Page 5 of The Fixer

“Oh, you know I am,” came her business partner’s silky voice. “When are you coming home?”

“I just got here.”

“I repeat: When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still sussing out the situation.”

“Sussing out? Is that English?” He let out a laugh that was more of a single-note bray. It annoyed her—always had—because the sound itself was irritating and because he did it when he was pulling his superiority act. That arrogance was in play almost twenty-four-seven.

“Stop being such a snob,” she muttered. She loved Sterling, she really did, but his name matched his personality—shiny and expensive—and sometimes he tilted his head so far back to look down his nose that she thought he might fall backward and land on his ass. His pedigree worked well for their wealthiest clients—they spoke the same blue-blood language and moved in the same social circles—but it wore thin at times. Then again, his first name wasSterling. It didn’t lend itself to an approachable nickname like Mike or Tommy or Charlie. Wait. Was Charlie Hunnicutt a Charles? It so did not fit. At all.

Sterling’s voice snapped her back to the conversation. “Joy? Did you hear what I just said, or did you wander off as per usual?”

“Um …”

Here came another laugh, a simple dry one this time. “As I suspected, you’re plotting your world domination again. Isaid, if you’re not coming home, then how about I come out there and keep you company?”

They’d already gone over this. “No. That leaves neither of us in the office to handle clients.”

“For God’s sake, how on earth are we ever going to go on vacation together if one of us has to be here? I absolutely draw the line at separate ‘his’ and ‘her’ honeymoons.”

There will be no honeymoon.“There you go assuming again, Sterling.” Though she knew he was only joking, she wasn’t in the mood for his games today—oranyday lately. “You’re like a dog with a bone, and the sooner you drop it, the happier we’ll both be.”

“I’m good for your ego, and you know you love it—even if youarehell on mine. Eventually, I will break you down and get you to say yes.”

“We experimented with that once, and it didn’t work. Or have you forgotten so soon?”

“I haven’t forgotten, but I’m a hopeless romantic who knows you would be my perfect Mrs. Calloway, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”

They’d been lovers—for four disastrous months—and a few times since the breakup when they had been desperate or drunk enough to acquire partial amnesia and indulge in a night of sweaty sex. For Joy, those few times hadn’t been worth it, especially when morning had come and brought with it a boatload of regret.

“Is there a reason for this call? I need to get back to my meeting with the contractor.”

“I just wanted to be sure my favorite girl got in all right and wasn’t tearing her hair out in Mayberry West.”

“Aw, how sweet. Now I really do have to go.”

“Don’t drink all the champagne in town, darling. It’ll probably take them two months to drive the wagons over the mountains with replacement stock.”

The quip she would have laughed at last week got on her nerves today, though she had little idea why. Maybe because they were already frayed. She ended the call and returned to Helene’s fun house, once more overcome by the sheer volume ofstuff.

She let out a gust of breath. “What am I going to do with all this crap?”

A blond head poked out of the apartment, and she jerked with surprise. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I have options for you. You could pay me and my crew to bring in a dumpster and get rid of it. You could order the dumpster yourself—I’ll give you phone numbers for the reputable companies—and hire day laborers in Montrose to clear it out for you. You’ll have to pay them cash, but that would be the cheaper alternative.”

He emerged fully, filling the doorframe. What a contrast this tall, broad,healthyman was to Sterling. It wasn’t that Sterling was short or scrawny, but he was lean, almost thin. He practically lived in his plush office, rarelygetting outside, and his milky complexion stood out against his dark hair, at times lending him a wraith-like quality. But for her natural olive skin, people could say the same about her.

The vital man before her brought his hand to the back of his head and absently smoothed his nape, causing his well-defined bicep to bunch. “You could also box it up and store it until you decide what to do with it. Or you can have a company that specializes in estate sales sell it off. Again, I have a few companies I can recommend.”

He paused to inspect something on the doorjamb, then flashed her that easy, white-toothed smile again. “Or, of course, you can always keep it yourself.”

“Oh no. I want to get rid of as much of the stuff that reminds me of my mother as possible,” she blurted out. Unfiltered Joy sounded supremely cold, even to her own ears. She didn’t even know this man, and here she was speaking ill of the dead—even if it was her own mother. What he must think of her. Not that she cared.

He shrugged his square shoulders. “Dealing with Helene could be a challenge for anyone in this town.” Why his simple words soothed her ruffled feathers, she had no idea. Was it validation?

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I assume you’re planning to stay here?”

“Absolutely not. I had the utilities turned off.”

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