Page 32 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
I frown. “Doc, you should not be breathing this in.”
She barely spares me a glance. “I’ve inhaled worse things.”
“Not an argument in your favor.” I brush my hands off on my jeans. “You studied a bit of medicine, right? Shouldn’t you know that black mold is—oh, I don’t know—bad?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “It’s notthatbad.”
I lift my phone. “Okay, let’s ask Google.”
“Do not.” She jabs her paintbrush at me like she’s about to hex me into oblivion.
I scroll dramatically through my phone. “Oh, look at this: it can cause respiratory issues, neurological symptoms, and immune system damage. Shall I go on?”
She crosses her arms, tilting her chin up in that stubborn, defiant manner that makes me want to do very inappropriate things to her just to see how quickly I can make her lose that composure. “I don’t have money to fix this right now, Lucian.”
“That’s where I come in.” I tuck my phone away and step closer, lowering my voice just enough to unsettle her. “I always get good prices. People like me.”
She snorts. “People like you?”
“Yeah, you’re just . . . an anomaly. But back to people liking me. It’s more like they like who I am. I’m the running backfor their team,” I remind her, flexing for dramatic effect. “I’m their only hope for a Super Bowl. If only they hired a decent quarterback instead of digging up guys who are one bad tackle away from cashing their pension.”
She groans, rubbing her temples. “I don’t need you swooping in and fixing things for me.”
“Too bad. Because I’m going to anyway.” I nod toward the mold-infested wall, watching her out of the corner of my eye. “You can either fight me on this, or you can accept that I’m right and leave before you start hallucinating from mold exposure.”
She groans even louder, adding a dramatic eye roll. Yet, I can already see the battle lost in her face, the way her shoulders slump just a little.
Which is exactly when I go for the kill.
“Perhaps that’s why last night’s texts didn’t have the desired effect on you,” I ponder, tilting my head like I’m actually concerned. “You’re not in the right frame of mind to grasp what I’m offering you.”
Her mouth drops open. “Oh God, you’re so cocky.”
I grin. “And yet, you’re not denying it.”
She emits a sound of pure frustration and turns back to her ridiculous paint project—an excellent stalling technique, but ineffective against me. Because while she pretends to be unaffected, I’m already dialing.
Within minutes, I’ve got a contractor on speakerphone.
“Lucian, buddy. What can I do for you?”
“Hey, turns out I’ve got a mold situation that needs handling ASAP.”
That’s all it takes. By the time I hang up, I already have two contractors arriving at the clinic, bidding for the job like I’m an auctioneer at a cattle sale.
One of them—Mike, who is built like a guy moonlighting as a bouncer—gestures wildly toward the ceiling. “Listen, man, wecan knock this out quick. I’ll even throw in a discount if you let me do a promo post on your social media. Your endorsement alone could blow up my business to new heights.”
The other guy—Pete, a wiry dude in paint-stained cargo pants—snorts. “Please. That’s a desperate move. You want real quality? I’ll get it done in half the time and include an upgraded ventilation system.”
Mike glares. “Half the time? No way you can finish this in?—”
“Gentlemen,” I interject, smirking. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but how about we start with what needs to be accomplished before we get to the point where you battle over who gets to use my beautiful face for marketing?”
Olivia, to her credit, hasn’t spoken yet. But when I glance over, she’s radiating suspicion. Arms crossed, and lips pressed tight, she’s definitely regretting letting me handle this.
Mike clears his throat. “Alright, so, the first issue—is that the mold is really bad. Really bad. Like, none of us should be breathing this air.”
Olivia’s nose scrunches. “That’s . . . concerning.”
