Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (4 page)

I
an got
to his feet and watched Billie walk away. She wore tight jeans and a short black hoodie, nothing particularly unusual or evocative, but he found himself staring at her butt longer than he should have.

Wafting cat odor reminded him of where he was and whose body he was admiring. Getting to his feet, he brushed off his knees—something sticky clung to his palms afterward, so he had to brush those off as well—and followed Billie down a hallway into a dark room at the back.

“Could you help me? She never opened these.” Billie was tugging at the heavy curtains covering everything from floor to ceiling. Not a hint of light broke through from outside.

After tripping over something on the floor, he took out his pocket flashlight and flicked it on. Around them crowded heavy furniture and piles of stacked boxes as tall as he was.

“Technically, this is the living room,” she said. “She never used it, though. She always kept the door closed. I’ve been dying to know what it really looks like.” With a grunt, she continued to pull at the curtains.

Aiming his flashlight over her head, he saw the way the drapes were attached. “Hold it. They’re nailed to the wall.”

Billie stopped and let out a loud sigh. “Oh, Grammy. Seriously?”

“I’ll get my gear. Just a second.” He returned a few minutes later with his hammer and a small crowbar. “Think there’s a ladder around here?”

“I’ve never seen one. Maybe in—”

“Never mind. See if you can find a working lamp,” he said. “I’m going to get my ladder out of my truck.”

When he got back, she’d dragged a light in from somewhere and was pointing it at the curtains. “I can’t believe she nailed them. She must’ve done that ages ago, before she hurt her hip.” She paused. “Is that duct tape?”

He set up the ladder and climbed up to where she was pointing. “Afraid so.” In a few minutes, he’d removed six nails and torn away three layers of tape, freeing the corner of the curtain so that a beam of bright morning sun streamed in. Dust motes floated in the light, shimmering like fireflies.

Billie sneezed.

“There are masks in my bag,” he said. “Help yourself.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“I insist,” he said. “And please get me one too.”

Wearing their low-budget hazmat equipment, they removed dozens of square yards of thick, dusty, mildewy fabric. Each inch encouraged them to go faster, because they were revealing a stunning, sunny view of San Francisco, the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and the slopes of the East Bay hills around them. The world outside was much more appealing than the one inside.

“Guess she didn’t like the view,” he said.

“She was afraid of heights.” Billie had both hands pressed up against the glass and was peering out in wonder. “Look at the yard. Well, what used to be a yard.”

He looked down into a flat, wide plot of weeds, cardboard boxes, plastic tubs, a tangled web of rusty bicycles, and the ruins of a broken swing set, now slanted at a forty-five degree angle and overrun with ivy. “It’s huge for up here. And level. Most of the houses along here don’t have nearly so much usable land.”

“She used it, all right. As a landfill.” Her voice was bleak.

“No big deal. One debris box and some muscle, and it’ll be beautiful.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Take a break outside and I’ll go through the rest of the house.”

“What? No, I’m fine. I was just wishing…” She put a hand over his and leaned against him. “I wish I could’ve done this while she was alive. Now she won’t be able to appreciate it. It’s too late—” Her voice cracked, and she fell silent.

“Come on.” He grasped her arm and led her out of the house to the sunny front step, where bright flowers were spilling out of a dozen small pots. The front of the house, unlike the back, was clean, happy, and tidy.

“Deep breath,” he said, inhaling one himself. “It’s toxic in there.”

“Which is why I can’t subject you to it another second.” She pulled her hand free and turned to go back into the house. “I’ll get your ladder and your bag, and you can go. I’m so sorry to put you—”

“I’m having a great time,” he said, and it was true. The thought of cleaning out the decrepit old house filled him with an excitement he hadn’t felt since he’d landed his first multimillion-dollar investor. “Don’t worry about me.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“This place is going to be beautiful when I’m done with it.”

“When
you
’re done with it?” She laughed and tore the mask off her head, shaking off bits of debris. Some remained in her hair, which bothered him, and he had to fight the urge to run his fingers through each strand and make it as glossy and voluminous as it had been before.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You don’t want my help?”

