His By Design (5 page)

“Okay, so you know this will be an uphill battle. It is good that you aren’t going into this with grandiose expectations. That said, I think you can make it work, if you are careful and don’t allow yourself to be tempted into spending money for anything you don’t absolutely need.”

“Oh, I can do that. I’ve looked over the estimates from a contractor I’m thinking of hiring and they are very realistic. He’s been remarkably frugal and hasn’t tried to up-sell me on anything that might pad his own pocket. I plan on working with him myself to cut down on hiring extra help, as you can tell by my painting out there.” Zoe tilted her head toward the front of the building.

“You’re obviously dedicated, Zoe, and with your determination I think you can succeed. I’m happy that you set up an LLC for the gallery and purchased this building through it. That was a smart move. From now on, all I ask is that you keep every receipt. I’ll set up your books and do all the rest.” Amanda tucked the legal pad in her briefcase and stood. She put her hand out but Zoe impulsively hugged her instead.

“Thank you for your advice, Amanda. I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came by when you did. Whenever you’re ready to set up the books, just come on by. For the next couple of months, you’ll find me here every day.”

“I’ll see you again soon, Zoe. Take care and don’t work too hard.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Right.”

As soon as the door closed behind Amanda Adams, Zoe picked up the phone. No need to keep him in suspense until tomorrow.

“Jeff? It’s Zoe. You’re hired.” She grinned. “Yes, I’m serious. We need to start work tomorrow morning. I’ll expect you here at eight A. M., okay? Good. Bye.”

Zoe grinned. Amanda believed she could succeed. The fact that Jeff Petrosky would help her dream become a reality lifted her spirits even more.

Chapter 5

The huge green metal bin behind the building was almost full. They’d been doing demolition for three days, practically gutting the entire building. Jeff admired his boss more and more every day for the endless energy she brought to every task he set for her. She was truly amazing.

She was also stunningly beautiful, even in the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt that had become her standard work attire. Every day it became more difficult to keep his eyes on his own work and off the mouth-watering body of Zoe Silvercreek.

If only she were the snotty, arrogant boss he’d been expecting, he could have ignored the physical package. But she was a hard-working, willing laborer, with an impish grin and a bounce in her step that did interesting things to those T-shirts.

They had fallen into a comfortable routine to start the day. He would bring breakfast rolls and she would bring a Thermos of coffee for them to share. They would go over the day’s plan and he would assign her some work he felt wouldn’t be too difficult for her. That bar was set higher every day as he watched her attack her task with a ferocity that sometimes made him wince. He bought the smallest work gloves he could find. They were still too large for her delicate hands but he made her wear them anyway, along with a pair of safety glasses. She resisted the glasses initially but capitulated when he stood, arms crossed, refusing to do any work until she put them on.

Then he had to hide his smile at how damn cute she looked wearing them. Once he had a good idea of what she could do, he sent her to a different area of the building. It was the only way he could keep his mind on his own work.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Zoe asked as she opened the paper sack and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, cinnamon buns, my favorite.”

“You say that every day no matter what I bring.”

“Because each day whatever you bring
is
my favorite.” She handed him one and licked her fingers delicately.

He swallowed convulsively and cleared his throat.

“While I’m building the walls to separate your bedroom, bathroom and studio, you will be scrubbing the brick wall we’re leaving bare with a solution of dish detergent and salt to brighten up the bricks and remove twenty years of dirt. Since the grout looked pretty good, when you’re done and the wall has dried you can roll on a coat of sealer.” He started in on his own cinnamon bun.

“As usual, it sounds like you get all the fun jobs. Can’t I help you build the walls?”

“No. You can’t.” He took another bite.

“Why not? I can use a circular saw, you know. It’s not that hard.” She gave him an eye roll.

The thought of her using power tools, particularly anything that she could hurt herself with, made his stomach knot. But she was a stubborn wench and if he simply used the “because I said so” reason, she wouldn’t let it go.

“Okay, how many walls have you built before?”

“Um, none.” She pouted.

“How far apart should the studs be?”

“Uh, about that far.” She held her hands about two feet apart.

“Wrong answer. You’re scrubbing the bricks, I’m building the walls. End of discussion.” He turned away so she wouldn’t catch his grin.

“But—”

Able to muster a sterner expression, he jabbed his finger in her direction. “If you think for one moment I’m letting you use the pneumatic nail-gun, think again.”

“How do you know what I’m going to say before I say it?” she asked, curious and grumpy at the same time.

