“—Mr. Haywood was actively trash talking our product on social media.”
Horrified, Deanna shifted into damage control even as she pulled up the relevant Twitter feed on her phone. “I am so beyond sorry, Tamra. This is obviously not what you were going for when you provided Eric with your product for promotion.”
As she skimmed the offending tweets, she held in a stream of profanity. Did the idiot not understand how product placement worked?
“What are you going to do about it?”
Shove a boot up his ass to start.
“I absolutely understand that you’re upset. I’ll speak to him. Have the tweets removed immediately.”
A bead of sweat trickled down her spine, as much from anxiety over this latest PR disaster as from the fact that the power was off while they worked on replacing outdated wiring.
“That’s not going to help with the retweets or the impact he’s already had. This is bad for our brand.”
“Yes. I absolutely agree.” Brain spinning, she tried to find a solution that wouldn’t result in her being the one reamed out for someone else’s unacceptable behavior. “I have other clients with bigger platforms. I should be able to find someone more… appropriate to promote your brand. Would that be agreeable to you?”
“How much bigger?” Tamra’s voice had turned speculative.
“Kyle Keenan.” Even as his name left her lips, Deanna winced. She hated to volunteer him without talking to him first, but desperate times. Kyle was the only big client on her roster who didn’t habitually do stupid shit. He was happily in love and floating on cloud nine. He’d do her a solid. Probably.
“Oh, that would be fantastic!”
“Let me make a few calls and see what I can do. I assure you, this will not happen again.”
“Keep us updated.” Tamra hung up without saying goodbye.
“Okay then.” Shaking her head, Deanna immediately sent Kyle a text explaining the situation. She needed to get this dealt with so she could get back to helping Wyatt with the rewiring. Ripping out approximately eighty years of electrical technology was the big project for the week that needed to be completed before they could push forward with anything else.
When Kyle’s answer of Happy to came back, she breathed a sigh of relief. Eric Haywood would still need taking to task, but this solution would satisfy the Tamra’s people. Probably.
She was still congratulating herself on a bullet dodged when a knock sounded on the door. Were they expecting another delivery of supplies? Had Wyatt called for more volunteers? Maybe it was the electrician who’d be putting in the new breaker box. She hadn’t thought he was coming before next week.
Shoving her phone into the back pocket of her shorts, she opened the door… and froze. “Mom! Dad!”
For the briefest moment, she wondered if she slammed the door and hid, would they forget they’d seen her? Which was ridiculous. They were here, and her questionable grace period was up. Time to face the music.
Her hand clenched on the knob because she knew. She knew how this conversation was going to go, and she dreaded it. It was why she hadn’t told them about any of this. Pulling up her metaphorical big girl panties, she fixed her face into what she hoped resembled a pleasant smile. “What are y’all doing here?”
“Perhaps a better question is why you up and moved without feeling the need to tell us.” The censure in her mother’s tone had Deanna’s shoulders inching toward her ears.
How the hell had they found out? More, how had they actually found her out here?
“I had an opportunity, and I jumped at it. As it happened rather quickly, I haven’t had a chance to update you.” And I didn’t want to.
Without waiting for an invitation, they shoved inside. She couldn’t keep them out without shutting the door in their faces, so she stepped back, conscious of what they were walking into.
“Oh, Deanna. How could you do something like this?” Her mother’s face twisted in shock and disappointment as she took in the walls that had been stripped of wallpaper and the periodic holes in the plaster and lath that they’d made to deal with the wiring. “How could you throw your money away on this money pit? You know you should be putting your time into your job and securing your future.”
What? Because her job was so tenuous? She fucking rocked at what she did, however thankless it was. There’d been talk of making her a partner in the firm in another year or so.
Her father took in the stack of reclaimed lumber waiting to have nails removed in the room opposite the front parlor and added his voice to the pile on. “Honey, you can’t afford to be wasting frivolous energy and effort on a flight of fancy.”
Hell would freeze over before she admitted to either of them that she’d drunkenly bought this house in an auction. But she’d committed to following through, so she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m a grown adult. I get that this is something y’all don’t understand, but it’s going to be an excellent investment.”
Her father heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Deanna, this kind of thing is reckless. It’s hard work. With a house this old, there will always, always be problems that show up, and you don’t have the money to sink into buying a house, let alone the cost of the materials and labor for renovations.”
He had no idea exactly how true that was, and he’d have a coronary if he knew the arrangement she’d agreed to in order to get things taken care of.
“It’s hard work,” her mom added. “The kind of work you have to have professionals for.”
Right. Because they couldn’t imagine her capable of anything more than painting a wall. Resentment rose up to choke her, even as the weight of their criticism and concerns strained the fragile hope she’d built that everything would be alright.
