I chuckle under my breath and pull into the paint store parking lot. “Do you know what color you’d like to paint?” I ask as we both get out.
“No, not yet,” she admits. I pull the door open for her and have to hide my smile as she breezes into the store. This is just such a normal, couple-y thing to do, and it’s been a while since I had a girlfriend I could do these sorts of things with. It makes me forget for a few minutes that I’m The Fixer and this lets me just be me. Hunter.
She walks confidently to the paint samples and scrutinizes them. I can’t help but watch her. She leans her chin on her hand, her mouth puckered to one side, and I can almost hear her having an inner monologue with herself as she puzzles over the various shades of pink and yellow.
“I like this one,” she finally says, reaching for a shade of pink that reminds me of the way her cheeks color when she’s a bit embarrassed. “But I’m afraid it might be too much to paint a living room pink. Don’t you think?”
I realize she’s asked me a question a beat too late but I manage, “I think…it’s your apartment, and you should paint it whatever color makes you happy.”
She grins at me. “Technically, it’s your apartment,” she says, moving over to the yellows. She pulls out a few samples and compares them.
“You can just pretend it’s yours for as long as you live there,” I tell her with a shrug.
She catches my eyes for a second but then looks away. “That’s nice of you.” She’s back to the paint samples when she says, “Some of the residents are a little worried you might make some changes that put them out of their budget on rent.”
“Oh?” I ask. “Why is that?”
“You know, people talk.” She is trying to sound nonchalant, but I think she’s really worried.
“I always make sure that the old residents can afford their rent in my new projects,” I assure her with a confident smile. “As long as I’m around, you’ll always have a home, Meg.” I can’t help the deeper meaning that seems to wedge its way into my words.
Her eyes stay fixed on mine for a long moment before that same shade of pink she was looking at earlier manifests in her cheeks, and she pulls her eyes away. I know she’s trying to figure out exactly what I meant by that statement, and she won’t be able to get to the end of it.
Because I don’t even know what I meant.
I’m sending her mixed signals because I am torn—I want to be with her so badly, but she’s an employee, and I can’t be.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “What about blue? Do you like blue?” And she bursts into a rich giggle I can’t explain, but before I know it, I’m laughing, too.
I guess I’m not the only enigma in the paint store that needs solving. Meg knows how to keep me guessing, and that’s just one of the things I love—like—about her.
CHAPTER10
MEGHAN
Iwake up early on Monday morning, not because I’ve gotten enough rest and my body isn’t tired, but because my mind is blazing away as usual, firing thoughts about everything from work, to that guy I saw Hunter shoot, to whether or not I have enough time to paint my entire apartment in one day.
Yawning, I stretch my arms up over my head and glance at the clock. It’s not even 8:00 yet, but I haul myself out of bed. It would be nice if I could get at least a couple of rooms painted today. The apartment isn’t that big, and neither are the rooms, but there’s a lot to tape off, especially in the kitchen, and I’ll need to move my furniture around. That would be the perfect job for a strong man with bulging biceps.
My mind immediately goes to Hunter, and I feel myself blushing. He was so helpful at the paint store yesterday, so polite and funny. It makes me think about what it would be like if he came over to my apartment—or is it his apartment?—and helped me paint.
Sitting up on the edge of my bed, I look at my cell phone nestled next to my clock on the tiny nightstand I found in a dumpster a few days ago. A lot of my furniture is second-hand stuff. It had to be because I didn’t have much money when I got here.
I don’t have Hunter’s phone number, so I can’t call him and ask him if he’d like to come and help me paint even if I wanted. Besides, what are the chances he has two whole days to blow off with me? It’s not like he didn’t have things to do yesterday that I’d interrupted. I’d seen how busy he was when I walked into the office. Nope, I’m not going to even think about calling the club and asking for him.
As much as I’d like to see him…that would be selfish. And silly. He’s my boss, after all, and the only reason he went with me yesterday was because he’s my landlord, and he wanted to make sure I didn’t paint anything…fuchsia. Or chartreuse.
I get up and yank an old T-shirt out of my dresser, as well as a fresh pair of panties, a bra, and some cut-off jean shorts. I see no point in showering when I’m just gonna get messy.
Dressed and with my hair up in a messy bun, I head into the living room where Hunter helped me set all of my paint and supplies. He even offered to help me tape everything off when we got back from the paint store, but I’d insisted he’d done enough.
I have to push him out of my mind or else I’m gonna accidentally paint my best interpretation of what he looks like into the wall in the living room. I can’t help but giggle as I think about what that would be like—if he ever came over again and saw that I’d painted him on the wall.
Laughing to myself, I say aloud, “He probably wouldn’t even recognize himself anyway. It’s not like I’m…Rembrandt.”
It’s too quiet in here, and I can hear Mr. Whiskers next door telling Mrs. Woodside he’s hungry, so I decide to turn on some music. I don’t want it to annoy my sweet neighbor—or anyone else—so I don’t turn it up full blast, but it’s enough for me to be able to get lost in the tunes as I begin to paint. I’ve got a Spotify station that has all of my favorite songs from the club, and though they don’t sound quite the same in my small apartment as they do when they’re spun by Audio Anarchy beneath the pulsing glow of the lights on the dance floor, it’s enough to take my mind off of all of the work I’m going to have to put in to make this place look presentable.
I move all of the furniture from the living room into the center and drop a large plastic drape on it. Next, I put another one on the floor, taping it to the baseboards so it won’t move around. Then, I use the special tape Hunter insisted I get to tape off the edges all the way around the floorboards and the ceilings. For that, I have to climb up on a chair. I really wish I would’ve thought to ask him about a ladder, but I didn’t, and it’s too late now. I can reach this way—on my tiptoes. It’s probably not the smartest, safest thing I’ve ever done, but I’ll live. Probably.