Love Shack (Tiny Houses, Big Hearts) (3 page)

“Now…tell me about your plan again.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to tear it apart and figure out how to make myself look better while making the plan good enough to follow through with.”

The woman across from him stopped mid-drink and just stared.

He clicked his pen so he could write, but it was obvious she wasn’t talking until he explained.

“You wanted to get funding for your shanty project, right?”

“Tiny houses.”

“Whatever. You want money, right?”

“For
tiny houses
, yes.”

This woman was frustrating as hell, but with the reporter in her back pocket instead of his, Brandon had to remember to not be rude. It took effort. “My boss wants to get in on the ground floor of this and write it off as a charity project.”

“But it’s only a charity project for me. I would be paying back my loan to the bank. Or I would have, if you’d approved me.”

“Whatever you say, lady. I just want to see how I can help make this not a total disaster.”

“I think I’m done with this meeting.” Ms. Newhouse stood to leave, but the waitress came back and pushed her down.

“Nope. I already put your order in, woman. You are getting your super special breadless sandwich cooked in olive oil, not lard. So sit your butt down, because that took me damn near five minutes to explain to the cook. I don’t speak Spanish and there was a lot of hand signals that went down to get your order right. Not all of them were of the polite variety.”

Ms. Newhouse sat. “I didn’t mean to be any trouble. I usually eat at home and that’s how I make it.”

“Well, you’s eatin’ here tonight, and I expect a tip when your order comes out perfect. Got it?” She sauntered off and yelled at a patron who was sipping on a never-ending cup of coffee. “And buy some damn pie at least, Marshall.”

“She scares me,” his hostage said.

“Well, I’m tipping her fifty percent, because she kept you here. Now…” Brandon leaned forward, knowing he finally had the upper hand again. “Tell me about these shan…” He saw her narrow her eyes. “Tell me about these tiny houses.”

Chapter Five

Felicity hadn’t even felt her head hit the pillow that night. She’d stumbled to bed without even washing her face. Dragon breath was in full force as she slapped on some seriously heavy-handed under-eye concealer. Her coffee had to be poured into a travel mug so she could be somewhat caffeinated on the way to the station.

It was a sunny day outside, and Felicity was wearing her nicest peasant blouse to combat the brutal rays of the sun. She’d soaked herself in SPF fifty sunblock, but she had a feeling she’d still need to hit the shade frequently to even have it last the recommended two hours.

“What are you wearing?”

The voice that had her jumping three feet in the air was Debbie’s. Felicity put a hand over her heart as she turned to the woman stomping her way. The reporter looked a lot more intimidating than last night with her hair pulled back so severely, a face full of makeup, and a scowl.

“Good morning, Debbie.”

But Miss Deborah was digging and she wasn’t about to let Felicity avoid her question, even such a strange one.

“What are you wearing?” she asked again, with the same tone and force, just a bit slower pace.

“I’m wearing clothes.”

“You’re wearing hippie crap.”

Felicity’s ears began to steam. If one more person tried to discount the work she was doing because of how she dressed, her ideals or even her sex, she was going to blow a gasket.

“I am wearing clothes that I feel comfortable in. I am here to talk about my business and be myself.” Felicity held up a hand before Deborah could get a breath in and say anything else. “I am sick of being told that because I dress a certain way, act a certain way, am a certain freaking gender, that I can’t do something. Outward appearance is not in any way an indicator of intelligence. I am smart. I have a great idea, and
that
is what you’re reporting on, right?”

Deborah didn’t say anything for a bit, and then a very scary smile filled her face. Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t share with Felicity. “I think this piece will go over just fine. I know exactly the angle I’m going to take.”

Felicity tried to stop her as she walked away mumbling notes into a pocket recorder, but it was no use. Whatever she’d said had already convinced Deborah of…something.

“What are you wearing?”

Felicity jumped again, but there was no déjà vu here. This voice was deeper than Debbie’s and much less scary. The banker from last night. Just hearing his grumbling made her yawn.

He’d kept her out late ripping endless holes in her business model. She’d argued against every one and had research, material quotes, and testimonials from others like herself who’d found a freedom in living with less. The man couldn’t see past the end of his nose with this. Felicity was pretty sure he never even tried to change his point of view on anything. He needed his life shaken up.

What could she do to knock him off his high horse?

“I’m wearing clothes,” Felicity said yet again.

“I thought you’d at least be in a suit.”

Felicity opened her cross body bag and pulled out a handkerchief. “I’m comfortable,” She wiped it across his brow and showed him the sweat. “And I won’t be the one sweating bullets on camera.”

Felicity walked away. She was ready to get this over with. She really hoped no one else commented on her clothes, or she’d just strip the damn things off and go back to her nudist days. Those were folks who knew how to live with less too.

* * * * *

The camera was a giant eye trained on her, so Felicity decided to ignore the thing. She was going to try and make herself connect with people, not with a big plastic eyeball.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Her confidence started to slip as Deborah began her introduction. Then her fears didn’t even matter, because her frustration skyrocketed high enough to melt everything else away.

“The average home size in America is over two thousand square feet, according to the US Census Bureau. This woman has decided to take advantage of what some are calling a minimalist movement, but most are calling a joke. She lives in a tiny house, and wants to give people the same cramped spaces as full time dwellings. Technically, a tiny home is anything under five hundred square feet, but even that is too spacious for a woman like you, isn’t it Felicity?”

