Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (27 page)

“Yeah,”
I tell him. “I know it’s a bit of a trade-off, but I think it’ll be worth it in
the end.” I walk him over to the window, saying, “The last guy that was in here
said that, in order to reinforce the wall on the far side of the new window
area, he’d suggest using titanium to make sure it’s solid. Do you think that’s
necessary, or what would you suggest?”

“I
don’t think you’re going to need titanium,” he says. “Yeah, it’s stronger, but
really
it’s
way above and beyond anything you’re
really going to have to have in order to make sure the structure is stable.”

“That’s
what I was thinking,” I tell him.

Just
looking at him, I’m ready to hand him the job, but he hasn’t dropped the hammer
yet.

“What
are you thinking this is all going to cost?” I ask.

“Well,”
he says, “let me do some more measurements, and I should have a quote for you
here in a couple of minutes. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah,”
I smile. “That sounds great.”

He’s
actually bothering to measure stuff. This is great.

I
make my way back to the front and wait for Linda to help the last customer in
her line. When her lane is free, I lean over the counter and whisper, “I think
I’m going to hire him. You know, as long as he doesn’t walk over here telling
me it’s going to cost a couple of mil for the job.”

“You’re
not going to regret this,” Linda says as if she’s just managed to talk me into
letting her take my Mercedes for the weekend. “He is
so
fucking cute.”

“Not
when customers are around,” I whisper.

She
is right though.

“What?”
she asks.

“You
know exactly what,” I tell her.

“No,”
she says, “I really don’t.”

For
whatever reason, Linda’s got it in her head that hearing me say the word “fuck”
would be the most hilarious thing ever.

Now,
I’m not a word prude, if there is such a term, but I don’t feel like that’s the
kind of language that’s appropriate when on the job.

“No,”
I tell her.

“Aw,
come on,” she says. “I thought you were about to say it when you kicked that
last guy out of the store.”

“How
did you even hear me?” I ask.

“Shh,
he’s coming over here,” Linda says and I turn around.

“So,
what do you think?”

“Well,”
he says, “it’s not going to be cheap. I can tell you that much right now.”

Great.
That’s the exact same line everyone before Eric has told me. My budget cap for
renovations is $150,000. It’s ridiculous that it’s that high, but this
is
New York after all.

“Oh,”
he says, “all things figured--materials, labor, all that—I’d say we should be
able to do it for about one forty-five.”

“Thousand?”
Linda asks. “Seriously? For that?”

With
the smile still on my face, I turn toward Linda and mouth the words, “Shut up.”

“I
know it sounds like a lot, but for a space like this, you know, this really
doesn’t come all that cheap,” he explains. “I’d be willing to whittle the price
down a bit depending on how fast you want this done, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t
be able to go any lower than one forty-two in the best conditions.”

“What
kind of accommodations are you looking for in regard to the price drop?” I ask.

“Well,”
he says, “most of the jobs people give nowadays are rush jobs, and they always
want it done in a week or so. Now, I can certainly do that, but it would mean
bringing on a couple of guys to help fill out the crew, and that’s going to
cost a bit extra.”

“Well,
I would like for this to be done quickly,” I tell him, “but as long as it’s
done right and for the right price, I’m sure we could work with an extra week
or two.”

“Great,”
he says, “so, does that mean we’ve got the job?”

I
smile and put my hand out.

“Welcome
aboard,” I tell him.

I
try not to notice how grateful he seems to have gotten the work, even though he
just under bid his next closest competitor by nearly $100,000. I’m sure he’s
this happy when he gets any job, and it’s not a signal of something else.

“All
right,” he says. “If you want, we can clear that area so we can get started,
or, if you prefer, we can wait for you and your staff to do it—it’s really up
to you.”

“If
you wouldn’t mind,” I start.

“Not
at all,” he says, beaming. “We’ll take care of that. When were you looking for
us to start working?”

“As
soon as possible,” I tell him. “I’m sure you and your crew are very busy, but—”

“How’s
the beginning of next week?” he asks.

The
warning lights, flashing the words “too good to be true” are blazing in my
head, but I ignore them. I tell myself it’s because he’s the right guy with the
right price, but the truth of the matter is that Linda and I are a lot more
alike than I’d ever admit.

Chapter Two

Every Beginning

Eric

Today’s
a good day, although I think I almost blew it there at the end when I
underquoted and didn’t really hide the fact that I really needed the job.

The
construction bust is still going on and, while things are starting to improve,
in a place like New York where everything’s so competitive, it’s been hell
trying to keep things going.

That’s
all right, though. Everything is going great.

I
got a job that’s going to put food on the table and money in the landlord’s
hand, and tonight is my one year anniversary with Amy. We’re going to
L’Orlais
for dinner and after landing the job today, I’m
not too worried about how I’m going to make ends meet for the month after such
an extravagant dinner.

I
get back to the apartment, but something’s wrong.

The
door is open.

This
is just my luck: Today
would
be the
day that I get robbed.

I’m
about to turn the corner, run into the apartment, and try to take out whoever’s
trying to
gank
all my shit when I see Amy.

“Hey!”
I tell her. “I’ve got some great news. Are we still on for dinner?”

She’s
startled seeing me, her blue eyes going wide. “Eric,” she says, brushing a
strand of flaxen hair out of her face, “what are you doing home? I thought you
were meeting with a potential client?”