“She has a professional.”
At the sound of Wyatt’s voice, Deanna closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could sink through the floor. Heat crawled up her neck that he’d overheard any of this dressing down, even as she was grateful for the interruption.
“Who are you?” Suspicion dripped from her father’s voice.
“Wyatt Sullivan. Deanna’s contractor. And you would be?” He ranged himself beside her, his posture deceptively easy, but his jaw was granite beneath the unshaven scruff. He edged forward, as if he could shield her from their criticisms.
For a moment, she wanted to hide behind him, let him take the brunt of this onslaught. She was so taken aback by the urge, it took her a moment to remember to make introductions. “These are my parents. Phillip and Valerie James.”
Wyatt nodded. “Ah, well, it’s commendable you’d be concerned about your daughter’s wellbeing, but let me assure you, she’s uncovered a jewel here. It looks rough now, but the house is structurally sound and has so much potential.”
Phillip frowned. “Potential or not, it’s expensive.”
“Not as bad as you might imagine. We’re salvaging and reusing as much material as possible. And Deanna is doing a lot of the work herself.”
Valerie pressed a hand to her chest. “But surely that isn’t that much. She can’t have that much time if she’s doing her job properly.”
Right. Because they thought she was an imbecile who couldn’t do anything right or manage her own life.
“She’s working exceptionally hard. Why don’t we give you a tour?”
A tour? No. She wanted them gone.
But Wyatt was already leading them toward the back of the house, where they’d opened up walls and re-cased openings.
Needing a minute, Deanna didn’t follow, but she could hear Wyatt explaining what they’d done, what they’d planned. Could hear, too, her parents as they asked questions, their voices less accusatory with him.
Of course, they’d be more accepting of all this from him. He was a man and a professional. Naturally, they’d give more weight to his opinion. Resentment bubbled up, hot and toxic. Not at Wyatt. God knew she appreciated the assist. But at her parents for being like this.
She’d made one monumental mistake in marrying Blake, and because of it, they thought she was foolish and incapable in everything. In the wake of her divorce, they’d turned to treating her as if she were still a foolish teenager. As if it were her fault that she’d gotten screwed in the settlement. As if the only answer was to spend the rest of her life living small and never taking risks.
She didn’t want that. She’d never wanted that. But just being around them made her doubt herself and her ability to carry out this lunatic plan.
“—going to be gorgeous when we’re through.” Wyatt led her parents back to the foyer. He didn’t make any move to show them the upstairs.
For the best. No way in hell would they respond well to the fact that he was living here with her.
“Well, I, for one, feel better that someone qualified is overseeing the project,” Valerie said.
Phillip nodded. “Our girl has a tendency to leap without thinking.”
Deanna squeezed her phone so tight, she wondered the screen didn’t crack. Not trusting herself to speak, she just held back as Wyatt deftly reassured them both and nudged them toward the door.
Her mother stopped, wrapping her in a hug. “I wish you’d told us. I hope everything turns out… okay.”
She had so little confidence in Deanna that she couldn’t even hope it turned out well? Demoralized, depressed, Deanna could only lift one arm in a mechanical squeeze as they said their goodbyes and finally, blessedly, walked out the door.
The temper snapping in Wyatt’s blood made it hard to shut the door instead of slamming it. Watching Deanna’s parents dismiss and infantilize her was bad enough, but seeing how that so clearly hurt her, how they diminished her in almost every way with their well-intentioned and wholly misplaced concerns hit way too close to home and had rage bubbling up, ready to spew. He knew exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that brand of parenting.
He wanted to hit something. And turning back, seeing her slumped shoulders and downcast gaze, he wanted to hold her. None of that was appropriate, but he couldn’t just go back to work when she looked so damned… defeated.
Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the door with a far more casual attitude than he felt. “I’m the youngest in my family. My parents adopted me when I was twelve. They already had one son who was theirs by blood. Scott was sixteen, and our parents adored him. He was the golden boy, who could do no wrong. That could’ve made him an asshole, but it didn’t, and I kinda worshipped him, too.”
Deanna was watching him now, her expression guarded.
“Anyway, my parents are high achieving people. College professors. They have astronomical expectations. Scott met them as easy as breathing. I… did not. Everything about school was a struggle. Just graduating high school felt like scaling a mountain. With Scott’s help, I did more than just scrape by. But Sullivans are high achievers, right? So college was expected.” He flashed a humorless smile as he thought about the hell that came along with that.
