Page 19 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Pinching my lips, I arch a brow. “Essentially, yes. But there’s a lot more to it than that. I make spaces functional. I make it so that when you move through a space, it’s easy to find what you need. Everything is at your fingertips, exactly where you’d expect it to be. It’s not just labels and boxes; it’s eliminating all the little annoyances that people experience in a space without even registering them.”

And I’m great at it. Organization is the one area of my life where I feel complete confidence. There, my perfectionism is an asset.

Remy nods. “All right. This office is the farthest thing from functional. I could use your help.”

Along the wall to my right are old, beat-up boxes that look to be full of a random assortment of rags, tools, and crumpled receipts. The layout of the room cuts off the flow and doesn’t make use of the natural light. The vertical space hasn’t been utilized at all.

Which means Remy’s right. He could use my help.

Still… “This feels like charity.”

“It’s not.” Remy leans forward. “How many hours would it take you to organize this office? For every hour you work here, I’ll work one on your van.”

“An hour for an hour,” I repeat.

“A fair exchange.”

“I don’t know,” I answer, frowning. “That still doesn’t seem fair. Your tree…”

“Look. The owner of the garage is an old guy who’s told me I can do what I want with it. I haven’t touched the office because I can’t stand the idea of dealing with any more paperwork than I have to, but look around. I need a new system. You’d be helping me out.”

His eyes are steady and beguiling as they remain trained on mine. His broad hands are braided on top of his desk, tattoos snaking down his arms and around his wrists. He looks a little bit dangerous, a little bit kind, and a lotta bit sexy.

I should say no. I already decided he’s not fling material, and spending any more time with him than necessary would be a terrible idea.

“I…”

“Say yes,” he says, voice low. “Help me out.”

“I can’t,” I whisper.

The sun sinks below the rooftops, and the light in the office turns dim. A beautiful beast of a man watches me with dark-brown eyes, almost begging me to let him help.

“Two for one,” he coaxes. “You work two hours in here for every one I work on your van. I’m practically ripping you off with that kind of proposal.”

“Well, you are a mechanic, so…”

The grin that flashes across his lips sends lightning through my veins. “Audrey,” he says, and I melt. “Say yes.”

Intoxicating, irresistible man. This is such a bad idea.

“Yes,” I hear myself whisper. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

SIX

REMY

Danny presses his nose against the living room window. “Who’s that?”

I follow his gaze to the front yard, where my new neighbor is tidying up the broken twigs and branches from the bushes she demolished on Thursday. We haven’t spoken since I drove her home on Friday night, promising to start our exchange of favors at the beginning of the following week. It’s now Sunday morning, and I’m beginning to regret suggesting the whole thing.

I’m attracted to the woman. I can’t deny it. Whether it’s her voice or her eyes or the stubborn line that appears between her brows when she tries to argue her point, I’m not sure. I just know that the more time I spend with her, the more she intrigues me.

Which is bad.

I have one priority in life: the little boy kneeling on the sofa with his palms and face smooshed against the glass. His world was rocked far more than mine could ever be when his parents passed. When he came to stay with me, I promised myself he’d always be the priority. That promise led to the breakdown of my marriage and a seismic shift in the course of my life, but it was worth it.

I haven’t dated seriously since then, because the last thing I want to do is disrupt Danny’s life. I don’t want to bring a woman into his world that would treat him like anything less than the amazing kid he is. I don’t want him to ever feel like he isn’t my number one priority.

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