Page 36 of Idle

Smirking, I nod. “I’m down with that.” Turning to Robbie, I extend my hand. “Great job in there. Very sorry to see you go.”

He grasps my hand. “Thanks, man. I was hoping to face-off with you and Paige in the finals.” Robbie places his hand on my shoulder. “If you want to start something with her, don’t let anyone keep you apart.”

Knowing he’s referring to Paige, Bo, and me, I don’t reply. Quinn instructs the guys to gather their things and turns to the remaining four of us. “Congratulations. You made it to the last round, which is the primary bedroom suite. Filming starts up in three days, so review these notes and enjoy the break!” She places some envelopes onto the table and leaves, trailed by the camera crew. Soon the losing team wheels their luggage out the door.

“And then there were four.” Mary Ellen’s comment sounds more ominous than jubilant. I’m with her.

Bo claps. “Damn straight.” Extending his arm toward Paige, he bites his upper lip. “Let’s go out and celebrate.”

My body tenses. I want to scream she’s my partner, not his. I want to toss the cowboy back to his Dallas roots. I want to plant a kiss on Paige and stake my claim. Instead, I clench my teeth and watch as she accepts his offer.

But not without looking in my direction first.

The pair go to their rooms to change, leaving Mary Ellen and me in the living room. I have no desire to ask her out, or even leave this oppressive apartment. Instead, I give Bo’s ex a curt nod and walk to the exercise room.

To clear my head.

And perhaps pummel a punching bag.

11

Paige

Bo chews his apple pie, like he has every course, with his mouth open. Squirming in my seat at the disgusting noise, I place my fork onto the dish with a half-eaten cheesecake. I let Bo select tonight’s restaurant considering I chose our last one. So, here we sit in the iconic, touristy venue, being jostled by other diners and servers.

“I think Frank and Robbie missed the mark by doing two bedrooms, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“What’s there to suppose? They did the same room twice. Mine was a sleeping quarter for an infant, which is different.”

“You have a point.” Something inside me argues that if Robbie and Frank had executed a more challenging design, they might’ve been left in the competition. After all, a nursery done in pastels isn’t too cutting-edge.

“I’m always right.” He squirms in his chair. “These seats aren’t comfortable.”

Shocked at the jump in our conversation—although I shouldn’t be, because this is at least the fifth one of the night—Bo continues, “I should offer to remake them. Bet a place like this would pay a pretty penny.”

Having no idea whether the restaurant is even looking to replace their seating, I shrug.

“I’m sure they would.” He leans over and whips out his wallet, pulling out a business card. Holding it up for me to see, he says, “Never leave home without them.”

I’m tired of his conversation jumps. His self-promotion is exhausting. He doesn’t have Jesse’s wit or sense of humor, for sure. While he’s nice to look at, he’s all looks and little substance. Plus, a disgusting eater.

My mind replays some of the stimulating conversations Jesse and I have had throughout the competition. He’s a fantastic conversationalist, and not only about home remodeling. There’s a time and place for that, sure, but I’d like to discuss something other than design flaws in the restaurant. Even if the seats are hard.

When the server drops off our check, I pull out my purse in a half-hearted attempt to pay for my half. As expected, Bo scoops up the bill and pulls out a credit card, making a big show of using a blue card. Keeping my family’s black one tucked safely inside my wallet, I murmur, “Thank you.”

His head swivels until he locks in on our server, then he snaps his fingers. Mortified, I slump down in my uncomfortable chair. Maybe this is how he does things in Texas, but here, that shit doesn’t fly.

The server, wide-eyed, appears at our table and Bo practically shoves the folio into her stomach. I offer her an “I’m sorry” look, then she disappears.

“So hard to find good help. I thought it would be different here in the big city, but I guess I was wrong.”

If you treat people with respect, they’ll return the favor.Mum’s words pop into my mind. Keeping my own counsel, I reply, “She’s been busy. I think she had at least ten tables tonight.”

“Doesn’t matter to me so long as I get the service I deserve.” His hand snakes out toward mine and closes around it. “Only the best for my filly.”

My eyes slam shut. So much is wrong with his statement, I don’t know where to begin. Well, maybe I do. I’m not anyone’s “filly,” for starters. Not to mention the fact he thinks hedeservesgood service is plain old wrong. Mum’s taught me to use the golden rule to bring out the best in people, which works well for me. Bo should try it.

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