Sweeping The Bride Away. Michele Dunaway

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Cassidy shook her head. “I don’t have time for more learning experiences. I want children and a family. I’m twenty-eight. Dan is perfect.”

      He was. She jutted her chin forward stubbornly.

      Sara simply shook her head. “I hope for your sake you’re right.”

      “I am,” Cassidy said. As long as I don’t run into that guy again.

      She’d throw his business card away as soon as she got home.

      IMAGE CONSULTANTS were not supposed to have hangovers. In fact, no one was supposed to have a hangover after only three longneck bottles of beer, then dinner and then another two hours of conversation with only water to drink before either she or Sara had done any driving home. Even that guy had left long before she had.

      Cassidy rolled over and shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight pouring in her bedroom windows. Lillian’s mantra suddenly filled her mind. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Make the best of it.”

      With that annoying thought, Cassidy sat up straight in bed. Today already sucked, and if today was a crystal ball of the future then she wanted no part of it. She blinked and glanced at the alarm clock—7:00 a.m. Great. Her alarm wasn’t scheduled to go off for at least another fifteen minutes.

      Figured. She hadn’t even slept in.

      Cassidy flopped back on the pillows and covered her eyes with her arm. Not that she could go back to sleep, anyway. The only concession was that she’d slept soundly, with no dreams of said men to haunt her.

      Begrudgingly she rolled out of bed, hit the shower and within forty minutes had seated herself at the breakfast table with the yellow pages.

      As she munched a grape-jelly-covered bagel, she frowned. By the time she’d finished the last of the bagel, she was sure lines ridged her brow, as well, creating a look her mother had always chided would give her premature wrinkles.

      The yellow pages listed hundreds of contractors, and Cassidy had no clue whatsoever who to call.

      Three hours later, after dialing for over an hour, she faced failure.

      “Your problems are too small,” one contractor had said. “We don’t handle residential,” another’s haughty secretary had replied. “We can’t put you on the schedule for at least three weeks,” most had told her.

      She was already at the Hs. She rose and faced her nightmare. Two steps took her to the stainless steel trash compactor. She’d run it last night when she’d gotten home.

      Grimacing, she opened it up. Gingerly she picked through the remnants, finally finding the tiny cardstock paper she was looking for.

      Glad the sauce had been white not red, she brushed off a leftover fettuccini noodle and read the words embossed.

      J & B Construction. Blade Frederick, President.

      Rather a fancy title to disguise what was probably a sole-proprietorship. She shivered as her gaze swept over the card again. His name was Blade.

      She’d briefly heard it once or twice at the bar, but it hadn’t really registered. It did now, and his name fit. Sara’s prophetic words came rushing back, and Cassidy dropped the card back into the trash compactor.

      She couldn’t call him.

      She stared at the card, lying faceup on the congealing fettuccine Alfredo. She had to call him. She had no choice. Besides, he said he would recommend a handyman, not do the work himself.

      Inaction paralyzed her, and finally anger overtook her. She was being silly. Last night had just been too much beer and too much of feeling sorry for herself because of her home situation.

      She grabbed the card back out of the compactor and kicked the stainless steel door closed.

      She’d simply make it clear to…Blade that she needed his help and that she wasn’t interested in any of his other services.

      Besides, over the phone she wouldn’t be tempted to look at his hands and wonder if…

      She brushed that distracting thought aside as she swore never to drink beer again. I can do this, Cassidy whispered the pep talk to herself as she reached for the phone. She dialed the number for J & B Construction. Besides, it’ll be fine, she told herself. After yesterday I deserve a break.

      Chapter Two

      Blade needed a break, and not an endless coffee break like his secretary still seemed to be on. Bidding on—and winning—the job to build the state’s newest revenue office should have been a piece of cake. But it wasn’t turning out that way, and Jake was annoyed.

      Blade hated it when Jake, his best friend and business partner, was annoyed. It always spelled trouble.

      “We’re up against D. W. Braun, and it’s down to just us two,” Jake said.

      Blade sat forward, letting the back of his leather chair thump him gently in the back. He knew there was more. “What do they have on our bid?”

      “I’m not sure.” His partner, and technically the company co-president, paced the room anxiously. “I’ve heard on the street that D.W.’s put money into some political campaigns.”

      “Figures.” Blade gritted his teeth. “So much for the lowest bidder.”

      “Come on, Blade, we know it’s rarely the lowest bidder. It’s the bidder with the longest tentacles who can justify all the expenses and pad the congressmen’s pockets. That’s why public projects always run over budget.”

      “Not with our company.”

      “Of course not.” Jake knew Blade was as honest and ethical as they came, and their company had a reputation for the same. “But we’ve only been bidding on public projects for the past two years. We’re new in this arena. We usually do private, like the renovation of the old Caferelli warehouse into an upscale hotel and lofts.”

      “I want this project,” Blade said. “We have the best design and the best company for the job. I want to see us diversify from just office buildings and 200,000-square-foot retail developments.”

      “Exactly,” Jake agreed with a short nod. “We want to diversify. To do that we’ve got to get out there on the social scene. Make some political contacts. Show them we’re serious about running with the big boys.”

      “That’s your job.” Blade took a mechanical pencil and tapped it, top down, on the mahogany desk. “I may own a half dozen custom suits, but I don’t wear them unless I have to. You win jobs—I work the field and make sure we come in under budget and on time.”

      “Yeah, but we want to continue to grow, don’t we?”

      “Grow?” Blade snorted his disbelief. “We’re the fastest growing commercial contractor in the nation. We did two billion in revenue last year.”

      “Exactly. Two million less than the year before.” Jake sounded as if two СКАЧАТЬ