“Ian, you’ve got a company to run. You don’t have time to fix up my grandmother’s house.”

“I have plenty of time.”

“I was grateful you came today just to eyeball the place. That’s more than enough.”

“Hardly. You can’t do this by yourself,” he said.

“I’ve got my sister.”

“I bet Jane works longer hours than anyone I know. And that’s saying something.”

The white dust mask cupped her chin, emphasizing her rosy cheeks. Her brow was furrowed. “You can’t mean it. You’ve seen what it’s like in there,” she said. “We haven’t even looked at the outside yet. Jane’s worried about the roof.”

He reached past her and tapped his knuckles on the drainpipe. It was solid, and he didn’t see any sign of soil erosion along the house below the gutter. The exterior windows were clean, too, and the sycamore arching over the front had been recently trimmed. The mulch around the shrubs and perennials was freshly raked and weed-free. “I suspect you’ll find that most of the repairs will be on the interior.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Look around,” he said, gesturing at the garden, the clean steps, the shining glass windows. “Did you or your sister or your dad have the trees trimmed?”

“Trees?” She frowned up at the branches.

“If your grandmother was afraid of heights, I doubt she was the one who climbed up there.”

“Not to mention she was on oxygen and needed her walker. If she’d climbed up there, I would’ve been right down here making a video.”

“There you go. She must’ve hired somebody,” he said.

“So what if she did?”

“Then she probably hired people for the roof, too.” He took out his phone and pulled up his note-taking to-do app. “I’ll call for a pest inspection. And I know an electrician who can check out the wiring.” He began jotting down a checklist.

“Ian.”

He continued to type. Lorna must know some strong guys at school who’d like to make a few bucks hauling the garbage out of the house. Which would mean he’d have to order a debris box. He made another note.

“
Ian
.”

“There’s no point arguing, Billie. I’m here, I’m on the job. Don’t waste your energy trying to get rid of me. You’ll need all of it for what lies ahead.”

B
illie was opening
her mouth to argue again when a baby-blue Volt turned in to the driveway. Inside was an older lady with short hair and a big smile.

Trixie? “What’s she doing here?” Billie asked under her breath.

“Who is she?”

“One of my dad’s cousins. We call her Aunt Trixie.” Billie waved at the figure walking toward them. If Trixie hadn’t been at the funeral, she probably wouldn’t have recognized her. The two family branches knew each other but had drifted apart. “Grammy was her mother’s sister.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Trixie said, glancing between them. “Your sister told me you were here.”

“Is something wrong?” Billie asked.

“Well, your grandmother died.” Trixie reached out and squeezed Billie’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Billie offered an awkward smile. Her father, being more than ten years younger than his cousin, hadn’t known her very well, and Billie couldn’t think of why she’d come over. “You live here in Oakland, don’t you?”

“Not far at all. Which is why I wanted to come by and see if I could help. I know what it can be like after a death. You must be overwhelmed.” Trixie’s gaze turned to Ian and brightened. “But you’ve got big, strong, handsome help already. How wonderful.”

“You can help me convince her of that,” Ian said. “She seems to think she can do it on her own.”

“I’m sure she’s just being polite.” Trixie walked past them and reached for the front door. “How about we go inside? The neighbors are staring.”

The neighbors? Billie looked up at the house next door and saw Todd watching them from an upstairs window. “All right, that’s just creepy.”

“He’s probably lonely,” Trixie said, holding the door open for them. “I’m sure Clara told him about you and Jane. The women in our family can’t resist pairing up the young people. My own mother was the same way.”

Billie glanced up at Todd again. As they went inside, Ian leaned over and made a strangled cat sound in her ear. As if it were being eaten.

“I’m afraid it’s a mess,” Billie said, running a hand through her hair. Trixie might have been family, but she felt embarrassed for her grandmother’s sake. The Garcia branch of the family wasn’t well represented by the feline decrepitude currently on display.

