Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“This is a twelve-thousand-square-foot home. Yes, it can certainly cost a hundred thousand dollars to rewire it. If you have a problem with budgeting, talk to Luca.” I turn and stride back toward the stairs. He probably came here to look for them anyway. They often stay late, but tonight they have some kind of party at the embassy. He obviously didn’t get the memo.
The week had been okay up until now. We sniped at each other from time to time. We sparred over a couple of choices that weren’t practical, but for the most part we’ve ignored each other. We hold to the whole “we’re coworkers and don’t have to hang or even like each other.”
So why the minute I realize we’re alone and he’s in a mood does something light inside me? Something angsty and twitchy. Something that keeps building between us, that wants let out of this cage we put it in.
We need some distance, so I keep walking.
And he keeps following.
“Tell me you didn’t do this to get back at me.” Reid sounds way more irritated than I’ve heard him in forever. It makes me realize he’s been handling me.
I don’t know that I want to be handled. I turn as I reach the garden level. “You think I went back in time? Am I the one who installed the original wiring, or did I pop back to the eighties and make the terrible decision to leave them all live?”
“You know damn well you could take that wiring out yourself,” he accuses. “It would add time, but it wouldn’t take a hundred thousand out of my budget when the new buyer is completely insane with her demands.”
That was a him problem. “I am not trained to handle this kind of work. I work on modern systems. As you’ve pointed out so often, I work on big ugly boxes. Guess what big ugly boxes don’t have? Knob and tube wiring. I suppose I could try, and then my almost certain death by electrocution could solve your problem. Or I could burn the whole place down. Then I’m sure you would get all kinds of publicity. Think about it, Reid. You could do PSAs on how you should never work with poor people.”
“For fuck’s sake, Harper. Stop trying to turn me into some robber baron bad guy. This is a project we’re both working on. We need to make it successful, and taking a hundred thousand dollars out of the budget is going to hurt,” he argues.
“Then do it yourself.” I stalk into the kitchen. “That should save money, but I’m not risking anyone on my crew so you can have more money. And you think you’re not a robber baron. You know you would fit right into this place. The Gilded Age was great for millionaires. Not so good for anyone who wasn’t. Send in the poor kid. If she gets electrocuted, we’ll replace her.”
A low growl comes from his throat. “Not what I’m saying. Damn it, I’m handling this wrong. I came looking for my brother. I should have turned and walked away when I saw you because there’s not one person on this planet who sends me into beast mode the way you do.”
“I don’t care.” His words hurt, but it’s not like I’ve never been told I’m annoying. I don’t get it. “I’ve left you alone. I do what you tell me to do.”
“Sure you do.”
“Unless it’s going to harm the integrity of the structure.”
“Oh, I’m not sure how the wallpaper for the powder room harms the integrity of this building.”
“I’m trying to defend her dignity, too, and that wallpaper is a crime against my eyeballs.”
His fists clench. “That wallpaper was designed from artwork that was originally in this home. I fucking selected it for you, damn it. I didn’t even select it. I had it made. The art is now in a museum, but I wanted to tie some elements into the history of the house to please you. But there’s no pleasing you.”
He did what? I stop, my eyes widening. “You did that?”
His head shakes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll chuck it out and go with my first instinct.”
I know exactly what he’s going to say. “No shiplap.”
He gets right in my face, bending his tall frame down so he can stare into my eyes. “Yes, shiplap. Guess what. I don’t care what you think.”
“You never cared what I think.”
He huffs. “Why the hell have I invited you to every design meeting I could? Why did I change my plans for the marbled hallways?”
“So no one dies.” I don’t back down at all. “It was impractical. It’s slippery.”
He points my way as though I’m making his point for him. “This house isn’t about practicality. It’s about design, and I’ve let you seep into my art.”