Page 7 of Beautiful Mess

As somebody who prides himself on always being on time, the idea of organizinganythingwith her makes me want to pull my hair out. The only reason I was late tonight was because one of my guys got injured on the job, and as the boss and owner, it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay and everything got taken care of.

If I’m not fully gray by the end of the school year being partnered with Grace, I’ll be well and truly shocked.

All of that aside, though, knowing I’ll be getting under her skin every time we have to work together does almost make up for the frustration I know is to come.Almost.She’s been snippy and had an issue with me ever since that night all those years ago when I drove her home after finding her at a bar, drunk and underage. Truthfully, it’s something I thought she’d get over with time, but if I’ve learned anything since Willow, my daughter, has started elementary school and befriended Blakely, Grace’s daughter, it’s that Grace doesn’tget overthings easily. Or at the very least, she isn’t getting overthatparticular incident.

After the meeting is adjourned, Grace is up and out of the room before anybody else is even out of their seats. Standing up, I rub a hand over my mouth to hide the smirk tugging into place as I follow her out of the building. The sun has long since gone down, and the only thing illuminating the parking lot are the streetlamps surrounding us. It’s quiet enough out here that you can hear the faint sound of the waves lapping at the shore down at the beach a few blocks away.

Steps heavy and determined, I watch as she powers toward her car, hands tightened into fists at her side. Oh, she’s fuckingfuming. I shouldn’t find joy out of that. In fact, a better man would probably let her leave right now and give her time to cool down before discussing this little task we’ve been given. But the thing is, I’ve never claimed to be a better man, and I could use the petty entertainment. My day-to-day has been pretty mundane and boring as of late.

Which is why I shamelessly call out to her, “If I have to work with you all year on this, we gotta work on your punctuality.”

Grace stops in her tracks, shoulders climbing up to her ears, and for a moment she doesn’t turn around. She stands there, still as a statue, probably rolling her big, jade-green eyes, her full, shimmery lips pursed into a thin line as annoyance and anger etch into her perfect, furrowed brow. It’s a look I’ve seen hundreds of times over the years. It’s a look I sawthat nighttoo. Well, that and the clenched jaw, narrowed gaze look she gave me as it was clear she was fighting back tears. She was embarrassed and trying to protect herself by appearing unfazed, but I could see right through her tough girl persona.

Finally, she turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest, effectively pushing her perky little tits up in a way that’s impossible to not notice, especially in that V-neck t-shirt she’s wearing. Andman, if looks could kill, I’d be disintegrated by now.

“Wedon’t have to do anything because I’m not working with you,” she spits out, words laced with all the roar of a new baby lion cub—cute, but not exactly voracious.

I chuckle darkly, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Now who needs the hearing aid, Sin? I think Maggie was pretty clear in there, and unless you’re planning to drop out of the PTA—which seems highly unlikely for you—I think we’ve made our bed and now we gotta lie in it.”

“Um, excuse me,” she bites out. “Sin?” Her eyebrows crash together with confusion.

Taking two steps in her direction, I revel in the way she has to crank her neck back to glare up at me, her five-foot-five frame barely coming up to my shoulders. Shrugging, I say, “Grace isn’t very fitting for a little spitfire like you.”

Her eyes narrow into slits as she huffs. “Fuck you. I’m emailing the principal in the morning, because there’s no way I’m working with you. Your idea of planning a fundraiser is probably about as boring as watching paint dry.”

“And what? You think you have exemplary, innovative ideas that’re sure to bring in more money than any other year?”

Grace juts out her chin defiantly, tightening her arms around herself, and it’s a test of my control not to let my gaze drop and take in the sight again. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she replies. “Unlike you”—her eyes, full of judgement and blanketed by long, black lashes, run up and down the length of me—“I’m not boring and I actually have taste. Have you even showered today? You’re covered in paint.”

“Says the one with flour dusted on her cheek and, is that”—reaching out, I rub my thumb over the dark mark just under her right shoulder—“frosting? And to answer your question, no, I haven’t showered yet today. I came straight from work, but don’t worry, I’ll take off these paint-covered clothes as soon as I get home and take a nice, long, hot shower just for you, Sin.”

Heat pools in my gut as I watch a splash of pink bloom over the apples of her cheeks. It takes me right back to that night in my car outside of her parents’ house after she kissed me. “Like I care if you bathe.” She snorts, trying her best to appear unaffected by my comment. “I’m sure your employees would appreciate their boss not smelling like a stale ball of sweat, though.”

Biting back a laugh, I rock on the balls of my feet. “My balls are just fine, but thank you for your concern.”

The color spreads down to her neck and chest, and I’m hit with a thought—one I’ve shamelessly thought for years—that again, Grace is a mess, but she’s a goddamnbeautifulfucking mess. It’s infuriating.

Clearing her throat, she stands taller, jutting her chin out again. “Okay, well, as fun as it hasn’t been to sit here and do…whatever the hell this was with you, I’m leaving. I have much better things to do.”

I nod as a smirk curves my lip. “Alright, let me know when’s a good time to meet about all this.”

“Not happening,” she bites out. “I told you, I’m?—”

“Emailing the principal,” I finish for her. “Right, and when that gets you nowhere, let me know the plan.” I turn and saunter toward my truck, but before I get there, I pause and look over my shoulder as I add, “And whatever the plan is, Sin, be on fucking time.”

Her eyes narrow. “Quit calling me that, asshole.”

I can’t help but laugh as I climb into my truck and turn it on. One thing’s for certain—us being forced to work together, knowing she hates it, is definitely going to bring some much-needed excitement to my life.

On the drive home, memories flit through my mind like a slideshow. To this day, I’m unsure if it was the alcohol that made her brazen that night or if that’s just how she is. I won’t lie; the latter would be hot as hell. When I first saw her sitting at the bar, I didn’t recognize her. The room was dimly lit, and I could only see half of her face from several seats away. Not only that, but her hair, which was typically pulled up into a bun on top of her head back then, was cascading down her back, and she was dressed differently—sexier—than I was used to.

I couldn’t help but admire her for a moment, allow myself to drink in the blonde bombshell a few feet away. The unamused, bored way she interacted with the man who tried, and failed, to approach her, the bubbly, angelic sound of her laughter as she flirted with the bartender, and the enthralled way she watched everybody in the room. She exuded confidence and sensuality in the tiny black dress that barely covered her tight, petite curves. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the heart-in-throat feeling I had when I realized who I’d been checking out.

I’ve known Grace since she was a teenager, and realizing who I was looking at in that way was so unsettling and…wrong. Especially because, as much as I tried to deny it to myself back then, Ienjoyedand appreciated who it was I was looking at before it hit me. I was attracted to what I saw.

Not only was she barely twenty at the time, but she was also my son’s girlfriend. The girlfriend he’d been with since they were in high school. The one who would decorate his bedroom for his every birthday and Valentine’s Day. The girl who would eat dinner at our house and watch movies on the projector in our backyard, who would sneak into his room at night when they thought I didn’t know.

Realizing I was checking out my son’s girlfriend, who was barely legal at that, made me feel like a pervert. I’d never looked at her in that light. Trying to shake off the disgust I felt in myself, I went into dad mode in the middle of that bar and offered to give her a ride home. It was clear by her rosy cheeks and glassy eyes she was in no position to drive. The last thing I expected her to do was kiss me.

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