Nothing But Trouble (40 page)

And forget the way she smelled, because
really what was a little perspiration? The sight of her hair alone,
was enough to scare Medusa away. And that chick had really bad
hair.

The unruly, yet not quite bouncy, waves, with
a touch of frizz was thanks to a fried coil in her cheap ass hair
dryer. Not that she couldn't afford a nicer hair dryer. Because she
could. But Courtney had always been a bargain shopper, no matter
how much money she had in the bank. Clearly buying the less
expensive version, because it had been twenty bucks cheaper, had
not been the wisest thing.

Like she said. Murphy's Law.

Luckily it was only Chase and he wouldn't
care what she looked like.

Only her ability to decorate the shit out of
his restaurant, which she could do with her eyes closed. Which was
why he'd specifically requested her. Or so her boss, Cynthia
Wright, had told her. That "The guy at McDermott's had asked for
her by name." Although, why Chase had called Courtney's boss and
not Courtney herself was a little strange. But whatever. The end
result was still the same.

Project score for her.

Chase had told her that one of his first
wishes as the new owner was to give the interior a complete
overhaul. Martin, Chase's father and Courtney's step-dad, may know
how to make restaurant gold, but the man's taste in décor was about
on par with Courtney's baseball skills.

Translation:
they sucked
.

Somehow her step-father had done a good job
with The Golden Glove. But that place was sport-themed and really
didn't require a whole lot of creativity or imagination.
McDermott's was in some serious need of flare.

In other words, the Courtney Devlin touch.
Because flare was one thing she had a lot of.

The parking lot was almost empty, on account
that the restaurant was officially closed for renovations. She
parked her car in a spot in front of the entrance and cut the
engine.

Hopefully they had the air conditioning
cranked inside because,
damn
, it was hot.

She got out of the car, and rounded to back
to the trunk, where she kept the necessary items for that
first-time consult with a client. She draped a tote bag over her
shoulder, which held a tape measure, a clipboard for notes, an
architectural scale, a paint deck, and swatch books for fabric and
flooring. The damn bag weighed a friggin' ton.

Once she had everything in hand, literally,
she made her way to the door, and only by a miracle was she able to
get the thing open with two full arms.

The interior of the place was quiet and
practically deserted. She spotted her brother, looking crisp and
handsome as always. Tan slacks with creases so sharp, they could
have cut glass, and a royal blue polo that had an odd way of making
Chase's blue eyes seem even bluer. Lacy, his wife, had probably
hand-picked the outfit and then starched the slacks.

Chase was whipped like that.

A fact of which Courtney never failed to
remind him. Because she was a supreme sister, and that's what
sisters did.

"You're ten minutes late," her brother
blurted out like the nice guy he was.

"You don't want to know the morning I've
had," she warned him.

He grinned, which didn't make her feel any
better. "You're right, I don't."

She dumped her stuff on a nearby table and
rolled her left shoulder from carrying a heavy bag.

"So…" she rubbed her
hands together in anticipation of starting a new project. This was
always her favorite part. "Want to see what I brought? I already
have tons of ideas."

Chase shook his head, and his mouth flattened
to a thin line. "Not me," he said, then jerked his thumb over his
shoulder. "Him."

She shifted her attention over Chase's
shoulder to a man seated at one of the tables, flipping through a
stack of papers. She lowered her hands, and they fell to her sides
like fifty pound weights.

Short, spiky dark hair. Dark like the black
coffee her mother Carol liked to drink. Hazel eyes with the perfect
mixture of green and brown, and the ability see past her tough
exterior to the vulnerabilities underneath. Wide, corded shoulders
that narrowed down to a trim waist and loose hips, then gave way to
a perfectly rounded, sculpted rear-end that could bring a lesbian
to tears.

Shut. The front. Door.

"I'm sorry," Courtney said with a rapid blink
of her eyes. "What am I seeing here?"

Chase opened his mouth to explain, probably
some stupid calm-down speech that he knew wouldn't work on her. But
she placed a hand on his arm and dug her fingernails into the hard
muscle of his forearm.

"Please tell me you found some Grant
Blackwood look-alike and not the real Grant Blackwood," she
whispered, which sounded strained even though it was a whisper, for
crying out loud. "You know, the same guy who punched his fist
through my chest, yanked my heart out and fed it to a tree
chipper."

Both of Chase's golden brows lowered over his
eyes. "Okay,
that's
a bit dramatic."

Her hand tightened on his arm, which was
tight enough given the flare of her brother's nostrils. "I'll show
you dramatic, Chase."

He pried her hand off his arm, one finger at
a time. "It's been four years, Court."

