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  As I watched, she yanked open the passenger's side door, climbed into the SUV, and slammed the door behind her.

  I turned to Roy and said, "Does this mean you're leaving?"

  Looking surprisingly calm, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

  "Well, because she got back into the vehicle."

  "Eh, she does that all the time," he said. "Trust me. When she wants me, she'll holler." He gave the SUV a wary glance. "Until then, I'd be smart to stay away."

  Now this, I believed. Even now, I could still hear the muffled sounds of her rage as she talked to whoever on the phone.

  By now, I had no idea what to think. I sidled closer to Roy and said, "I'm really sorry. I honestly thought I was helping." I bit my lip. "I mean, Brody never said anything about not touching the house."

  In fact, he hadn't said a lot of things.

  And it suddenly struck me that only half a day had passed since Brody had surprised me in the shower. Was that even enough time to plan whatever was going on?

  I didn't think so. And this meant, what exactly?

  Let's say he had planned to fix up the house all along. Had I begged merely for Brody's entertainment?

  I frowned. Was it not a favor at all?

  With growing unease, I looked once again to Roy. "Hey, can I ask you something? This project – restoring the house, I mean – how long have you known about it?"

  "This one?" Roy gave a rueful laugh. "Not long at all." He glanced toward the SUV. "That's part of the reason she's so tense. Rush jobs – they make her a little crazy."

  "Oh." Relief coursed through me, along with more than a little shame. There I was again, all too willing to assume the worst of Brody. What was wrong with me, anyway?

  With an embarrassed laugh, I said, "Oh yeah? So you just found out today, huh?"

  "Today?" Roy gave me an odd look. "Nah. It's not that big of a rush. A project this size? It takes some planning, you know?"

  "Oh?" My stomach clenched. "So…how long have you known about it?"

  "Let's see…" He paused as if thinking. "Two, maybe three weeks."

  My jaw dropped. Brody – that total bastard.

  Boy, was he gonna get it.

  Chapter 10

  Brody

  I stared, dumbstruck, at my oldest brother. "You're not serious."

  From behind his desk, Mason said, "Is there a problem?"

  Mason was five years my senior, and ten times the prick. Normally, I'd call that a compliment. Not today.

  I was standing in his office, which was situated on the top floor of our largest factory. By design, the factory was located right here in Bayside, where we'd all grown up.

  Mason's office was cold and impersonal – with one lone exception. On his desk was a framed crayon drawing of a scribbled figure who could only be Mason, complete with a smile and a red necktie.

  The tie was familiar. The smile wasn't.

  On the bottom of the picture, the same childlike handwriting had scrawled out, "World's Best Daddy."

  Yes. He was.

  Mason might be a dick to me and everyone else, but he was good to Willow. I had to give him credit for that, even on days like today when I felt like lunging over his desk beating him senseless.

  As for my own desk, it was located just down the hall in a private office of my own, not that I spent much time there. Unlike both of my brothers, I liked to work with my hands, not cool my ass in climate-controlled comfort.

  But now, I was anything but cool. "Come on," I said. "You're just messing with me, right?"

  "No." Mason glanced at his watch. "So just spit it out. What's the problem?"

  It was nearly five o'clock in the afternoon, and my problems were piling up – building supplies delivered to the wrong property, a busted machine on the factory floor, and a landscaping emergency at some unspecified address.

  Yeah. "A landscaping emergency." That's what Waverly had called it.

  The way I saw it, there was no such thing. Unless the bushes had come alive and were eating neighborhood children, I figured that was a problem for the back burner.

  And yet, it wouldn't go away.

  Waverly – the new producer of our TV show – had been texting me for over an hour now. She'd been short on details, but long on drama, along with a few sexual innuendos that I was choosing to ignore.

  Tomorrow, she'd be arriving here in Bayside to begin filming at the house on Lakeview – which meant that I had only one day to square things away with Arden.

