The Right Words (4 page)

“Hey.” Unlike my first visit, my host answered the door almost immediately and actually smiled. And wow… he was sexy as hell.

Michael’s dark eyes lit with humor as I apologized profusely for being late. He gave me a brief once-over as he hopped backward on his good leg to let me in. He waved his hand dismissively and told me he’d spent time parked on the freeway. I was pleasantly surprised by this friendly, welcoming man. He was the polar opposite of the guy I met a couple days before.

“Want anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be amazing if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” He actually winked before turning on his crutches to lead the way to the kitchen. I stared after him warily and shrugged. Why question his change of attitude? It was preferable to his cranky one for sure.

The designer in me began to do a mental reconfiguration of the boring square space the moment I stepped onto the faded and peeling linoleum in the kitchen. I knew enough of the layout from my previous visit and information Jamie had given me to know there was one wall dividing this uninspired room from the spacious living area and jaw-dropping view of the ocean on the other side. I was wondering if he would be open to a full kitchen remodel when I felt a warm hand on my elbow. I flinched and nearly sent the coffee mug in Michael’s outstretched hand flying.

“Sorry! I was daydreaming. This roo—never mind. Thank you.” I bit my bottom lip and took the mug, willing myself to shut up and listen to what the owner had in mind.

He didn’t say a word, but he kept his eyes on me as he made his way to the old wooden kitchen table. He set his crutches against the nearby counter and pulled out a second chair to elevate his right leg before gingerly lowering his body onto the plastic padded chair.

“You okay? Can I give you a hand?” I wasn’t going to say anything, but his grimace of pain instantly alarmed me.

“I’m fine. I’m just sore from physical therapy. Take a seat, Luke.” His grin was roguish this time and definitely flirty. I took a sip of coffee and willed myself not to blush. I had to be misreading him.

“So, how can I help you, Mr. Martinez?” I asked as I pulled out the chair opposite him.

I made a concerted effort to listen and not be disappointed if he didn’t say all the things I wanted to hear. Like “Let’s just go with the plans you’ve already worked up.” Somehow I doubted this would go entirely my way, but I was known for being ridiculously optimistic by nature, and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. He smiled quickly at my serious professional tone before he picked up a pen lying next to the notepad on the table and got down to business.

“Well… first of all, please call me Michael. Mr. Martinez is my dad.” I nodded and waited for him to continue. “I made a list. If I’m going to be spending any time here, I think you were right to suggest I at least take care of some basic updates. I need new windows for sure and I was think—”

“God yes! Absolutely! Have you considered one of those disappearing sliding doors? If we did a bank of them across the—”

“Hold it.” Michael held a hand up and gave me an amused, lopsided smile. “Let me get through my list, okay?”

I sat back and motioned I was zipping my lips. Michael’s grin widened. He shook his head slightly and returned to his notes.

“Like I was saying: windows. I’m sure they all have to be replaced. This house is an original as you can probably tell….” He flashed me another show-stopping smile and rolled his eyes comically. “And the little old lady who lived here hadn’t changed a thing in easily fifty years.”

“How long have you owned it?”

“Three months. But honestly, this is the first time I’ve spent any real time here. And that’s only because I have to.” The smile was gone with the same effect as a large, fast-moving cloud over the sun.

“It’s stunning. The area is beautiful. I mean, if you have to be someplace, this isn’t so bad.”

“Right.” His half laugh was devoid of humor. “Anyway carpet, flooring, and paint. Basics. The house is about three thousand square feet, which is a good size but it isn’t huge, so if we set a realistic goal we can probably tackle this in a couple of months. Maybe three.”

In my head I was shopping. I couldn’t help it. We needed tile, flooring, and carpet. New lighting too, I mused, as I noted the awful brass chandelier over the table. I was thinking about which paint shades I might suggest when I heard his question.

“What do you say?”

“About what exactly?”

“Getting your hands dirty.”

“Uh, don’t you have a gardener?”

Michael quirked his face in a silly “WTF?” gesture that made me giggle. It was obvious I hadn’t been paying attention.

“No. I should get one, though, huh?”

“I’m assuming that was rhetorical. But if you need my opinion, the answer is a definitive yes. The grounds are sad. Overgrown and jungly.” I winced and could have kicked myself. I was supposed to be quietly listening, not criticizing.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll ask around. Did you happen to catch what I was actually asking you?”

I blushed, feeling the heat under my skin travel quickly up my neck and across my cheeks. “Sorry, I think I missed it.”

Michael chuckled softly and raised one eyebrow. “I was wondering if you’re willing to act as the general contractor as well as designer.”

“Uh… while I’m not opposed to the idea of hiring the labor, I’m not from the area. It’s probably a better idea and a more cost-effective one to hire a general contractor to handle that part. The research and time I’d have to spend getting estimates and organizing the subcontractors on top of ordering supplies would lengthen the process considerably. It could tack on another month. Easily.”

I folded my arms across my chest, confident I had eloquently stated my basic design philosophy. Do what you know, hire someone else to do the rest. A glance at the hunky man across the table told me he didn’t adhere to the same rules.

“Fine by me. As you can see, I’m in no hurry.” He made a sweeping gesture toward his elevated right leg. “After physical therapy and basic workout sessions, I have nothing but time on my hands. And as long as I’m not jeopardizing my recovery, I don’t mind pitching in and getting my hands dirty.”

Perhaps it had something to do with his deep intonation, but that last statement sounded like a cross between a challenge and a proposition. Once again, I wondered if too many nights in a row of being woken up to the sounds of sex in the next-door bedroom were getting to me. I swallowed hard before answering my would-be employer in a clear and deliberate tone.