Felicity looked to the banker who had been tearing apart her work all night long, and the reporter who she’d thought was here to help. This was supposed to be where she got herself up and running. This was supposed to garner sympathy and support. She should have known they’d try to turn her into a side show freak instead.

Well, if this was how it was going to go, she might as well go out with a bang.

“I am fully aware of what people with small minds and no sense of adventure or self-sufficiency think of me.” The camera was trained on her, but Felicity almost stumbled when that same smile from earlier spread across Debbie’s face. She stumbled in her rant enough that the banker got a word in.

“You are the one that can’t see where this needs to go, Miss Newhouse. This entire plan is not one that would work for a long term situation. For a single woman such as yourself who is young and in her prime, the idea of climbing up a ladder to get to bed isn’t a bad thing. What about when you got older? Got married? Had children?”

Felicity completely forgot about the camera. “So because I am a woman, my entire motivation in life is to settle down, find a husband, and start a family? Just because you are happy with never seeing more than a tiny portion of America—most likely from the window of a hotel room—doesn’t mean the rest of the planet is as lacking in vision.”

“Perhaps the rest of America wants indoor plumbing they don’t have to plug in whenever they go somewhere.”

“Are you saying you couldn’t hack it living small? Because I’m willing to bet, if I put you in a tiny home, you would find out just like I did, there is nothing comforting about empty spaces. There is nothing homey about a big house with lots of furniture. What is comforting is knowing you have created something where every inch of space was thought out around your needs and has a purpose in your life.”

Deborah thrust the microphone between their heads and Felicity jumped back a bit. She hadn’t realized how close she’d been to the banker.

He snorted at her and she curled her lip back.

“I don’t need everything in my life to have a purpose. I happen to enjoy some of the finer things because they make me feel good.”

Felicity took another step forward. The mic bumped her chest. She knew this type of man. She had grown up around this type of man. For all the stuff he probably had around him, he wasn’t happy. He just knew how to buy new things to distract himself. He had the latest type of phone and the best computer, and she would bet he had enough movies to watch something new endlessly for months. That was when he wasn’t out on the town entertaining someone to forget how empty his house was when it was quiet.

Felicity looked at the banker, and she knew she was right, because even though he was looking down on her, there was uncertainty in his eyes. She scared him with her confidence. She tended to have that effect on people who were sure they could dominate her.

“You don’t feel good, Brandon. You feel distracted. If all of those distractions were pushed away, what would you really want? What would you need if the party stopped? Where would you go if you didn’t have to hire movers just to haul all of your belongings? Bet you’ve never even thought about it, because you can’t see beyond where you are now. But if you were brave enough to open your mind, you’d see that having that freedom is beautiful. It’s a shame you’re too scared to try tiny.”

“I could live in a tiny house if I wanted to.”

The microphone pulled away.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Mr. Halston.”

Felicity stepped back and focused again on Deborah. The news reporter was practically vibrating as she turned from them to talk to the camera. “In fact, I think we should have a poll on my page for the news station. Log on right now and vote if you think Mr. Halston should take Miss Newhouse’s challenge. Do you think he should live the lifestyle he has condemned? Do you think he
could
?”

Felicity was baffled. What was Deborah doing?

“It’s not a matter of if I
could
, it’s a matter of why would I want to.” Brandon Halston was running scared.

Felicity caught on. This was a way for her to take control. This was where she could push back and let the entire city see the banking system just didn’t have a realistic view, and its people couldn’t put themselves in the shoes of those they were supposed to value as customers. Deborah was a smart cookie.

“I think it’s more that you are completely unprepared to live the lifestyle of someone different from yourself.” Felicity took the final step and closed the space between them. She pressed her chest against his. It was a victory to feel his heart pound against her. She knew he was terrified, so she went for it. “I propose you live in a tiny house for one month. I bet you won’t even try.”

He could barely look her in the eye. Even if she was being pushy, she had the upper hand for a change, and man it felt good.

Chapter Six

He could see straight down her shirt, and dammit, he couldn’t concentrate. It was hotter than hell where the reporter had them set up for the interview, and he couldn’t help but think she’d done it on purpose to make him sweat on camera.

They must have had this planned. This crazy tiny house lady and the crazier reporter were plotting against him. Why had he agreed to go on just because his boss had gotten stuck behind an accident on the highway this morning? He should have just pushed the whole thing back. This had to be the worst idea ever.

The crazy house lady had been talking—she’d dared him to live in a tiny house. Then she’d pressed her soft breasts against him, and a hot breeze blew around them both. Her hair flowed, her chest pounded with a strong heart beat against his, and he wanted to kiss her.

Brandon wasn’t usually the one to show weakness in a negotiation setting, but he was definitely the one who took a step back this time. Thinking about breasts wasn’t an uncommon brain pattern for him, but he needed a clear head.

He rolled his shoulders and was about to regain control when the damn microphone was pushed in front of him. “So what do you say, Mr. Halston? Do you accept the challenge? Would you live with Miss Newhouse in her tiny home for a month?”

“What?” He and the crazy little house lady both cried out at once.

Deborah smiled and turned to the camera. “We’ve had lots of exciting interviews, but we’ve never seen an adventure like this play out in front of my camera. I’m going to work out the details with these two, but I guarantee our audience will want an update, and I can’t wait to give them one. Jim, Becky…back to you.”

The cameraman waved his hand and lowered the camera. “We’re out. I got some amazing shots, but give me a head’s up next time beforehand instead of kicking me in the shin and pulling my ear.”