She grinned.I’m pretty much amazing in all areas.And I prefer the term “managerial executive” to “supervisor”—thank you very much.
My apologies. Are you up for an interview?
Her breath caught. Did he just ask to meet her?Are you asking to meet me?
I think it’s a good idea if we’re going to get married.
That’s a big IF!
Well, IF we get married, what do you want out of it?
Ooooh, good question. She drummed her fingers on the table.I want time away from my job, a fully stocked kitchen, and WIFI.
Aren’t you high maintenance?
She smiled. Seriously, his sarcasm was like butter on popcorn. No man had grabbed her attention so fast since Cash Diamante back in high school.
Now there was a hottie.
Too bad he was also the world’s worst boyfriend. Talk about dodging a bullet. Their breakup was the best thing that ever happened to her. Cash would have called her high maintenance too. She sent back a laughing emoji.If you only knew.
Come on out to my job site.He’d dropped her a pin.
How will I find you?
Just ask for the man in charge.
A thrill went up her spine. Alpha male + sarcasm = jelly knees.
She took a deep breath and drew in a hefty dose of reality. This guy could be a sixty-three-year-old man missing three teeth and have hair growing out of his ears. He could also be some kind of weirdo who wanted to chain her to the stove to cook for him and a dozen children all day every day.
One truth she found was that this wasn’t some marketing scheme by The Matchmaker. There was a real person on the other end of this chat. Not that she was going to call Jennifer and tell her that. Things had gotten … interesting. For some reason, she felt loyalty to this guy and a desire to help him keep his secret.
Of course, that could just be his cult leader ways already working on her.
She grinned.
Also, it was embarrassing that she’d actually contacted the person, let alone text-flirted with him. She didn’t need the local reporter following her out there only to discover that she’d been scammed. Her image, her blog, and her career wouldn’t live it down. Calling Jennifer was out of the question.
She reread the text. Going to a job site didn’t sound bad. There’d be other people there, right? She could play it safe, do a drive-by, and if she got any weird tingles, she’d floor it out of there, spraying gravel in her rearview mirror.
On my way, she typed.
Her makeshift office was a mess. It took her ten minutes to get everything back in her purse in a way that was slightly more organized than when she’d pulled it out. The clerk waved goodbye as she made her way out the door. She waved back, wondering if he’d remember what she was wearing so he could tell the cops when her parents filed a missing person’s report. Which wouldn’t happen for 60 to 90 days since they were off discovering the world.
It was only a drive-by. She had nothing to lose. However, the farther out she got from town, and the bumpier the country road became, the more she questioned her own sanity.
Who answered random ads in the paper for a wife?
She slowed as the trees dropped away to reveal a large clearing with a broken-down old house in the middle. There were three pickup trucks parked haphazardly on what used to be the lawn. A generator roared next to the faded blue Ford, and neon electrical cords ran from it through the front door.
Five guys were working on the exterior of the house, scraping away at the paint and pulling off broken boards. A man upstairs and inside was removing a broken window. They all seemed to be focused on their projects and not at all on her. Which was good. If they’d stopped to stare, she’d have thrown the car in reverse and backed out slowly.
“Safe location? Check.” She stepped out of the car and shielded her eyes against the sunshine. Power tools and the sound of demolition came from the open front door and windows. “Actual job? Check.”
Things were looking up. The more she stared at the old house, the more she saw the potential in it. Had she driven out here after sunset, she would have been terrified. But in the glaring midday sun, the old porch whispered of shelling peas and knitting baby blankets. A swing would be perfect for romantic kisses on hot summer nights.
Shaking herself, she marched toward the group of men working on the siding. “Excuse me?” she called from a couple feet away. “I’m looking for—” She stopped, realizing she hadn’t actually got a name. Oh, for the love! “—the man in charge.” She hated that she’d actually had to use that phrase.