He raised a brow. Damn, she’d really been thinking of using it? “I’m a mind-reader. And I’m not letting you near any tool you could use as a weapon.”

This time Zoe laughed. “I wasn’t even thinking of that. So your mind-reading isn’t perfect.”

He leveled a gaze on her and held it long enough to make her blush and look away. Jeff Junior woke up and began to explore the escape route from his jeans. How in the hell was he going to keep his hands off her for the next two-and-a-half months?

By remembering Bug and the surgery she needed, that’s how. Grateful Zoe couldn’t read his mind, Jeff took a big gulp of hot coffee and let the scalding of his tongue get his mind off her body and back to business.

Tomorrow he would add the new electrical wiring to the upper floor while Zoe sanded the trim around the windows. Downstairs, his father would begin roughing in the plumbing. The thought made his palms sweat.

Asking his dad to help with this project had been difficult, mostly because they hadn’t really spoken since his sister moved out of his dad’s house and down here with him. That had been almost two years ago.

He knew it had broken his dad’s heart when Bug moved out, but she couldn’t handle his constant calls to check on her during the day, then treating her like an invalid when he got home from work. He’d beg her to go outside for some sunshine, then get angry when she refused.

Finally she had called Jeff and asked if he could find her a place to stay in Blue Point Cove. He arranged for the extra unit with George and put the connecting door between it and his studio so she’d never have to go outside if she didn’t want to. It was the cheapest solution, since every spare dime went into his savings account to pay for her operations. Besides, he could keep an eye on her, make sure she ate. She’d become so thin since the accident he spent a lot of time encouraging her to eat more.

Things would be touchy for the few days his dad bunked in with him. Bug told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to fuss over her. His dad had agreed and offered to do the work for free with the understanding it would help Jen sell her paintings at the local gallery. Swearing him to secrecy about Bug took a lot of persuasion, but in the end his dad had capitulated.

He just hoped his dad didn’t accidentally spill the beans. He was a naturally sociable guy and liked to chat with his clients while he worked. If he could have figured out a way to keep Zoe out of the building for the next three days, he would have. Since that wasn’t an option, his plan was to keep her so busy she wouldn’t have time to say more than hello and goodbye to his dad. So, while Dad was doing the plumbing downstairs, they would work upstairs. When his dad got to the upstairs work, he’d . . . have her help him put the drywall up in the gallery. Yeah, that would work.

“You’re awfully deep in thought there, Jeff. Is there a problem I should know about?” Zoe smiled but her eyes stayed serious.

“Nope. No problems.” He drained his coffee cup. “Let’s get to work.”

The next morning, Zoe paced back and fo
rth between the back office and the front doors. She slipped her phone out to check the time. Eight-fifteen. Jeff was late, for the first time since they’d started working together. Maybe he’d had some trouble with his bike.

Or maybe this was the first slip that would lead to a downhill slide in the dependability department.

Ever since their first meeting, she’d had nagging suspicions about why he had wanted this work so badly. The man was a player, no doubt about it, and she, his latest target. She’d been in those cross-hairs before. She recognized the signs. If it took a sincere, hardworking, serious man to break down her resistance, he’d morph into one until she fell for all the laid-back charm and woke up next to him one morning. Then, mission accomplished, Jeff Petrosky would be off to his next conquest.

Well, he could think again, cause that wasn’t gonna happen.

Still, she hated to admit how much she looked forward to seeing him each morning. Her coffee, his pastry, and the planning of the day’s work had become the best fifteen minutes of her day.

After downing the coffee and pastry they worked non-stop until lunch. Most days she hardly saw him at all because somehow her jobs were always as far away from him as she could get and still be in the same building. It annoyed her that she seldom got to watch those incredible muscles flex and bulge while Jeff ripped up linoleum or pulled down ceiling tiles. It only took about thirty minutes before the beat-up flannel shirt came off and sweat glistened on the skin the wife-beater T-shirt left exposed.

She was even more annoyed with herself for wanting to watch.

Eight-twenty. She gave up and poured her coffee. She should have stopped at Olivia’s bakery herself. Mug in hand, she stalked toward the front door.

A white van slid to the curb and Jeff got out. He and the driver went to the back and began to unload long white PVC pipes. Zoe opened the front door of the gallery to let them in.

“Good morning, boss. Sorry I’m late.” Jeff carried the tubes through to the back of the gallery, followed by the second man, older, chunkier, with grizzled gray hair but the same blue eyes as Jeff’s. She instantly realized they were father and son. He gave her a wink on the way by.

