Something sharp, like barbed wire, snarled inside my chest. He really thought the worst of me. To think, he didn’t even know a fraction of the things I’d done.
“No.” I shot to my feet and picked up the hammer I’d discarded in the grass. “It’s no concern of yours anyway. Let me get on with it.”
He climbed to his feet too, exhaling heavily through his nose. His shaggy brown hair fell forward as he looked down on me.
“Why don’t you hire another crew?”
“I’m doing it myself. It’ll be fine, like I said.” I marched to the pile of wood planks I had to figure out how to cut to the correct length and dragged one toward the deck.
I wasn’t delusional. The chances of me actually completing this job on my own were fairly dismal. But the idea of tucking tail and explaining to my dad what’d gone down kept me clinging to the minuscule hope I might succeed.
Lachlan wrapped his fingers around my wrist. “You don’t even have the right tools. You’re going to really hurt yourself.”
“It’s fine, Lachlan. You don’t need to worry about me.” I tugged my arm, but he had a firm hold on me. “Really.”
For a breathless moment, he swept me with his gaze. Lachlan’s eyes were the only thing pretty about him. Long, curled lashes surrounded chocolate-brown irises lightened with gold rings. They dragged over my face and down to where he held me. My fingers twitched.
Finally, he dropped his hand and shook his head before striding away, back to his house. As soon as he was out of sight, I dropped the wood and groaned.
My father owned this house, as well as the one next door, and two more a couple blocks over. I’d whined and begged until he’d agreed to let me oversee the renovations, with the caveat that if it became too difficult for me, he’d take it all away from me. I knew what that meant. The moment I asked him for help, I’d no longer be the project manager and someone else would be put in charge.
I’d spent the summer managing plumbers and handymen and electricians completing small jobs in the four houses. Our deck was the final project. I’d been down to the last of the money my dad had fronted me. All of that was gone now, along with the crew.
I could tell him what happened. Explain the circumstances. He’d pay for someone else to come in and finish the job. I’d be off the hook.
Except that wasn’t the kind of daughter I was. The weight of being the only child in the Sanderson family was nearly unbearable. Every hope and dream my parents would have spread around to multiple children had been draped on my shoulders from a very early age. No one had ever said, “You have to be perfect, Elena,” but the ghosts of my siblings who would never be spoke loudly enough.
I wouldn’t go to my dad with this.
I’d figure this out, even if it killed me—which was looking more and more likely.
Just as I opened my mouth to shriek like a banshee, Lachlan reappeared, carrying a toolbox and…oh, a nail gun too. He’d changed into a white T-shirt stained with paint and oil. It stretched tight over his arms and chest and hugged his middle—the only place on his body that looked soft. His shorts were meant for basketball players, which was probably why they were long enough for his towering frame, skimming his knees. On his feet were Timberland work boots, the laces loose and hanging open. They were just as scuffed up and stained as his T-shirt, a testament to the fact that he used them for what they were meant for: work.
Nothing about his clothes, his soft belly, his labor-honed muscles, unruly hair, or scruffy jaw should have attracted me. I’d always found myself on the arms of guys destined for yachts, charity galas, and boardrooms—like my father. Lachlan Kelly was none of those things, and that might have been his greatest asset.
He set his tools down in the grass. With his mouth in a flat line, he stared at me.
“Tell me why you fired the crew and I’ll build the deck for you.”
My lips parted, but no sound came out. That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say. It wasn’t often people surprised me.
He shifted closer, bending his neck so he could hold my gaze. Then he dropped his voice into something slightly above a whisper. “Tell me, Ellie.”
“They were talking about me. About my tits, my ass, whatever. I ignored it because I don’t care what anyone says about me. Then I found one of them in Zadie’s bedroom yesterday. He had her underwear in his fist. I saw it, clear as day. I told the head of the crew, and instead of reprimanding the perv, he had the audacity to laugh. I made them leave. At the time, I was so pissed he’d violated Zadie’s space and things, I didn’t even consider demanding a refund.”
I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead.
“That’s it. I don’t let panty-stealing pervs hang around my house. Word to the wise, if that’s your thing.”
His shoulders seemed to grow three sizes while contracting into spiny rocks.
“They came into the house without permission?” His brown eyes bored into mine, as serious as I’d ever seen him.
“They did.”
His nostrils flickered. “You did the right thing, firing them. Next time something like that happens, though, come get me. I’ll get your refund and make sure they know what will happen the next time they consider entering a house uninvited.”
“Why would you do that?”