Page 23 of Four Dates and A Forever
“He sold the house without telling me,” she accidently blurted out, then regrated it when her grandma’s eyes flickered with fire.
“He what!” Harriet said.
“Axel sold the Greenhill house. It’s already in escrow.”
Harriet pulled Elsie in for a hug and whispered, “That dickless wonder. Did you use the blessed coin I gave you?”
“Sure did. His dongle should be falling off any minute now.”
Harriet patted Elsie’s cheek. “Always such a smart girl, my little artist.”
“Maybe the new owner will lend you the house for the day?” Faye said.
Elsie snorted. The new owner was barely giving her a chance to pack her bags before he kicked her broke ass out the door. There was no way he’d agree to someone invading his privacy. He’d purchased the Greenhill property for anonymity; she doubted he’d want to advertise where he lived to millions of subscribers. If she were selected, there would be a solid week of shooting. Meaning, Rhett would either have to disappear for the duration or run the risk of the magazine discovering who the new owner was and adding it to the article.
Not that it mattered. “Do you know how many entries they get? Hundreds, and there are a select few chosen.”
“And who’s to say you can’t be one,” Faye said. Elsie looked at her mom, the person who’d hurt her more than Axel, and wanted to cry. Here she had a shot at something real, but she was too scared to go for it. “Don’t let your anger at me cost you your dream. Come meet Claire, see what she has in mind for her party, and go from there. What do you have to lose?”
Chapter Six
Dating Tips from Elsie Dodd
Make sure you’re the crazy one.
Rhett woke with a start, heart pounding out of his chest, sweat beading on his forehead, and a familiar feeling of displacement clogging his throat. He had absolutely zero idea where he was, so disoriented he couldn’t tell if he was on the bus or in a hotel room. The blinds were drawn so it was too dark to tell, but then he heard the distant sounds of power tools.
Loud power tools that woke him from a dead sleep.
Running a hand down his face, he rolled over and closed his eyes. And that’s when the pounding started. It sounded as if a herd of rhinos were stampeding through his house. Usually, when he was sleep deprived, nothing woke him. But lately, between his schedule and insomnia, he was lucky to get even a few hours. Today it had been—he looked at his phone and swore—two hours.
At the next bang, he tossed back the covers. Littleshit, who was curled up like Rhett’s little spoon, didn’t move, except to squeeze his eyes shut tightly.
“I know you’re awake.”
Littleshit let out a snore.
“Asshole.” Rhett stood and padded into the hallway. That’s when he knew he was screwed. And not in the way he’d imagined when Elsie had come up on him in that black dress and mile-high heels the other night. She’d been all fire and sass, and concealing an inspiring pair of red panties, not that he looked. The minute she started losing lace, he’d kept his eyes due north. Which was a testament to just how much a gentleman his mom raised him to be. That’s not to say he didn’t take a peek or two when she’d ditched the dress, but once things got real, he’d taken his role as her wingman seriously.
But today the rules had changed. She wasn’t vulnerable or still reeling from the news that he was her new landlord. Nope, his little squatter was playing dirty. And he meant dirty.
The further down the steps he walked, and the closer to the kitchen he got, the stronger his admiration—and irritation—for Elsie grew. Admiration because the woman was as stubborn as she was sexy. There were a half-dozen construction lights set up, a table saw where the kitchen table should be, and enough corrugated foamcore to design an identical replica of the Taj Mahal.
She was at the island, dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and fitted tank, which readi enjoy romantic walks through the hardware store, and her hair pulled through the back of a ball cap—all of which were covered in a light coat of dust. It also sounded like she was running the nail gun, electric drill, and sander all at the same time—like she didn’t know he’d been up writing music until sunup.
Okay, writing seemed a strong word for what had transpired. But at least he’d been inspired enough to pick up his guitar. Something that hadn’t happened organically in months. There was something about this house that calmed him, grounded him in a way he hadn’t felt since his divorce.
Then there was the dancing. Rhett couldn’t hear what song she was listening to through her earbuds, but based on the way she was shimmying, it was some upbeat pop song. So instead of calling out her name, he decided to watch the show for a moment.
That moment turned into a minute and before he knew it, Rhett had gone from an observer to a peeper. He should have made his presence known, but then she bent over—all the way over—her head disappearing into a toolbox, her ass sticking straight up in the air, swaying back and forth.
With Elsie, there were a lot of should’ves and would’ves he’d chosen to ignore over the years. Which was why, after a long night locked in the studio, he chose to stand on the open walkway above the kitchen, spying on the enemy.
And damn, what a formidable opponent she was. She’d managed to leave traces of herself everywhere without being seen. Her perfume lingered in the air, her designs had multiplied and taken over the office and kitchen counters. And then there was her army of fuck-me pumps, which lined the front door every night.
He needed to get her out of the house before anotheralmostmoment presented itself. Because if she hadn’t been three martinis in, that almost moment might have turned into a would-be kiss. And that would further complicate an already complicated situation.
Elsie straightened with a tiny razor and a circular ruler in hand. Using the ruler, she made some complicated calculations, compared them to a sheet of paper that had all kinds of numbers and equations on it, then painstakingly sliced off a miniscule piece of white foamboard. It was a single stair, he realized as she glued it to a larger foam structure that looked like a dead ringer for the sketches of the recording studio he’d seen the other night.
