Now this guy’s just crossing a line. “What do you mean by that? Jeb did a beautiful job on this.”
“Beautiful toyou,” he allows, tearing his gaze off the ceiling and dropping it to the floor. He jabs the toe of his filthy-looking boot against the wood. “To the trained eye, it’s a hack job.”
“Ahackjob?” I squeak. “Nameonething he did wrong.”
“Honey,”hesays, pinning his eyes on me now.“I could have named a dozen things he did wrong the second I stepped into this place.” He flicks out his thumb, counting up on his fingers with each item. “He didn’t insulate properly, he didn’t double-pane the windows, he usednewwood instead of refurbished, and there’s a plank sticking up at the entrance that could knock one of your pretty little customers on their…” He seems to catch himself. “Tush.”
I tap my toe.
Pace my breath.
Wonder if there’s a plane I could catch to a land far, far away. It’s not justwhatthis guy said that has me so miffed. It’s how he said it.
“You’re a very rude man. Has anyone ever told you that?”
He shrugs and spins in place. “Truth hurts sometimes.”
“Does it?” My voice is screechy again because who can stand it? Beau’s brother Braxton is a piece of work.
“You know what?” I say. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He jerks a questioning look in my direction. “What—you and me going on a date? Your sister disagrees.” He grins like the bad boy I suspect he is. “But I’m with you. It’s probably a bad idea.”
I’ve admired a list of Braxton’s recent handiwork; he’s a real craftsman. His website features a treehouse to die for, a book nook I might kill for, and a man cave I wouldn’t mind living in despite the assortment of antlers and neon beer signs. Braxton is good at what he does.Great, in fact. Too bad he’s a giant jackhole.
“You know what, buddy?”
His grin grows. “Buddy?”
“Ineverentertained the idea of dating you,” I say. “And now I’m reconsidering even working with you.”
His face falls flat. “Why?” He scratches his jaw, that dark brow of his furrowing as if he’s genuinely confused. “Did you want me to lie to you?”
“No, but have you ever heard of bedside manner?”
He puts his hands up. “Whoa, whoa. You’re talking about going to bed? We haven’t even gone on a date.”
I ignore the reaction in my lower belly as he gives me a scandalous wink. “You should take a class on tact. Or maybe look up the definition, see if you can acquire at least akindergartenlevel of decency when talking to a potential client.”
“You mean sugarcoat things.”
“I mean don’t badmouth a man who’s been like a father tome, and who carved the way around here for men like you. Have some respect.”
His face changes the slightest bit. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don’t we sit down and look at the plans?”
“I think it’d be better if you just took your plans and left.”
He side-eyes the blueprints, his shoulders dropping a healthy notch at last. “I’ll leave, but I spent a great deal of time drafting the plans for this project. The least you can do is look at them. There’s a QR code that will take you to a virtual tour. I can guarantee you’ll love it.”
In come the visions again, all the exquisite designs, the incredible attention to detail—creative, intricate details that turn every job he completes into a one-of-a-kind masterpiece. I really want that, and best of all, I can finally afford the hefty price tag. “Fine,” I say.
He nods. “Fine.” He strides slowly in my direction, dragging one work boot after the other across the floor.
I clear my throat, lift my chin, and hold it firmly in place. I refuse to be intimidated by this brute. Yet even as I think it, my face flushes hot and a clammy sheen coats my face.
The scent of wood, leather, and spice hits me as the tips of his boots nudge the toes of my heels. The heavenly scent summons the wordsyummy, masculine, andsweet mercy.
His gaze locks on mine like we’re about to square off in an old-fashioned face-off.
