Page 28 of Holly Ever After

I take a step back. “Sean, you're going to charge me for all of this. And I am going to pay you. I'm not expecting you to do this for free.”

He moves closer and presses his fingers to my chin, lifting my face just as he did earlier. I try to ignore the flip in my stomach.

“Oh, but your sparkling personality is all the payment I need,” he says, mocking me.

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off, his voice turning serious. “Your family has done so much for me over the years. Let me do this.”

“I don't need your charity.”

“It's not fucking charity. Can't I help out a friend?”

I almost choke on the word. “Friend? Since when are we—”

“You know what, Holly? You can pay me after all.” Relief washes over me until he continues, “Pay me with some damn silence.”

“You're impossible,” I mutter, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it into a can of paint. Walls that are now, thanks to Sean, ready for some color. I hate that. “Impossible to deal with, impossible to understand, and impossible to get rid of.”

“Ah, but you wouldn't want to get rid of me. Who else would put up with you?” He winks at me, grabbing his own paintbrush.

Fuck it.

The walls can wait.

He looks like he could use a little color in his life.

With a flick of my wrist, I swipe the paintbrush down the front of his shirt. “Suits you.”

The bastard doesn’t even flinch. “You know I get dirty for a living?”

God, why did I just clench my thighs?

He smirks with that smugI-want-to-slap-it-off-his-facelook before sticking the paintbrush to my forehead and running it down my face.

“You asshole. I just showered.”

“That was a tactical error on your part, wasn't it?”

I fire back, but I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips. “Seriously, what are you, twelve?”

Before either of us can take the paint war further, my phone buzzes loudly on a nearby table.

Sean's eyes flick from my face to the phone and back again. “Someone’s been blowing up that phone for weeks. Are you finally going to answer it?” he asks. There's a piercing intensity in his gaze, as if he can see right through me.

I hesitate. My heart pounds in my chest for reasons I don't want to examine right now. If I don't answer, I know he's going to have questions—questions I'm not ready to answer.

“Yes,” I say, but my voice cracks midway, betraying my unease.

Reluctantly, I put down the paintbrush and pick up my phone.

It's Adam.

A tiny, involuntary shudder runs through me.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, avoiding Sean's probing eyes as I step out into the crisp, frosty air that nips at my face. The paint is already beginning to dry on my skin.

I hate myself when I smile.

I slide the screen to answer. “Hello?”

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