  Arden might be a pain in the ass, but she was smart. Once the film crew arrived, it wouldn’t take her long to put two and two together and realize that the house had been safe all along.

  I frowned as I recalled last night's scene in the hallway. The situation had gotten way out of hand.

  Her fault.

  And mine.

  She'd been crazy. And I'd been an asshole. But now, come to find out, I'd been missing a big piece of the puzzle – the piece I'd just gotten from my brother.

  Turns out, my latest acquisition – the house on Lakeview Drive – had been in Arden's family for generations. And the latest family member to own it – some guy named Jason Smithers – hadn't been so eager to give it up.

  That name – Jason – rang a familiar bell, and I wasn't happy to hear it. My frown deepened as I recalled all of those text messages on Arden's cell phone.

  Jason – he was no boyfriend. And no hookup either.

  Apparently, the guy was Arden's cousin – a low-level administrator at the nearby community college. He'd owned the house for three years now. And in spite of his early reluctance to sell, he'd come around soon enough, thanks to some creative pressure applied where it counted.

  I'd learned all of this just today, courtesy of Mason, who handled the business side of things.

  I considered his question. "What's the problem?"

  Shit. Where to begin?

  I said, "So you knew that her family owned it?"

  "Sure, I knew," he said. "Why do you think I bought the place?"

  I gave him a look. "I bought it, not you."

  "Yeah. And I did the deal." He gave me a tight smile. "So you're welcome."

  I'd already thanked him once, and I wasn't about to do it again. He'd wanted to handle it. And me? I'd wanted it handled while I kept the construction side of things running on schedule.

  He did his thing. And I did mine. Until now, it hadn't been a problem.

  But this? It was a problem – one I hadn't seen coming.

  A few weeks ago, I'd spotted the house while scouting a different property on a neighboring street. That property had been a dud.

  But the house on Lakeview had it all – good bones, a killer location, and plenty of room for improvement. It would be great for the show, and even better for the city. And the neighbors? Hell, they'd be sending us thank-you cards by the time it was done.

  The place was a mess, inside and out. As bad as it was, it was a miracle it hadn't been condemned.

  As far as purchasing it, the deal had been in the works for weeks. During this time, no one – including my prick of a brother – had said a single word about Arden Weathers.

  I gave Mason another hard look. "Why didn't you tell me who owned it?"

  "Because it wasn't worth mentioning."

  It was a lie, and we both knew it. Mason held a grudge for longer than anyone I knew, me included. And that was saying something.

  Sure, Arden and I had a history. And that history was on the explosive side. But Mason should've known better.

  My discussion with him ended the way it always did, with stoic silence on his part and a good deal of profanity on mine. By the time I stalked out his office, neither one of us was happy.

  But hey, what else was new?

  And now I was running late. I'd meant to check in with Arden at noon. But noon had come and gone hours ago. The day had been a shit-show already and showed no sign of improving – not after last night.

  In my mind's eye, I co
uld still see her – gazing up at me with those big, tearful eyes. She'd been on her knees, and not in a good way.

  It had surprised the piss out of me.

  I hadn't expected her to do it.

  After all, it was just a house, even if she did have a habit of poking her nose where it didn't belong.

  Last night, I'd been plenty ticked-off – and with good reason, too. She'd busted into my house, and then insulted the hell out of me.

  She'd called me vile.

  Arrogant, too.

  I felt my jaw clench. What else had she called me? By now, I could hardly remember.

  But I did recall her begging me for a project that was already in the works.

  I'd been pissed. And I'd taken it too far. But hey, I didn't deserve all of the blame.

  On top of the other bullshit, she'd acted like I'd force her to have sex with me as some sort of payment.

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  It was the worst kind of insult. I didn't pay for it. And even if I were heading down that sorry road, I'd never want anyone who wasn't willing and eager.