“I hate to be the one to point this out to you, but you’re injured and I’m a designer. It makes sense to stick with the roles we know to get the job done efficiently, right? A general contractor has a team they usually hir—”

“I know how it works. My uncle is a contractor.”

“Great! Why not hire him?”

“Hell no. I’m in Corona del Mar for a reason. Well, a couple reasons. The biggest one is location. As you found out, the traffic through LA sucks, and once you’re off the freeway, you still have another twenty-minute drive to get here. Too far for family to come by without notice. That’s the way I like it.”

His tone was brusque and definitive. What was the point in listing the merits of having relatives close by when I felt the same way?

“Okay….”

“Here’s the thing.” He paused briefly, as though he were trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m willing to pay well, but I need to do this my way. I bought this place for the location and because I wanted to fix it up in the off-season. Now I’m injured and I need to concentrate on getting back in shape for next year, but the grim reality is it won’t be easy. I’m going nuts worrying about things I don’t have control over, and this project will give me something productive to think about. This place is a dump. I’ve lived here for a month and it’s making me nuts.”

“I… um.” I didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

He threw out an astronomical rate of pay. It was outlandish, ridiculous, and enough to make only one answer possible. We stared at each other. It was a standoff of sorts. Naturally I cracked first.

“That’s a lot of money. I probably shouldn’t ask because I’m interested and I need the work, but why me? Wouldn’t you rather ask a designer from the area?”

Michael sighed heavily and made a production of adjusting his leg before he addressed me. “No, I wouldn’t. Look, Jamie screwed you too. I feel bad, but not bad enough to go through with a bunch of plans I had nothing to do with or buy crap I didn’t choose. You need a job. I need a diversion. Win-win.”

I eyed him carefully. I did need a job. Jamie did screw me. Everything he said made sense. It might not be my business, but I still couldn’t understand why he didn’t hire his uncle’s laborers.

“Because I don’t want family around. I have my reasons, but that’s all I’m willing to say for now. I value my privacy, Luke. I’m not a huge celebrity by any means, but soccer is a big deal in my world, and I don’t want to be around people who know me for my ability to kick a ball. Not now. I need a break. You’re it. My break.” He flashed a winning smile at me that might have brought me to my knees if I weren’t already sitting.

“I want to say yes, but—”

“Good, then say it.”

“Can I get back to you?”

“Sure. Think about it. You don’t have to decide now. You have my cell number from when I contacted you. Give me a call and let me know once you’ve thought it over. Sound good?”

I nodded. “How soon would you want to start?”

“Tomorrow.” His grin was slow and hypnotizing. I offered a wan smile in return, though I really wasn’t sure what to think of his proposal.

“
W
HAT
?
” B
RANDON
was speechless. For once. He comically opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before shaking his head and shrugging in confusion.

“I know. Strange, right? The money he’s willing to pay me to be his Bob the Builder sidekick is astronomical. I feel like I’d be a complete moron to say no, but the rest makes no sense. Why pay one person a huge sum of money to do a job over a longer period of time than it would take to hire two at less money? I don’t get it.”

“Well, honey, neither do I. If you take him at his word alone, it sounds like he A) feels bad Jamie let you down and B) wants to tackle the project she was hiring you for with a strict regard for his privacy. It does no good to read any more into it, ’cause otherwise you’re right—it makes no damn sense. Unless you think of option C.”

“Which is?”

“He’s got a crush on you,” Bran singsonged.

“That’s almost funny. He’s a straight, gorgeous Latin athlete. Even though he was a hell of a lot friendlier this visit, I doubt it’s because he thinks I’m cute.” I snorted.

“He could be bi.”

“Or he could have too much time on his hands and money in the bank. Why not hire the first designer who knocks on your door? Plus, the guy is a total jock. Definitely not gay.”

“Stereotyper!”

“Drama queen!” I chuckled, then sobered suddenly. “You know… there is one other thing that’s bothering me.”

“Luke, you’ll be fine.”

I should have known I wouldn’t have to say anything, but as my apprehension rose and began to physically make itself known with sweaty palms and cotton mouth, I needed my friend’s reassurance.

“Listen to me, honey. You listening?” Brandon’s beautiful hazel eyes blazed with something fierce. Determination.

I nodded and held eye contact with the ghost of a smile on my face. I loved my friend to pieces. I loved his gigantic heart and his incredible strength. Brandon had been through so much more in his life than me, including being disowned when he came out to his mother before our senior year of high school. He came to live with Mara and me and claimed to never look back. He didn’t talk about the past. He was a passionate fighter determined to define himself. No one was going to tell him who he was. His expression clearly stated he wanted the same for me.

“You can never stop trying. Ever. It’s perfectly normal to feel jittery about what you don’t know, but be confident in the things you do know. You’re a talented designer with friends and family who love you. You’ve been shaken, but baby, you’re strong. It’s time to have some faith.”

I launched myself at Brandon and hugged him with all my might. He laughed, gently pulling me back to give me a good once over.

“So you’re gonna call him?”

“Yeah. I’m almost too curious not to at least try. If it’s a disaster, we’ll both know soon enough.”

“Think of your favorite poem or an inspirational something. There’s got to be a million about new beginnings.”

I grinned at Brandon. He knew me well.

“Life isn’t hard to manage when you’ve nothing to lose.”

“That sounds depressing.” He frowned.

“Maybe, but it’s true. It’s Ernest Hemingway and—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! Don’t tell me. I’m fine with the mystery. Just keep pretty words in your head and… be strong, Luke.”