“Zoe, I’d like you to meet the real Mr. Petrosky, and your master plumber.”

She put out her hand and it was engulfed in both of his. She could feel the callouses and the warmth in his grip.

“Just call me Frank, Ms. Silvercreek. My son’s told me all about you.”

“Really?” Zoe shot Jeff a questioning look.

“Well, all that I know, anyway.” He shrugged. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” He went back to the van and returned with a paper sack and a Thermos. “We brought extra coffee since there are three of us.”

“Don’t blame the late start on Jeff, Ms. Silvercreek. I’m afraid I was the cause of the delay this morning. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not a problem, Frank. And please, call me Zoe. We’re on a first-name basis here.” She smiled as Jeff handed her the sack. “Your son discovered my weakness for sweet rolls and has been feeding my addiction ever since we started working together. Come on back to the office and we’ll have some.”

“You go ahead and have your danish. I’m going to take Dad upstairs and show him around so he’ll have a better idea what connections he’ll need to make.” Jeff pointed his dad in the direction of the stairs.

“Wait. I’ll come with you.”

“No need. We’re already late getting started. We’ll only be a few minutes.” He nodded toward the cup in her hand. “Don’t let your coffee get cold.” Without waiting for her reply, he herded his father up the stairs.

Zoe took a sip of her coffee and watched them disappear. She shrugged. While she didn’t
need
to go up with them, she had wanted to see what his dad thought about Jeff’s design. Oh well, she would have plenty of time to chat with Mr. Petrosky over the next few days.

By noon, Zoe was ravenous as usual. Jeff had finished up the last o
f the new outlet boxes, which for the first time in a week brought him in close proximity. As she sanded the trim around one of the windows, her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear. She glanced up and noticed the smirk that turned up one corner of his mouth. It put a dimple in his cheek and her appetite increased exponentially, but not for food. Her gaze went from his dimple to his eyes, to find them studying her.

Was that genuine interest she saw in those blue pools? Or where they shark tanks, home to the eyes of a predator? She wet her lips and his pupils dilated a bit. Heat built in her belly. Her fingertips tingled with the urge to touch his arm, run her palms over his incredible biceps, lift his hand to her mouth and suckle one of his long, strong, fingers.

“Why don’t we order pizza for lunch today instead of you going out to eat?” Her voice sounded unusually high-pitched. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Donatelli’s will deliver since we’re so close. That way I can talk to your dad and find out all those embarrassing secrets from your teenage years.” She gave him a wicked grin.

“Yeah, that’s really nice of you to offer, but, uh, we’ve got to pick up a few more things at the hardware store. I thought we’d do that over the lunch break so we’d be able to start right in up here this afternoon.”

“But—”

“Hey, we were late this morning. You know how you’re always saying time is money and we don’t have any to waste.” He spread his hands out. “I’m only trying to make up for lost time.”

“Well, your attitude is commendable but, once in a while we could bend the rules a bit.” Heck, he made her sound like Simon Legree, always cracking the whip.

“No. I agree with your plan to get this renovation done on time and, if possible, under budget. Don’t worry, we’ll be back before you know it.”

He unhooked his tool belt and shrugged back into his flannel shirt. She pretended not to watch him while she gave a few more half-hearted swipes to the windowsill with her sandpaper. His work boots clattered down the stairs and she heard him talk to his dad. A few moments later they were both out the front door and into the truck.

She tossed the sandpaper on the windowsill and marched down the stairs, the sudden warmth she’d felt quenched by his obvious desire to spend as little ‘free’ time with her as possible.

That was the way she wanted it though. Right? She’d been worried that he would make a play for her so she’d kept their relationship strictly workman-like. Pleasant, but not . . . friendly. Impersonal. Her conscience gave her kudos for that.

But,
dammit
, the man was gorgeous. Tall. And strong. Yet somehow even tearing up flooring, he had a certain graceful way of moving. She looked heavenward. If his complete lack of interest was all a devious plan to get her into bed, it was working. Two more months of restraint would make her a basket case by opening day.

She sighed and took her sandwich and soda out of the cooler she brought from Marjorie’s every day. The sandwich she would have happily traded for a slice of hot pizza shared with a hot slice of male. She plopped into the chair at her desk and picked up the phone.

“Hi, Amanda, it’s Zoe. Do you have plans for tonight? Cause I think I’m going to need to go for a drink after work.” She examined her nicked, work-abused fingers. Hardly the hands of a femme-fatale. Her long-sleeved T-shirt and ragged jeans were a far cry from couture.