“It just got too much for her, poor thing,” Trixie said. She didn’t recoil at the smell or express shock at the worn carpet, the piles of papers, the stacked boxes everywhere. “The mail and the newspapers and the mail-order packages, coming day after day, all of it needing to be sorted and chosen and rejected. And so much waste in the world and you don’t want to contribute to it, but to fix and reuse and recycle everything is just too much work. Poor Clara. After a while, she probably couldn’t see it the way we do.”

“That’s what I was telling Ian,” Billie said, relaxing a little.

Maneuvering around piles of boxes, Trixie marched through the house like a real estate agent on a deadline, flipping light switches and checking the plumbing, kicking cabinet doors, peering into closets, admiring the view they’d uncovered out the back room. “You’ve got a lovely house here. How wonderful you’ve got a handy friend to help you out.”

Billie glanced at Ian, who smiled.

“I’m sure the last thing you can imagine wanting right now is furniture,” Trixie continued, “but I’ve recently acquired a man who has a house full of it. We’ve been trying to get our children to take it, but they’ve got homes of their own or different tastes, or maybe they just don’t want their stepfather’s things because it’s kind of weird. Anyway, we’ve got loads. It’s yours if you want it.”

She vaguely remembered meeting Trixie’s new husband at the funeral. Although he’d seemed like a cool guy, the thought of taking in an older man’s furniture wasn’t one of her real estate fantasies, unless that older man was Ralph Lauren or something. But she was practical; she knew she couldn’t afford to be picky. “Maybe, yes. Thanks. I’m not sure yet what we’ll need.”

“From what I can see, you’ll need to get rid of everything of your grandmother’s.” She offered a sad smile. “The cats, you see.”

“Yeah, the cats.” Billie sighed.

“Even if you refinish the scratches, there’s still the smell,” Trixie said.

In unison, the three of them sniffed. And then coughed.

“It really is impressive,” Ian said. “We might have some trouble if it’s soaked into the floorboards.”

Trixie patted his arm, beaming up at him. “You’ll figure it out.” She looked at her wrist. “I’ve got to be going. I’ll be in touch. You let me know about Hugo’s furniture. Take it from me, his bed is fantastic. Definitely a keeper.” Winking at Ian, she turned on her heel and floated out of the house, dodging the garbage, and slammed the front door behind her.

“That’s nice,” Billie said into the stinky darkness, although the morning wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped. They still hadn’t looked at the big things Jane had mentioned—electrical, plumbing, foundation, roof. “I’ll probably need to take her up on that furniture. I can’t afford to be too proud.”

“Precisely,” Ian said, pulling out his phone. “Which is why you’re going to let me do what I can do and not fight me.”

“I just don’t understand why you’d want to,” she said.

“Making money only goes so far.”

“Really? I’d think it would go way past this,” she said, smiling. “Like by several million light-years.”

“How many sets of keys do you have to the house?”

She pulled them out. The keychain was a neon-orange stuffed cat as big as her fist and played a mechanical “meow” if you rattled it. It was rather fantastic. She was definitely keeping it. “Just the one.”

Without touching the cat, Ian caught the ring between his fingers and freed the two brassy keys. “I’ll make a copy and get them back to you. It’ll take me a few days to clear my schedule, but we can meet here same time next week.”

“Hold on, I need those.”

“We can’t do much more here until we haul out the garbage. I’ll also get one of those storage pod things so you can move the uncategorized items into it—mementos, valuables, charity stuff, that sort of thing. That way you don’t have to decide everything all at once.”

This was a side of Ian Cooper she’d heard about but never seen for herself—the take-charge, dominating side. It was kind of cute. Even sexy. He probably talked that way in bed.

But she wasn’t going there. She reached out to reclaim the keys but inadvertently knocked the keys to the matted ex-carpeting.

“I need those,” she said, bending over to retrieve them. “I’m moving in here later today.”

“Moving what in?”

