Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(6)

“Great.” She seemed to brace herself. “Travis, you’re invited, too.”

“Don’t count on me.”

She sent him an exaggerated wink. “It’s the blue house at the end of Whittier. Big elm tree in the yard. I’ll see you there.”

“You won’t.”

“But I think I will,” she said in a drawn-out whisper, edging into the sunlight.

Travis watched in exasperation as Georgie passed in front of the plateglass window, while pretending to be on a down escalator. “Is she always like this?”

“Who?”

Again, that weird roll of discomfort tried to pass through him, but he batted it away. “Your sister.”

“Oh, Georgie? Pretty much.” Stephen’s voice came from right behind Travis, prompting him to turn and shake the other man’s hand. “You still look like shit, but you’ve moved to a step above corpse.”

“Yeah? I’ll rebound.” He forced a grin. “You’ll look like shit forever.”

Tight-lipped and grim-faced, Stephen wasn’t a man given to laughing. His snort was his closest mirth indicator. With a chin jerk, he stomped back toward his desk and took a long sip of what appeared to be a fruit smoothie. “Saw you talking to a girl outside.” His stare was baleful. “Did she land the coveted first date?”

Travis dropped into the chair facing Stephen’s desk. “Come again?”

“Kristin tells me there’s something of an informal competition brewing in Port Jeff. Now that you’ve finally emerged from your hovel, I’m guessing it’s game on.”

A vein started to pound behind Travis’s eye. “Let me get this straight. There’s a competition and the object is to date me?”

“About right.”

“What I do is the opposite of dating. I do not date.”

“I didn’t either until I met Kristin.” He nodded, obviously preparing to tell Travis the same story he’d related several times over the phone and would probably tell another nine hundred times throughout his life. Christ, his best friend was already such a dad. Travis couldn’t even commit to a toothpaste brand. “She was on vacation in New York, visiting from Georgia. Saw her crossing an intersection in Manhattan. I pulled over, asked her to lunch, and she never went home.”

“I told you before, bro. That sounds more like kidnapping.”

Stephen let that go without comment. “What can I do for you, Travis? I’m guessing you didn’t come here looking for a job.”

There was a pinch in his chest at the prospect of signing on for a daily grind. Forming a routine. Those things meant devoting himself. Having people count on him. Being on a team. When a man’s usefulness ran out, Travis knew very well what happened, but he had no choice. Rotting away in a one-bedroom wasn’t an option, no matter how much he wanted it to be. “Actually, I did. Come here to look for a job.”

His oldest friend sat forward in his chair. “I know how many zeroes were attached to those contracts you signed, man. You don’t need the work.”

“Need? No.” Georgie’s voice caught him off guard for the tenth time that day. The guy we all looked up to is a drunk slob. “I just need something to keep me busy until I figure out my next move,” he said quickly, trying to dispel the words in his head. “Wasn’t so long ago I used to swing the hammer for extra cash during summer vacation. Your father taught us carpentry at the same time. Anything I forgot, I can relearn on the fly.”

“I hire serious candidates only.” Stephen steepled his fingers. “Men looking to grow with the company and be in it for the long haul.”

“I don’t offer the long haul to anybody.”

A muscle twitched in his friend’s cheek as they faced off across the desk. Finally, Stephen picked up a pen and wrote something down, sliding the piece of paper across the desk toward Travis. “Here’s the address of our current flip. This is where you’d be working to start.”

Travis held up the note, giving it a cursory glance. And then he read it again, a pit yawning wide in his stomach. “This is across the street from . . .”

Regret darkened Stephen’s eyes. “I know. It’s a pretty fucked-up coincidence,” he said. “That going to be a problem?”

“Nope. Ancient history.” He shoved the paper into his pocket and stood. “See you there.”

He knew if he turned around, Stephen’s expression would call bullshit, so he kept walking, doing his best to ignore the foreboding in his gut.





Chapter Three


Georgie gave her blueberry compote a final stir and stepped back from the counter, wiping sticky hands down her apron. Bacon warmed in the oven alongside Belgian waffles. She’d stayed up late whipping cream with her new hand mixer and had taken only seven finger swipes out of it since waking up this morning—but who was counting? In an exciting twist, she’d timed everything right for her first time cooking for more than one—painfully single—person.

It was her first time entertaining in her new home, period.

Georgie still couldn’t believe it. She had a house now. Granted, the Castle family business thrived on the art of sniffing out real estate deals, so she’d bought the two-bedroom ranch for a song and it still needed a lot of work. But it was hers. Not bad for a birthday party clown. Speaking of which, she had a dozen phone calls to return as soon as this brunch ended. Port Jefferson had exactly one clown and she was in high demand. It was how she’d managed the down payment on the house. Unfortunately, half the calls were from new customers who wanted a cotton candy machine, pony rides, magicians, princesses.