Page 50 of P.S. I Miss You

“Was wondering how he took it.”

“Stop being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound jealous,” I say.

“Don’t go replacing me, all right? I’m your best friend. Not him.”

“Grow up.” I chuckle, cradling the phone on my shoulder as I smear toothpaste on my purple toothbrush.

It’s then that I find one of my yellow Post-Its stuck to the mirror along with a note from Sutter.

Melrose,

The answer to the question you asked me last night is … all the time.

Sutter

What the hell did I ask him?

I manage to get Nick off the phone before wiping my mouth and heading downstairs to let Murphy out and get a drink of water and find some ibuprofen and brew a cup of coffee. The shades are all drawn, and I can’t help but wonder if Sutter left the house dark on my behalf.

He’s surprising me every day with this honeyed side of him I never knew existed.

In many ways, I feel like we’re still strangers and there’s still so much I don’t know about him. But I know one thing for sure … when I leave in a week, I’m going to miss him.

“NO FUCKING WAY.” I throw my needle nose pliers aside.

“What is it?” Manny asks.

We’re almost finished with the contemporary mansion on Dolce Pass when in walks the developer with a friend in tow.

“Sutter,” Richard Kepner, the developer, flags me down. “Sutter, this is Mr. McCauley, he’s just put in an offer on the home. Robert, this is our electric guy. If there are any changes you want made, now’s the time to speak up. Feel free to take another look around, make some notes, and we’ll have Sutter and his team put everything into action. Sutter, would you mind coming with us?”

It’s not like I can say no.

My jaw is clenched too tight for me to speak anyway.

Following the suited assholes around the fifteen-thousand square foot manse, I find myself repeatedly distracted by the balding backside of Robert McCauley’s egg-shaped head.

It might as well be a damn target.

“Sutter, what kind of wire did you run here?” McCauley asks.

He looks at me like he’s never seen me in his life, though I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s bluffing to save face or if he’s truly that socially inept.

McCauley does seem like the kind of guy who doesn’t exactly give a shit about anyone else but him, and if you’re not giving him something he wants, you’re not worth the effort it takes to memorize your face.

I answer his questions like the true professional that I am, but when he interrupts my explanation to take a phone call, I have to walk away.

“Yeah, babe. I’ll meet you at the Chateau for dinner at eight. Reservations are under my assistant’s name. I’ll text it to you … and yeah, wear the black dress … the one I like.” He scratches at his temple, making his way around toward the window with a smug grin on his face.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I have a call I need to take. It’ll just be a minute.” Richard respectfully excuses himself, disappearing into one of the several bedrooms down the hall.

With Richard absent, Robert pretends to check his phone, scrolling and thumbing the screen mindlessly. For someone who’s networked his way around Hollywood, I find it interesting he can’t be bothered to so much as attempt to make small talk with me.

Then again … I’m blue collar.

I’m a laborer.

The help.

I’m worthless and useless to someone like him.

He clears his throat, glancing up from his phone toward me for a moment, and each passing second brings with it the challenge of keeping my mouth shut.

Robert takes another call before I get the chance.

Lucky bastard.

“Hey, hey. Was wondering when you were going to be back in town,” he says in a pathetic attempt to sound sexy. “I’m busy tonight, but tomorrow night? All yours. Wife is out of town this week.”

“Wife?!”

Oh, shit.

That wasn’t in my head.

Robert whips around, brows knitting as he shoots me a look.

“Love, I’m going to have to call you back.” He ends the call. “Is there a problem … what’s your name again?”

It’s hot as literal hell in here. My ears burn. My jaw clenches. My entire body tenses from head to toe.

Dragging in a long breath, I take a few steps closer, until I’m towering over him, and I keep my voice low. “I don’t want to bother you with having to know and actually remember my name. Just call me The Guy Who Wired Your Security System. Might be a little easier to remember that way.”

Robert puffs his chest out. “Is that a threat?”

“I didn’t make a threat. I simply answered your question.”

His left eye is squinted as he sizes me up. “Why do you look familiar? Let me guess … failed actor? Wiring houses to make ends meet? Blaming people like me for your lack of success?”

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