“Myself. My stuff.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am,” she said. “I’ve already given notice. Another guy moves in Wednesday.” Because she’d been subletting, she didn’t have any furniture to move. Trixie’s offer had been even more helpful than she knew. What little she’d had, she’d already sold to cover the rent. Living with her ex-boyfriend had been expensive, and moving out suddenly last year had demanded sacrifices.

“Where are you going to sleep?” Ian asked.

“I think I’ll put my bed down in the kitchen. It’s the one room she kept relatively clean.” It was only a blow-up air mattress, so it would be easy to move around.

He scowled. “You mean you’re actually going to sleep inside the house? You won’t be able to smell anything for a month. Why not stay at Jane’s if you have to?”

“Jane lives with her boyfriend. There’s no room for me.”

“I’m sure you could crash on the couch for a few days,” he said.

Billie couldn’t believe she was arguing with him. They never argued. “The whole point is I can take care of things personally by being here when I’m not at work.”

He stared at her, waved the fist holding the keys. “I should hold on to these to save you from yourself. At least until I’ve cleaned out the litter boxes.”

“You are
not
touching my grandmother’s cat shit,” she said. “That’s a bridge too far, buddy. We’ve been friends for a long time, but it’s not like I took a bullet for you in a war or something. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I told you. I enjoy this. Making order out of chaos is one of the great pleasures of my life.”

“I thought making mountains of cash was your great pleasure.”

He shrugged. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Well, damn. He really wanted to do this. How could she turn him away? Who was she to stop a tall, handsome guy from strapping on a tool belt and going to work on her?

On her house. Her house.

Reality kicked in. She was Jane’s sister. Jane who was his ex-girlfriend, Jane who was her closest sister and best friend, Jane who would be uncomfortable to know he’d even stepped over the threshold.

“Jane won’t like it,” Billie said.

He shrugged. “Don’t tell her.”

“I have to.”

“You didn’t today,” he said.

“That was one time for a quick walk-through. And I already feel guilty.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “All right. Tell her. It’s your house too. Do you plan on getting permission from her every time you want to have somebody come over?”

“No. Only before you do.” She rolled her eyes. “For obvious reasons.”

“You and I are friends. You’ll be living here now. Jane and I are bound to run into each other more often from now on.” His expression hardened. “If she has an issue seeing me, that’s her problem.”

Billie couldn’t tell him that Jane’s problem with him might be the embarrassing kind of problem that a woman has with a guy she’s never gotten over. Jane always, even now, dressed unusually sexy when their mothers herded both families together. For instance, just last year at the college graduation party for Rachel, their youngest half sister, Jane had worn a low-cut sundress that barely covered her underwear, twice as much makeup as usual, and red stilettos, when usually she wore flats. And every few minutes Billie would catch her watching Ian out of the corner of her eye, watching to see if he was watching.

And he never was.

After ten years of that sort of uncharacteristic behavior, Billie knew Jane hadn’t been able to move on. Billie
knew
Jane still loved him—or at least wanted him.

Who wouldn’t?
Billie wondered. He was hot. He had that tall dark god thing going on. If only he weren’t an only child. A younger brother would’ve been perfect.

“It’s been over a decade,” Ian said now, lifting his bag to his shoulder. “We’re adults, it’s time to move on. She’ll agree, I’m sure, especially when you point out I’ll save her a lot of money.”

Excellent point. Jane was notoriously careful about counting pennies. Becoming an accountant had surprised not a single soul who’d ever known her. In kindergarten, Jane had tallied up her classmate’s milk money and tried to convince the class to invest for their futures instead of drinking it away. It was only one story among many to follow. Saving thousands of dollars with free labor would definitely take the sting out of seeing Ian Cooper now and then.

“If you’re sure…”

Grinning, he walked to the door. “I’m always sure. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “What do you like in your burrito?”

“You’re going to get me lunch, too?”

“Sounds like we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

He was being too generous. She should at least pay for her lunch.

But she knew he’d refuse to let her. “Chicken,” she said with a sigh. “Extra guac.”

The memory of his grin lingered long after he’d left.

What trouble had she gotten into now?