Why am I like this? I’ve slept with the man countless times. Why can’t I speak to him like a normal human being?
Oh, that’s right, Kiki. Because you’re in love with him. Ridiculously, pitifully in love with him.
Eddie goes right back to his call. “No, listen to me, if it doesn’t ship today, I’ve got a problem on my end. I need you to—hold on.” He pulls the phone away from his mouth, his brows lifting. “Was there something else, Kiki?”
“Yes. Sorry, I just… there’s some crown molding in the dining room, and I was hoping?—”
He lifts a finger, silencing me as his attention snaps back to the call. “Yeah, I’m here. No, you’re good. Go ahead.”
I press my lips together, waiting. Again.
He resumes pacing, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine, then overnight it. I don’t care what it costs—no, I care what it costs, but I care more about the timeline right now.”
He ends the call with a sharp tap and tosses the phone onto the table, scribbling something down on his clipboard before finally scowling in my direction, clearly out of patience. “Whatdo you need, Kiki?”
“Ten minutes.” I force the words out before I lose my nerve. “There’s a section of crown molding I think we can salvage if we remove it carefully?—”
“I don’t have ten minutes right now,” he cuts in, exhaling like he’s trying to rein it in.
He’s not lying. It’s a three-ring circus with all the activity swirling around him.
But my needs are important, too, right? I’m part of this crew, no matter how loath Eddie is to admit it.
“I know, but if we wait, the crew is going to?—”
“Kiki.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly, like I’m one more problem on his very long list. “Can’t you handle it? The design side is yours, right? Then handle it. I can’t deal with anything else right now.”
His phone rings again, and he snatches it up. “Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Go ahead.”
Just like that, I’m dismissed.
I stand there for a few seconds longer, waiting for some sign—anysign—that what Eddie and I shared isn’t gone. That I’m more than just a nuisance in his life now.
But it never comes, and something inside me snaps at the realization.
Fine, Eddie. You want me to handle it? I’ll fucking handle it.
I drive the short distance to my cabin, grateful it’s close to the job site.
Not that I’m here to rest.
I rush inside, twist my hair into a ponytail, and exchange my business clothes for a sweatshirt, old jeans, and boots that can actually survive a construction zone.
Then I wrestle the ladder from the shed outside my cabin, finagle most of it into the back of my car, and tie an old red towel around the end like that’s somehow going to make this, or me, look less ridiculous.
You know what? Good enough.
By the time I get back to the job site, the crew is already in full swing, which is perfect because no one’s paying me a damn bit of attention. I park as close as I can to the front entrance, cut the engine, and sit there for a few seconds, questioning every decision that has led me to this moment. When I realize no suitable answer is coming, I get out and head for the back of the car.
Turns out, getting the ladder into the car is far and away easier than getting it back out. Who knew?
I grab the ladder and start tugging, but it refuses to cooperate, so I yank harder and promptly lose my grip and land flat on my ass.
“Son of a bitch!”
Now I’mreallypissed.
Scrambling to my feet, I grab the damn thing and haul it out, the ladder foot catching on the trunk carpet. It jerks free so suddenly it nearly takes me down again.