  Arden Weathers? She wasn't willing, eager, or my type. We weren't friends, and I didn't like her, but I did owe her an explanation, and maybe an apology, too.

  Like all unpleasant things, I figured I might as well get it done and call it good.

  It was a decent plan, or so I thought until I spotted a certain white SUV in the driveway on Lakeview.

  Shit. From the looks of things, trouble had come early.

  Chapter 11

  Arden

  With murder in her eye, the blonde hissed, "I said, 'Put it back.'"

  I glanced around. Yes. She had said that, just a moment ago. But I still wasn't quite sure what she meant.

  A full hour had passed since her surprise arrival, and she'd spent most of that time hunkered down in the SUV, talking to whoever while I made uneasy chit-chat with Roy.

  I was trying to be a good sport. Really, I was. But between the blonde's rudeness and the realization that Brody had made me beg merely for the fun of it, I was feeling more than a little cranky.

  I gave the blonde an annoyed look. "Put what back? The mower?" If that's what she wanted, I'd be all too happy to return it to the garage across the street, if only to escape all the drama.

  I probably would've left long ago, if not for the fact that I'd been hungry for more information. And Roy, for his part, had fed me plenty.

  Turns out, my grandparent's place was one of several properties they were featuring during the show's upcoming season. Apparently, Brody had picked this one personally and had even mentioned the possibility of living here after the house was fully restored.

  The jerk.

  The way Roy talked, this had been Brody's plan all along – not that Brody had bothered to enlighten me himself.

  I knew why, too.

  It was because he was a total vindictive bastard. That's why.

  And now the blonde was saying, "I don't mean the lawn-mower. I mean the lawn."

  Huh?

  When I gave Roy a perplexed look, he appeared to be just as confused as I was. I turned back to the blonde and asked, "What do you mean? I can't exactly regrow it, you know."

  With a derisive snort, she replied, "No shit, Sherlock."

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. "So…?"

  "So grab the clippings already." She gave a frantic wave of her arms. "Scatter them around, like an animal got into them or something."

  I was staring now. "An animal?"

  "Yeah. Like a goat." She sighed. "I mean, they eat grass all the time, right?"

  "I, uh…" I shook my head. "Not around here, they don't."

  "I don't care," she said. "Landon Tarrington will be here any minute, and I need this place to look like shit."

  I stared with growing confusion. "What?"

  "Yeah." Her mouth tightened. "The shittier the better."

  I frowned. Gee, maybe I should've crapped on the front porch.

  I gave Roy another questioning look. "Landon Tarrington?" I said. "Who's that?"

  "The executive producer." Roy flicked his head toward the blonde. "Her boss."

  The blonde gave a loud huff. "He's not my boss. He's my boss's boss." She turned back to me. "Now get your ass in gear. Or else."

  I felt my gaze narrow. "You're not my boss. Or my boss's boss for that matter." With a brittle smile, I informed her, "For your information, I have no boss."

  Her lips twisted. "So you're unemployed? I can't say I'm surprised."

  And I couldn’t say that I wouldn't smack her with a shovel. But that was a fantasy for another time.

  In the end, I told her to shove it. If she wanted the grass clippings scattered or whatever, she could damn well do it herself.

  And boy, was she delighted to hear that.

  She was just in the process expressing this delight when a big black pickup pulled into the driveway.

  At the sight of it, we all turned to look. The sun had shifted during the last hour, and the driveway was now shaded by the thick branches of my grandparent's favorite oak tree.

  With no glare on the truck windows, I had no trouble seeing exactly who was behind the wheel.

  It was Brody Blastoviak – the asshat himself.

  Chapter 12

  Brody

  I frowned as I cut the truck's engine. Shit. What was she doing here?

  This time, I didn't mean Arden – although I wasn't happy to see her either.

  Hell, I wasn't happy to see any of it.

  Waverly was standing on the front walkway while Roy – the head of the traveling film crew – stood beside Arden on the property's front lawn.