“Yeah,
I headed to the appointment a little early,” I tell her. “That’s what I wanted
to tell you—”

“Eric,
it’s over. I’m moving out,” she interrupts.

“What?
Why?”

“We’ve
just been treading water here for a long time, and I don’t think that’s the way
I want to spend my life,” she says. “You’ve been out of work, and I know you’ve
been trying to land something, but maybe it’s time to realize that you’re just
not going to make it in this town. I mean, when was the last time you got a job
without egregiously underbidding?” she asks.

“I
got a job today,” I tell her. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Look,
I know things have been a bit rough for a while, but that’s all going to turn
around. I got a job with just my base crew, and it’s really going to…” I trail
off as a man comes out of my bedroom carrying a box.

“Who’s
this?” I ask.

The
man sets down his box and walks over to her. She puts her arm around him and
says, “This is Cort. He and I, well, we’re moving in together.”

“Hi,”
the
fuckhead
says and even tries to shake my hand.

“Yeah,
go fuck yourself,” I tell him and turn back to Amy. “What the hell is this? I
thought we were going to try to work things out and now you’re moving in with
some little bitch? What the fuck?”

“Eric,”
she says, “we grew apart a long time ago.”

“What
are you talking about? You don’t even know this guy? How long have you two even
been seeing each other and you’re moving in with him?”

Dickhead
thinks it’s a good idea to take a step toward me, and I’m hoping he takes
another.

“You’re
going to want to step the fuck back or you’re going to be breathing through your
fucking eyelids,” I threaten.

He’s
apparently smart enough to realize I’m not joking, so he takes a step back.
He’s apparently stupid enough to think
it’s
okay for
him to still be in my apartment.

“We’ve
been together for a while,” Amy says. “You know I like to have a backup plan
when things are going rough, and well, Cortland and I are—”

“I’m
sorry, hold on a second,” I interrupt. “You’re leaving me for someone named
fucking Cortland?”

“Just
calm down, buddy,” he says and tries to pat me on the shoulder.

That’s
a mistake.

I
swat his hand away and put my finger in his stupid fucking face, saying, “You
try to touch me or come near me one more time and they’re going to be scraping
your ass of the pavement with a shovel, do you understand me? Amy, what the fuck?”

“Look,”
she says, “you’re great and everything, but Cort is someone I can see myself
growing old with.”

“You
said that exact same thing to me last night,” I told her and I turn to Cort,
adding, “yeah, when we were fucking.”

“Have
some class, man,” Cort says, though this time the only movement he makes is
backward.

“So
this is it, then?” I ask. “You’re moving out, just like that?”

“I’m
not moving out,” she says. “
Cort’s
moving in here.”

“Well,
I’m not going anywhere, so it looks like we’re going to have a fun little
situation, aren’t we. I sure hope no one strangles you in your sleep, Cort,
that’d be a
bummer
.”

“No,
you’re moving out,” Amy says.

“I’m
on the lease,” I argue. “You can’t just kick me out like this.”

“You
haven’t paid the rent in two months!” Amy says. “We had to go month to month
six months ago, and Chris,” our landlord, “was happy to put
Cort’s
name in your place when he not only paid for this next month’s rent, but the
last two months when you were sitting on the couch crying like a little bitch
that you couldn’t find anyone that wanted to hire you. Jesus, have some
self-respect.”

“I’m
not going,” I tell her. “This is bullshit, and I don’t know how you think you
can just take over my apartment when it was mine before we ever even knew each
other. I just got a job, Amy,” I tell her. “It doesn’t have to go this way.”

“Yeah,”
she says, “it does. I think it’s time to say goodbye, now, Eric.”

“At
least let me grab some of my shit,” I tell her. “You’re not just going to throw
me out and take all my stuff in the process.”

“It’s
already packed up,” Amy says. “The movers will be here any minute and they’ll
take your stuff wherever you want them to, although I’m not sure how much room
that’s going to leave you in whatever shitty hotel you end up staying.”

“You
know what?” I ask, but quickly realize that I have nothing to follow the
question.

“What?”
Amy asks.

“Forget
it,” I say, making the motion of washing my hands. “I’m done.”

“Yeah,
you’re done,” she says. “Nice of you to pretend like it’s your idea. I’m sure
that’ll help you through your lonely nights where you only have a box of
tissues and your left hand to keep you company.”

With
that, she slams the door in my face and locks it.

I
should at least be able to grab my stuff, so I pull out my keys and try to
unlock the door. Instead, I end up pounding on it, shouting,
“
You
changed the fucking locks?”

“Will
you keep it down?” Mrs. Hathaway from down the hall asks, poking her head out
of the door. “Some of us are trying to watch our shows.”

“I’m
sorry, Mrs. Hathaway,” I tell her, but go right back to knocking on the door.

It
creaks open as far as the chain will let it and Amy seethes, “Wait down the
hall. We’ll let you know when the moving guys are here. Until then, I’d suggest
you get a real job and go fuck yourself.”

“Amy,
we were talking about getting married. How can you do this?”

“We
were talking about getting married when you were getting jobs that I didn’t
have to put in quotation marks,” she answers. “I’ve found someone who’s going
to be able to provide for me and my lifestyle, not just for a couple of weeks,
but for the rest of my life. Do you think I’m really going to give that up to
stay with your broke ass?”

“Amy,
come on,” I tell her. “I love you. Don’t do this.”

“You
know, Cort actually went to college. You might want to think about that
someday,” she says and closes the door on me again.

This
is the worst day of my life.