Hisreckless behavior had doubtless created—and destroyed—his fortune, so why didshe feel sympathy for him? Maybe she was dazzled, caught up in all thatbrilliance, and her brain was temporarily off-line. In need of a soundingboard, she picked up her phone.
“Gwenn?Got a minute? I just agreed to list Beckett Miller’s house, and I’ve got toknow if that makes me frickin’ nuts.”
“Oh myGod, Paige, you are completely banana balls!”
Itdidn’t matter that Gwenn was living in a city over thirteen hundred miles away;she was still Paige’s closest—and most honest—friend.
Paigesighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. But, Gwenn, I don’t think he’s the sameguy. He was so … God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he was so sweet.Humble. Not the Mr. Full-of-Himself we knew. Maybe it’s an act, but I don’tthink so.” Or maybe it’s because his life is in the toilet.
“Areyou really up for his BS, Paige?”
“I hopeso. He needs my help, and I couldn’t say no. And I need the paycheck.”
A dogbarked, and a child cried in the background. “Look, sweetie, I gotta go, but,Paige? If there’s one thing that man can do, it’s charm your pants off. Watchyourself.”
Paigehung up, huffed out a breath, and muttered, “Good thing you’ll hardly see him,Paige. Er, Andie.”
CHAPTER 8
Something I Need
“Andie? Hi. It’s me, Beck. Look, I’m heading home and wonderedif you have the paperwork? Can we meet at your office? Oh. Where are you rightnow? That’s on my way. I’m there in ten.”
He hungup and made a U-turn. Her voice had given him a lift. Maybe it was because hisfortune was sliding further into a bottomless cesspool and he needed to thinkabout something else. Signing listing contracts, getting his last house on themarket, might give him some illusion of control. Or maybe it was because hewanted to see a bright face to help him forget the bleak voices from thatmorning: his agent, who had only heard from a minor league team in Albanycurious about Beckett’s availability, reporting he’d had no other bites andthat the KHL had gone dark; the police, with absolutely nothing on Jackie’swhereabouts; and Tom, who still hadn’t reached common ground with the Delgados’attorney. Plus, Tom was fighting with a recalcitrant IRS agent who hadconveniently lost all his notes of their agreements and was threatening jailtime.
Beckettturned down Madison Street and slowed to read house numbers. He didn’t need to.The chain-link fence, the soaring bright plywood box, and a sign announcinganother remodel by Anderson Homes were like arrows pointing to his destination.He found a spot on the tight street and parked, grinning to himself. The pickupfit right in.
As hestrolled toward the construction site, a flash of dark red hair caught his eye.Andie stood on a hill of dirt next to a squared-off, severe-looking guy whowatched her intently while she spoke and pointed at a piece of paper in herhand. She wore a ball cap, and her hair came out the back in a wavy ponytail.Faded jeans and a gray T-shirt didn’t hide delightfully ample curves, andBeckett visualized them sans the clothes. A number of guys on site were checkingher out, no doubt picturing the same thing; she seemed oblivious. Jog backto the truck and grab a shirt to throw over her shoulders? That would makethose perverts stop looking at her like she was a piece of candy. Maybe.
She sawhim, smiled, and waved him over. He climbed the dirt mound and stood about sixinches below her to compensate for her Thumbelina stature. It almost worked.
“Norm,this is Beckett Miller. Beckett, my construction manager, Norman Gutierrez.”
“Theformer hockey player?” Gutierrez, steel-haired and hazel-eyed, gave Beckett acrushing handshake and a hard stare. All he needed was a sneer baring pointyteeth, and the attack bulldog look would be complete.
Yeah,I get it. Don’t fuck with the lady.
“Ahockey player between jobs,” Beckett corrected.
“Norm,Beckett and I are going to go over some documents in my truck. Do you needanything for now?”
“Nah. Igot you, Smalls.” This he said as he darted a sidelong glare at Beckett.
“Showme your project, Andie,” Beckett said, inviting another Norm glare.
Andiewound Beckett through the space, explaining what was what and what went where.How the hell could she dream all this up? Beckett suppressed his admiration.Eyes followed them wherever they went, right until they piled into the frontseat of her truck. She rearranged things to make room for him and cranked onthe engine. The radio was blaring a sixties tune, and AC blasted warm air inhis face.
Shedialed the music down. “It’ll cool off in a sec. You okay doing this here?”
Henodded and flicked his eyes over her. “Smalls, huh? I guess I’m not the onlyone with a pet name for you.”
Shelaughed. “Yeah. Smalls, Buddy, and Miss Paige are what they usually call me, atleast to my face. I don’t mind. It could be worse.”
“Doesyour husband have a pet name for you besides Paigey?”
Thesmile faded; she thumbed through a few sheets.
“Sorry,”Beckett said. “Didn’t mean to get personal. You know those construction guysare totally checking you out, right?”
Sheglanced over at him with a frown. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Theireyes are glued to you, especially that one bald buck with the tattoo sleeves.Maybe you should cover up.”
Shebarked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
Now helaughed. “There’s something very hot about the girl next door in jeansand a T-shirt, especially when she has no clue she’s hot. Trust me on thisone.”
Afetching blush crept up her throat and cheeks. “You’re crazy.”
“Shouldyou be calling a client crazy to
