I needed a moment. I’d take the call, take a breath, andapologize to my friends. Cher would get it. She was always there when things got serious.
I turned around and slid the call open, embarrassed now at my reaction.
“Hey Jenn, ” I said as I cut across the bar to the front door, relieved to be speaking to my dispatcher and receptionist, a fully neutral party.
Only the voice on the other end of the line was definitely not Jenn.
It was deep. Masculine.
“I’ve got another leak.”
My insides turned to water as that voice sliced through me. It was as unnerving, I realized, as the eyes that went with them.
“Mr. Harrington,” I said. “How terrible to hear from you again.”
CHAPTER 8
Fumbling the Negotiations
MITCHELL
Icouldn’t help the grin that spread across my face as Winona’s voice filled my ear. I wrangled it away, so she wouldn’t hear it. “Helluva way to speak to paying customers, Ms. Chalmers.”
“This is my personal cell,Mr. Harrington.When customers bypass my dispatch system—and act like entitled assholes—I speak to them appropriately.”
I knew having Sal dig up her personal number had been a risk. But it was the only way to ensure she’d pick up.
“Anyway, not sorry about your leak,” she continued airily. “But Iwouldrecommend calling Miller’s Boiler and Gas.”
“No.”
A beat passed. “No?”
“No,” I confirmed, my voice a low rumble. “I want you.”
There was a pause where I strained my ears, desperate to hear the sound of her swallowing; an intake of breath. Anything to let me know I affected her in some way besides making her angry.
“Miller’s,” she said finally, “does excellent work. In fact, I used to work for them, so you know they’re good.”
I wasn’t used to a woman ignoring my requests. To anyone ignoring me. I think I liked it, irritating as it was.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” I said. “But I will, so I’m clear. I. Want. You, Ms. Chalmers.”
I repeated the ‘Ms.’ with emphasis, waiting for her to correct her title. Would I change my approach if she said Mrs.?
No. You need her as a muse, that’s all.
“I’ll pay you double what I paid last time,” I tacked on, knowing it would piss her off.
“Always about the money. Typical.”
I wonder what she’d think if she knew I actually cared very little about the money? Sure, it greased wheels in a huge way. Let me sponsor things I cared about. Was vital, actually, to the work I truly cared about—the medical work I had nothing to do with. But on a personal level? I’d been happier years ago, when I was dirt poor and forging my own way.
But that was neither here nor there. “What will it take to get you to fix this leak, Ms. Chalmers?”
“Apologize for how you treated me the last time.”
“I’m sorry.”
