Page 16 of Daddy By Design

Before I could open my mouth again, he put his headphones back on. Stubborn, rude, beast of a man. With all the pride I could muster, I hobbled my way back around the house to the driveway where I’d left my car. Annoyed, I got inside and checked my phone.

Great. I’d missed two calls while I’d been risking my life for my dream mansion.

I reached behind the passenger seat for the ballet flats I kept in the pocket and tossed my ruined Michael Kors shoes into the backseat. I slipped on the flats as I scrolled my phone.

Two texts from my furniture contact about a couch that I’d been waiting on for a client. I quickly fired back a reply before I forgot then blew out a breath and checked my calls. One from Deb Gordon, the property manager of my building. My shoulders instantly hunched. I still had to deal with the water damage to my apartment as well as my downstairs neighbor’s ruined bedroom. I hadn’t heard back from Amberly about her date night with her boyfriend, but I’d wager I was still on her shit list.

The other missed call was my mother.

Fantastic.

There was a three-minute voicemail waiting for me. That would need to wait. I didn’t have the headspace for that nonsense right now. Jeanine McKenna was...a lot. Ever since she and my dad had retired, they’d been driving me to drink. They both needed hobbies that consisted of something other than my love life. They wanted grandbabies and for their only child to be settled down with a husband and a dog.

Did they care that their only child was more a cat lady?

Not really.

My mother’s endless badgering was one of the main reasons I’d actually signed up for that stupid HEA dating app. It wasn’t as if I was opposed to finding my person, I just wasn’t sure how I was supposed to fit the hunt for said interesting person, the dating part, and the falling in love portion of the equation into my already jam-packed life.

My phone buzzed in my hand, dragging me out of my musings.

Shelby: Where are you?

Me: Grabbing a bite and stuff.

Shelby: You mean mooning over your horror house on the lake?

Me: Funny you should mention it...

Shelby: Ugh. I’m afraid to ask.

Me: We’ll talk when I get back. I’m on my way. Do you guys need food?

Shelby: Nah. Dex brought me lunch. TJ confiscated half of it.

Another reason I’d gotten the love bug. Seeing Shelby with a great guy who would do anything for her put ideas in a girl’s head. I glanced at my—Nolan Devereaux’s—house one last time as I buckled my seatbelt.

If he wasn’t lying, I had an unlimited budget to bring her to life the way she deserved.

If he gave me the job.

I was going to put together a kickass mood board and initial design sketch and manifest the crap out of getting this job. I’d toured the property during one of Hamilton Realty’s many open houses and had taken photos. I had a few dream sketches in my design program already. At least a few that might entice him to see just how perfect I’d be for the job.

A shadow in the third-floor window made my heart skip and dragged me out of my what-ifs. Was that Harriette?

I’d caught a glimpse of her before. She didn’t show herself all that often, but sometimes I got a feeling there was something out here. I was open minded, and the house screamed for a ghost, dammit.

“I’m going to make this place amazing again, I promise.” I mostly whispered it to myself, but maybe she’d hear me too.

The drive back to Kensington Square was a quiet one. I kept turning around the ideas I had for the house, the shock of finding out who the stranger from the night before was, and dread for the meeting with Deb until I was pretty sure my brain was going to explode.

I managed to find a parking spot across from Designing Women. The only drawback of having office space on this particular strip of the city meant off-street parking. Bonus, I’d gotten much better at parallel parking. Kind of.

I grabbed my bag, as well as my untouched lunch, and hissed out a breath as I bumped my arm. I was a freaking mess. I should have gone home and changed, but I wasn’t quite ready to deal with the property manager just yet. I’d just have to raid my stash of clothing I kept on hand for just these kinds of emergencies.

When you visited construction sites more often than not, things happened. Like that one time I brushed against a nail and took a chunk out of a pair of form-fitting brown pants. No saving those suckers, and of course I’d been wearing red polka dot panties that day, so I might as well have been clad in a damn flag.

After that, I’d kept at least two spare outfits on hand at all times.

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