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“Thanks for helping me out.”
Scott slaps me on the back. “Man, you know I have no life outside of working for you.” He says it with a tone implying he’d rather be doing anything else on a Sunday afternoon than unloading a truckload of tile.
My mind has been so wrapped up in what to do about Princess that I put the wrong worksite on the delivery form. My sloppy work is costing both Scott and I our one day off. Also, it’s the one day of the week when I get to spend more than an hour with my dad, and I’m extra pissed off that my mistake cost me time with him.
“Everything alright? All these years and you’ve never screwed-up like this.”
I cast my glance to the house next-door. “Everything’s fine.”
He laughs under his breath. “How’s Princess Isabella?”
“Still there.”
He drags a box out of the truck bed and waits for me while I do the same. “You haven’t charmed the pants off her yet—or the roof from over her head—with your witty banter?”
My eyes give him an answer that doesn’t require words.
We walk into the house and carry the boxes upstairs before he continues his line of questioning. “Did you see the work truck out front of her place?”
“Yes.” I see everything that happens there.
“Who has she hired?”
I shake my head. I don’t recognise the pickup.
We head downstairs. “She can’t have permits yet. Bet you can stall her out by being a pesky neighbour. Take a grievance to City Council or the next community meeting,” Scott says.
I don’t require him to spell it out for me. I understand the process, albeit from the other side of the fence. The other side of Iris’ fence, specifically.
We each grab another box. “Won’t need to.”
“I imagine you have a plan, but you’re going to keep it from me unless I drag each word from your tight jaws syllable by syllable.”
Sounds about right.
Scott shakes his head. “Let me know if you need me to play a part in your scheme. Please, keep it legal.”
I give him another sideways glare. Of course, it will be legal; I have Pops and Tommy to consider. I’m still sticking with my simple plan of being nice. Only now, I really have to be nice, so she can’t tell that I’m faking it.
We finish hauling boxes and Scott pulls over a stool to the kitchen island. It’s the one place to sit, unless you count the single lawn chair I have outside. I grab him a beer from the fridge and slide it across the counter towards him.
“Come for steaks and the football game after I visit Pops. Tommy will be here at five.” It’s my way of making up for my mistake today.
“You put a grill out back?”
“I picked up a Coleman this morning.” That reminds me, it’s still in the truck.
I head out the front door and hear Princess’ voice before I see her. She’s talking about siding materials. I was hoping she’d back out of her unrealistic plan, but it seems she’s serious about making my life as fucking miserable as possible.
When I get to the curb, I see her standing on her lawn. She’s wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a t-shirt with a wide neck that hangs off one shoulder, exposing delicate skin to the bright sun with the confidence of an eighteen-year-old cheerleader. She pulls it off. From where I stand, her ass looks like she spends her days doing cartwheels and flips.
I want to go back to only hearing her voice. I wish I were fucking blind.
She looks at her shack, flanked by that burly guy I saw consoling her at the funeral. He obviously works in the trades from the clothes he’s wearing and the beaten-up truck he’s driving. The two of them laugh about something, and he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. She slides her palm along his back, touching him in a way that is far from professional. What contractor worth the title sleeps with his clients? I may not be the poster child for healthy relationships, and I still got the message that it’s bad for business.
I slam the door shut, and they both turn at the sound. There’s no use worrying about being caught as her neighbour. She’ll find out, eventually. With the Coleman box under my arm, I stroll across the property line. Princess’ smile falls into a deep scowl and she drops her hand from between the contractor’s shoulder blades. I don’t know why she’s angry with me. The last time I spoke to her, I helped her with the moving truck.
Unless she already figured out who I am.
The guy smiles and moves towards me, stretching out his arm in greeting from five feet away.
“Hey,” he says cheerfully, obviously remembering me from the funeral. I extend my hand and give a firm, one-pump handshake. “We didn’t officially meet, uh, last time.” His voice loses its glee. “I’m Asher.” I didn’t care to meet him that day and I care less today.
I look him up and down. We’re about the same height and build. He’s got calloused hands and a few split knuckles, likely from rubbing them against raw materials rather than from fighting. He’s too chipper to be a scrapper. And his nose is too straight.
“Isabella.” I greet her in as pleasant a tone I can muster given what’s taking place here.
Asher looks back and forth between the two of us, sizing up our relationship. Probably worried she’ll dump his ass for mine. She will—in the work sense. This house will be mine, and he’ll no longer have a reason to keep touching her.
A small grunt precedes her snarky greeting. “I see you looked me up. It’s Izzy, by the way.” She’ll always be Princess to me. “Don’t be shy about who you really are on my account.” She turns to her friend with a hair toss and a wave of presentation in my direction. “Ash, Owen is the owner of Black Ladder Developments. He’s the one who’d harassed Gran all these years, trying to pressure her into selling her home.”
Slight exaggeration, but I expect nothing less.
Looks like playing nice won’t work with her, since I’m already on the shit list. Easier for me that way—I don’t play well with others.
“You the contractor on her job?” I deflect, preferring to discuss my business practices with people other than the competition.
He barks a laugh at me. “Oh no, she’s managing this on her own.” He shakes his head and his eyes bulge out, telling me to avoid that topic. Princess’ manicured hands find a perch on her hips, daring me to say something about that. “I’m here as a sounding board. This house is going to be amazing when she’s done.”
“Save yourself the trouble, Izzy,” I over-enunciate her name, getting a taste for it. I’ll definitely be sticking with Princess. “Sell it to me right now.” Since I don’t need to hide who I am anymore, I might as well cut to the chase.
“Not now, not ever,” she grinds out. “You can knock down every other home on this street, but this one is staying exactly where it stands.”
Asher laughs, thinking my offer is a joke. He juts his chin in the direction of my place. “You’re lucky it’s not going to be for sale. You’d have stiff competition.”
It’s going for sale, but there won’t be any competition for it.
“You know,” Asher faces Princess with the excitement of feeling his brain cells fire for the first time, “if you get it done on schedule, you can enter it for an Evolve Award.”
Each spring, Evolve Awards are handed out to the top firms and individuals in the home development, real estate marketing & advertising, and interior design spheres. Black Ladder has been nominated several times by clients and trades and, two years ago, we won Developer of the Year for single-family homes. There’s no way I’m letting her take the category this year.
I cover my scoff by shaking the box under my arm, indicating it’s time to leave. Unless this conversation will lead to a bill of sale being signed, my participation isn’t required.
“See you around,” Asher calls to my backside.
Sure, if it’s to help Princess move her stuff out of the house—because I don’t plan on hanging out with her for fun.
I stomp through the door and down the hallway, angrier than before I went outside. I almost throw the box on the counter, then stop myself before scratching the brand-new surface.
“What did the Coleman ever do to you?” Scott tries to joke with me, but it falls short. Like always.
“Princess brought a contractor friend.”
Scott knocks me on the head like I’m a five-year-old. If a gesture could piss me off more than I already am, that would be it.
“We already knew that.” I jerk away with a warning. Friend or not, I’ll kick him out of the house if he does that again.
This isn’t personal to him like it is for me. If it were his company, he’d get that missing goals is a big deal. I have expectations for that property. Tommy has expectations for that property. Pops would if he could.
“Says she’s running the job herself.” That gets a laugh from Scott. I still can’t find the humour in it. Where did she learn to manage a project like this?
“Is she in the trades?” Unless it comes to his assessment of my feelings for Princess, Scott and I are always on the same wavelength. He pulls his phone from his pocket, presumably to Google her. “Interior designer.” Scott laughs. “It’ll be a disaster.”
I wish I had his confidence.