Page 20 of The Fixer

“All righty, then.” With a sigh, he pulled out his notebook and opened it to a sketch of a floor plan labeled with numbers. The shop’s floor plan. As if she wasn’t standing right there, he extracted the measuring thingie and jotted down more numbers, whistling as he went. How could he be so damn happy? Oh, right. The dollar signs were piling up.Ka-ching, ka-ching!

So what if he had biceps she was tempted to lick? The annoying tune Mr. Happy was whistling sounded like something straight out ofSnow White. Did he think he was one of the seven dwarfs? His name would no doubt be “Perky” or “Pesky.” Her irritation climbed. Or was the lack of coffee and a hot shower getting to her?

She pointed at the bags. “Don’t you want coffee first? A pastry?”

“No, thanks. I had breakfast.”

“Then who’s all this for?”

“It’s for you and—”

“I smell Amy’s coffee,” a man’s voice called from the front door.

“Come on in and meet the woman in charge of this project,” Charlie called back.

A youngish, mustachioed, brown-haired man appeared in the doorway separating the apartment from the store. He reminded Joy of the guy on the Brawny paper towel wrapper, complete with green plaid shirt. “You must be Joy Holiday.”

“Yes, and you are …”

Charlie flicked a hand toward the guy. “This is Jimmy Culbertson. He works for Past Perfect. You’ll see a lot of him.”

What if I don’twantto see a lot of him?“Nice to meet you … Jimmy?”

“Call me Cully.” His voice sounded friendly enough, but it held a cautious undertone that matched the questioning look in his bright blue eyes. Was he as convinced as Mr. Happy that it was sacrilege to tear down the building? If so, a second battle front had just opened up. Just what she needed.

Without another word, Cully prowled toward the goodies sitting on the chipped kitchen counter. Reaching into a bag, he plucked out two pastries—including the chocolate brioche, which Joy had secretly dibsed for herself—and stuffed half of one into his mouth. Then he grabbed two coffees and plunked his butt down on one of Helene’s three flaking wooden chairs. It wobbled under his weight, and Joy made a mental note to check on the store’s liability insurance coverage.

Charlie gave Cully a chin jerk. “Clients first, dude. Don’t eat them all.” The smile was gone, replaced by a series of pleats between his dark brows, but his tone and expression remained even. He turned to Joy with a low, conspiratorial voice, “If I were you, I’d grab what you want in case Cully can’t stop himself from inhaling it.”

Joy’s hunger roared to the fore, and she didn’t hesitate to swipe one of the bags that held two almond croissants. Cully watched with hawk eyes as she bit into the first one. Oh, that was good! She quickly polished it off and attacked the second one, sure she’d reach her limit one bite in. She didn’t. Instead, she finished that one, washed it down with cappuccino, and eyed a fruit tart hungrily. One corner of Cully’s mouth curled up, and he snaked out a hand, but she darted in and got to it first—and she didn’t give it up. Whether it was because he’d sparked her competitive streak or that something about the man bothered her, she couldn’t say. Maybe it wasbecause he worked for Charlie Hunnicutt, and Charlie Hunnicutt bothered her. Annoyance had a way of spilling over onto innocent associates.

She chomped into the tart, nearly moaning aloud at the burst of fruit on her tongue. Why did everything taste better in this dusty little town?

Cully’s eyes flared with surprise, and he burst out with a laugh. “I see how it is.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve gotthatmuch established. Now that you understand the rules, we’ll get along much better.” If only she could say the same about Cully’s annoyingly cheerful boss.

Chapter 6

Casa de Hunnicutt

Charlie couldn’t decide whopissed him off more … his dumbass employee who lacked one scintilla of diplomacy or his razor-tongued client. Neither one seemed to have a filter, and in a moment of maniacal insanity, he considered walking away and letting them figure out who could piss farther. Fortunately, or unfortunately, his rational brain understood what a bad idea that was, although he would have put his money on Joy. The woman had a wicked-smart brain to match her wicked-smart mouth.

Whistling to mask his exasperation only went so far, and he needed to come up with a plan to defuse the situation and preserve his mental health at the same time.

The smell of sour beer wafted up his nose, and he glowered at Cully. “Cully, would you check out the mechanicals in the basement? I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.” Charlie tried to keep his tone light, but damn it, he didn’t need Cully drinking on the job or sabotaging this already precariously balanced scenario with a woman probing for any excuse to send Charlie packing. With him out of the picture, who the fuck knewwhich unqualified, incompetent poser she’d hire? She had lots to choose from, and no doubt at least one unscrupulous asshole was in the mix who would be willing to demolish the place—at a price that would appeal to her miserly nature—and skip town right after doing the deed. Yeah, that guy—whoever he was.

Fuck!

Cully grabbed the last pastry and ambled toward the basement door, leaving Charlie alone with Joy. One down …

Charlie speared his hands through his hair. This was one of the few times he missed the longer strands he could yank on.

Oddly enough, the beer smell didn’t go away. In fact, the closer he stood beside Joy, the stronger it got. She didn’t look like a day drinker, but how could one tell for sure? It might explain her temper.

He resumed whistling a forgotten tune from his childhood, biding his time until Joy finished herthirdpastry—where did the woman put it?—and swigged more coffee. Maybe the sugar and caffeine would improve her attitude.Wishful thinking.It would probably amplify her saltiness instead.

While she licked the last of the tart off her fingers, he had a brainwave that might get her out of his hair. “If you’re looking to get cleaned up, I’m sure Noah wouldn’t mind you using his place.”

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