just wasn’t sure how much control she’d actually have here. But whatever. Anything to wipe thatare you okaylook from her brother’s face.
A silver sedan flashed into view, and Jordan maneuvered behind her brother to set about wiping her cheeks clean. She may or may not have had to use her own spit, but desperate times and all that.
“Hello, dear,” her grandmother said as a car door opened and shut.
“Pru, how are you?” a voice said.
“I’m just fine,” Pru said. “Oh, you do look lovely.”
A laugh. “Thank you so much. But look at you! Those glasses!”
“Grandma could give us all some fashion tips, I think,” Simon said.
Another laugh.
Jordan took a breath, steeled herself to be professional, and turned around.
She blinked.
Blinked again, because...
There, a few feet away and smiling at Jordan’s precious grandmother, was Little Miss Bitch herself. Granted, she was no longer covered in coffee, her eyes were now soft and friendly as opposed to wide and rage-infused, and she was dressed in a stunning form-fitting black suit and white blouse, complete with dark burgundy heeled oxfords that gave her legs for days, but yeah, it was absolutely her.
“Astrid Parker,” she said, holding out a hand to Simon. “Bright Designs. We’ve been emailing quite a bit.”
“Yes, hi, great to meet you finally,” he said, pumping her hand. “Simon Everwood. And this”—he turned and nudged Jordan out from behind him—“is my sister, Jordan. She’ll be the lead carpenter on the job and your primary contact with the family.”
The woman’s—Astrid’s—eyes went wide, and her pretty, light pink mouth fell open in shock.
Chapter Three
ASTRID DIDN’T USUALLYemploy the workfuckon a regular basis, butoh holy fucking fuck.
The woman from Wake Up.
Thewoman.
“H-h-hi,” Astrid managed to say. She held out her hand. She had no clue what else to do.