"And what part of 'I don't ever want to see
him again,' do you not get? Is that four years or less in Chase
world?"

Her older brother heaved a heavy sigh.
"Courtney―"

"Did you hire me to play some sick and
twisted game of matchmaker?" she asked with her arms crossed over
her chest. Maybe if she crossed them hard enough she could keep her
heart from thumping through her ribcage.

"He didn't hire you, I did," Grant said in a
low voice.

Damn it, she'd been so hell bent on reading
her brother the riot act, that she hadn't noticed Grant approach
them. Courtney hated being caught off-guard. Made her feel out of
sorts. She took a step back, because having her ex-fiancée standing
next to her brother was way too close to
her
. Plus, the
farther away she was, the less strong his… scent was. And by
scent
she meant,
eyes-rolling-back-into-the-head-stomach-dipping manliness. Hell,
she had no idea what he put on himself, but it was damn good.
Still.

Courtney glanced around, looking for the
video camera that someone had planted when they decided to play a
practical joke on her. "Apparently that door I walked through was a
door to the Twilight Zone," she muttered to herself.

"Quit kidding around, Court," Chase said.

She whipped her gaze back to her brother, who
was going to get a serious ass beating later on. Via his wife.
Who'd back Courtney up any day. "You think this is funny to me?"
She jerked her thumb in Grant's direction. "And this guy,
seriously? Of all the people to hire."

"Your confidence in my abilities is
overwhelming," Grant stated.

"Give us a minute," Chase said, then placed a
hand on Courtney's shoulder and guided her to a spot where they
could speak alone. When he had her cornered, and there was really
no other way to describe the situation she was in, he crossed his
arms over his chest. "I know you're kind of pissed."

"Kind of?" she repeated.
Kind of?
She
was so stinkin' mad she wanted to ram bamboo shoots under her
brother's nails.

"Just hear me out," he urged in a calm voice.
"I hired Grant because he's good at what he does, and he hired you
because you're good at what you do. None of this is personal,
Court."

"The flattery is nice and everything, but I
thought
you
hired me."

Chase shook his head. "No, the redesign is
his thing. I've got nothing to do with it."

"So he's the one who asked for me, and you
didn't think to warn me?"

"Would you have come if I had?"

No
. "Yes."

"Okay, that's beside the point, even though I
don't believe you. Can you do this job, or not?"

Being able to do the job and wanting the job
were two entirely different things. In fact, they weren't even in
the same universe. "Of course."

"Then do it," Chase said with a lift of one
shoulder.

Someone please kill her now. "Chase…"

Then Grant piped in because that was all she
needed. "If she can't handle this job, then we should bring in
someone else."

Courtney tossed him a look that normally made
all four of her brothers zip their mouths shut when they pushed her
too far. "I told you I can do it."

Grant lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug.
"Prove it."

Did he really just challenge her? Didn't he
know better than that?

"Prove it?" she repeated. "How old are
we?"

"I'm just saying. If you think you can handle
the job, then we shouldn't have any problems."

She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing
came out. Because really, what could she say or do? Grab her stuff
and leave? How unprofessional was that? She supposed she could
demand that she work with Chase only, but again, what good would
that do? Certainly she was adult enough to work side by side with
her ex without killing him. Or herself.

Yeah, she could do it.

Totally.

She shot Chase a look, who'd been doing
nothing but glancing back and forth between her and Grant. "Fine."
With her chin raised, she brushed past her brother, who was
still
going to get an ear-full from her later on, and
approached Grant.

The guy stood there, with a half-smile
pulling at the corners of his mouth. His
full
mouth, which
used to kiss the hell out of her until her brain ceased to
function.

Don't think about that!

"Let's just get started then," she
muttered.

I have such an awesome support system, that I
don't even know where to start. My fellow writer besties, Rachel
Lacey, Shannon Richard, Jessica Lemmon, and Rachel Van Dyken. You
are all so amazing and make me laugh when I don't feel like
laughing. Jessica don't ever stop posting Henry Cavill and Charlie
Hunnam photos. And Rachel VD, your support, help, and resources
have guided me when I didn't know where to start. THANK YOU.

To my loyal and enthusiastic street team and
beta readers: Kim, Meghan, Sarah, Kelly, Amanda and Bette. Having
your support and love means more to me than I can say. Thanks for
sticking with me and for waiting the eons it's taken me to get a
book published.

And lastly to my husband, who's always had my
back. Thank you for always being proud of me and telling perfect
strangers on the train about your wife who writes romance. And
always giving away copies of my books to every neighbor we
have.