Page 24 of How Dare You

“To my place,” he leans forward, tilting his head like he’s explaining something painfully obvious, “where you’ll stay with me for two weeks.”

Patience is officially gone. “It’s eighty hours of design time, you odious child.”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s not what I bid on. Not what the description said.”

“You know what it meant.” Any reasonable person.

“I trust the description for an auction item to mean what it says.” He pauses, gray eyes sparking with mischief. “Especially one that the Queen of Precision herself wrote.”

Not wanting to admit that I didn’t write the description myself, I ask, “What precisely is it that you think you just won?”

“Two full weeks with the incomparably beautiful and highly skilled Devon Blake,” he quotes Allie word for word, making no effort to hide his mirth. “So, I get you all to myself for a couple weeks.” He holds out a folded piece of paper pulled from his back pocket.

It starts with a photo of me. Okay. My name, my title, my time, and some unrelated compliments. That’s it. It practically reads as salaciously as the look on Rhett’s face.

“It’s clearly for design time. With a modicum of logic, you could have figured that out on your own.” I pat his shoulder with a mocking consolation. “But since you couldn’t, I’ll find Allie and tell her this needs to go to the next bidder.”

“I never said I was giving it up.” He sips casually on his beer. “I won that time with you.”

“I’m not staying anywhere with you. I’ll do two weeks’ worth of design work, eighty hours, for whatever place you have, but I’ll be sleeping in my own bed.” I’ve entertained this conversation for far too long. I scan the place for Sadie, ready to head home and get back to work.

“Well, I have to say I’m proud of you.” Rhett’s words stop me from walking away. “You’re doing the wrong thing already. Didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.”

He cannot be serious. “What wrong thing is it that you believe I’ve done?”

“You’re not honoring this contract.” He taps the paper I didn’t realize I was still holding.

I pass it back to him. “A silent auction description is hardly a contract.”

“I placed my bid on the good faith that I’d get the advertised item. You’re refusing to follow through on your word.” He folds the paper back up, returning it to his back pocket. “Allie’s word, too, since she’s putting on the event. I really am proud of you.” The last sentence is said with enough genuine pride that my jaw clenches in offense.

“Rhett.” His name is a scold and a curse on my lips.

“I love it when you say my name.” He moves closer, crowding me until I’m forced to tilt my chin to maintain eye contact. I hate it.

“You’re willfully misunderstanding the words.” I keep my voice low, steady, schooling my breathing so my frustration doesn’t show.

“Doesn’t matter. I win both ways. Either you go back on your word—doing the wrong thing for once—or I get you for two weeks.” He pauses, holding his ground against my glare. “Of course, the right thing for me to do would be to let you off the hook. But that isn’t really my style,” he finishes with a self-satisfied grin.

“You know what it is that I do, right? What an interior designer is? Or have you been too busy checking out my ass every time we’re on jobsites together to comprehend it?”

His laugh is low and sensual. “I’m capable of both.” He hasn’t flinched. He’s positive he’s winning this encounter.

“I’m not doing eighty hours of manual labor or cleaning your guest bedroom at Bradley’s in a maid’s costume,” I clarify.

“I wouldn’t dream of that.” He tilts his head, looking off in the distance. “Well, I wasn’t before. Now I might,” he chuckles quietly to himself. When he looks me in the eyes again, I let him see how unamused I am. His bravado drops into sincerity in an instant. “Truly, nothing like that. You have my word. I just want your time.”

I take a steadying breath. Later on, when I’m alone, I’ll replay this conversation and determine how he managed to talk me into this, but at the moment I’m out of objections. If I don’t have my word, I don’t have anything. “Fine, I’ll spend two weeks with you. But you’ll have to wait until there is time in my schedule.”

He nods, some of his sandy hair falling across his forehead as his mouth curves into a wide smile. “I’m happy to wait for you.”

A design project with Rhett McCoy as my client. This could not have turned out worse. I steady my breathing, not allowing my frustration to show.

Rhett squeezes my wrist. “Come on, mama. We’ll have fun together.”

“Stop calling me that.” In reality, I don’t hate the endearment. Which is a big problem.

Chapter 10

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