“I lasted a year before I couldn’t take it anymore. My parents were pissed. Asked what the hell I was going to do with my life without an education. They never asked why I quit or what I wanted. That never mattered to them. I was just the disappointment. The family fuck up. My girlfriend at the time piled on, too. Saying I would never amount to anything as a college dropout. My brother is the only one who never made me feel that way.”
Straightening from the door, he took a step toward her. “All that to say, I get it. I get what it is to be judged by standards that don’t fit you. To be seen through a lens that warps everything you are and everything you do into something wrong. To feel shame and doubt for not meeting expectations you don’t even want.”
Those hazel eyes were riveted to his now, and he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, wanting so much to touch her. “They’re entitled to their opinions. That doesn’t make them right.”
She swallowed. “They aren’t entirely wrong, either. I drunk bought a house. That kind of impulsiveness is seriously problematic.”
“There’s a big difference between making a drunk mistake on something you didn’t even want, and the alcohol lowering your inhibitions enough to do the thing you’ve been admittedly thinking and dreaming about for years. The way I see it, the drunk just got the fear out of your way.”
Her bitter laugh echoed in the foyer. “I wish it had stayed gone.”
“Let me ask you something, Deanna. Have they ever approved of anything you’ve done? Or is every conversation a chance to remind you of your mistakes?”
He was close enough now he felt the breath she expelled.
“Have you been tapping my phone?”
“Don’t have to. They’re afraid for you. That much is obvious. Anything that’s more than walking the straight and narrow, that’s more than living small and safe, is going to feel like a risk to them, and that means you could get hurt again. They’d rather see you stay in a safe little box than get hurt. And that means they’re going to be disappointed no matter what because you don’t fit that box. Continuing to try will just crush your soul. So you might as well take the risk.”
As Wyatt watched her pupils blow wide, he realized he wasn’t just talking about the house. He wanted to touch her. To slide his hands into all that silky hair and take her mouth until they’d both forgotten her parents’ visit.
Deanna’s breath went short and shallow, her chin tipping up just a fraction. “You’re an incredibly astute man.”
He was astute enough to realize she wouldn’t push him away if he gave into desire and kissed her. The idea of it had his fingers curling, itching to reach for her. But he had just enough presence of mind to remember that all of this was a terrible idea. They worked together. Lived together. She needed him professionally, and neither of them could afford to fuck that up.
With a herculean effort, he took a step back. “I just don’t want to see you kicking yourself. You’re here. You’re doing the work. That’s what matters.”
She blinked and cleared her throat. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you believe in me. In what we’re doing here.”
“It means a lot to me that you don’t think my dream is crazy either.” Feeling strangely vulnerable and needing to do something to banish the lingering tension, he headed for the back door. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Deanna followed him out of the house, across the weedy lawn to the old barn.
“I was doing some exploring while you were at work the other day.”
“I can’t believe I haven’t been out here yet.”
“You’ve been focused on getting the house to the point of reasonably livable. Nothing wrong with that. But I think you’ll be glad to see what I’ve found.”
“What did you find?”
Putting his shoulder into it, he wrestled open the door. “A honey hole.” Dragging it as wide as he could, he stepped inside. “At some point, I guess whenever somebody renovated before, they hauled all kinds of old stuff from the house out here to store. The door was hella stuck, so I don’t think anybody’s been out here in years.”
Her steps were soft on the dirt floor. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that streamed through the door, gilding that golden hair. Damn, she was beautiful.
She reached a hand out, trailing it over an old carved mantle as if it were the finest velvet. Reverent. He watched as she picked her way through the stacks of wood and old trunks, eyes skimming over antiques in various conditions. With a gasp, she leapt forward, hands outstretched to touch the piece he’d known she’d fall in love with.
“Wyatt. This buffet.” And when she looked back at him, he saw it. The light in her eyes her parents had extinguished.
He joined her, stroking a hand over the dusty wood. “Solid mahogany. The finish has seen better days, but it can probably be salvaged.”
“We have to save it. It would be gorgeous. In the dining room. Or maybe the kitchen.”
“Plenty of time to decide. And to go through the rest of this stuff to see what else you want to use. There’s a big pile of old lumber I want to plane and see what we have. I’m thinking we might be able to make custom butcher block countertops for the kitchen.”
“That would be amazing. And I love the idea of using stuff that was already here, already a part of the house’s history.” Delighted, she looked around at the rows and stacks of other treasures. “I need to make an inventory.”
“That’ll be a good rainy day project. For now, we need to get back to that wiring so we can get the AC back on. I think if we give a solid push this afternoon, we can probably finish up tomorrow morning. And that means we can start talking walls.”
“Now you’re speaking my language. Let’s do it.”
Satisfied he’d banished the shadows from her eyes, he led the way back to the house.