  The lawn. I shook my head. Huh.

  Someone had cut it. Or at least they'd cut most of it.

  It was easy to guess who that someone was.

  It was Arden. Her red sneakers were stained green, and there was a streak of dirt along the side of the face. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and her yellow T-shirt clung to her curves in a way that might've caught my attention if I weren't so distracted by the rest of it.

  The house – it looked different. I glanced toward the front porch and did a double-take.

  Someone had trimmed the hedges. They'd done a decent job of it, too.

  Arden?

  It had to be.

  This explained Waverly's scowl. Oh yeah. She was ticked.

  Still, she wiped the scowl from her face and flashed me a smile as she turned and began striding toward my truck.

  As she moved closer, I looked to Arden.

  She wasn't smiling.

  And neither was I.

  Memories of last night came flooding back, making me shift uneasily in my seat. Judging from the scene in front of me, I'd lost any chance to explain before Arden figured things out on her own.

  I was too late.

  My fault. Not hers.

  But then again, I hadn't been expecting company, not until tomorrow.

  By the time I climbed out of the driver's seat, Waverly was standing beside my truck. When I shut the truck door behind me, she leaned closer and breathed, "Oh, my God. I'm so glad you're here."

  Yeah, well, that made one of us.

  Again, I looked to Arden. She wasn't glad. And I didn't blame her.

  I wasn't glad either.

  Last night had been a real shit-show. But there was plenty of blame to go around. And hell if I'd be taking all of it.

  Waverly said, "So you received my messages?"

  I gave her a look. "Yeah, all twelve of them."

  Her chin lifted. "It wasn't twelve. It was ten at the most."

  Ten, twelve – it didn't matter. When I said nothing in reply, she asked, "So why didn't you text me back?"

  "Because I was busy."

  Her mouth tightened, but she didn't push the issue. Instead, she pointed toward the front yard and said, "But you see the problem, right?"

  Oh yeah. I saw.

  Turns out the "landscaping emergency"
was right here in Bayside. It was easy to see what had happened. Arden had ruined the establishing footage, the part where we showed just how bad the house looked before we got to work.

  Silently, I took in the scene. The house still looked bad, but not as bad as when I'd bought it.

  In fact, the place looked a lot better than just this morning.

  The hedges looked nice and neat, and a bunch of weeds were missing from the area around the front porch. The yard still had a long way to go, but Arden had made a decent start of it, especially for someone working alone – and for less than a day.

  If Arden were anyone else, I might've been impressed.

  Next to me, Waverly was saying, "See? It's a total fucking disaster."

  I shrugged. "Hey, it could be worse."

  "How?" she demanded. "It's a catastrophe, and you know it."

  No. A catastrophe was when your dad went out for beer and never came back. Or, when your mom decided she'd rather take up with some washed-up fighter and move to Miami, instead of raising her own kids.

  Now that was a catastrophe – as I'd seen firsthand, even more so when they'd died in separate accidents not too long afterward.

  I told Waverly, "Trust me. It's not that bad."

  "Not that bad?" she sputtered. "You're kidding, right?"

  I'd known Waverly for only a few weeks now. But it was long enough to know that she wasn't cut out for this sort of gig. In construction – hell, in everything – things went wrong all the time. The secret was to roll with the punches and get back up – not to whine like a…well, you know.

  I told her, "Don't worry. We'll figure something out."

  "Like what?" she said. "I already told the mower person that she should put it back."

  At this, I almost smiled. "Oh yeah? How'd that go?"

  "Terrible," Waverly said. "She got all snippy."

  Recalling her words from a moment earlier, I frowned in confusion. "Wait a minute. Put what back?"

  "The grass," Waverly said. "I'm thinking if we scatter it around, we can still get some decent footage."

  From the sidelines, Arden called out, "And don't forget about the goat!"

  Waverly whirled toward her and hollered back, "Hey! I wasn't talking to you!"