Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (11 page)

Hank recalled all the locks on her doors. “Why not?”

“Privacy. Weirdo fans and the paparazzi have become more aggressive in recent years. The idea of inviting a strange man into her apartment for weeks is a risk she won’t take. He could snoop around, sell pictures, or worse. But she trusts you.”

“Shit, Jackson. Thanks for the guilt trip.” He sensed the futility of his protest. No doubt it would suck to live under a microscope. The explanation tempered his anger, but Hank still had his own problems. “What I am supposed to do about our deadlines and my mother? A custom armoire unit will take some time, and the city isn’t a quick trip.”

“Can Helen work longer hours with your mother?”

“You know I’m already struggling to pay her fees.”

“How long will Cat’s project take to complete?”

“You mean once it’s designed?” Hank mentally walked through the steps needed to build the unit. “I don’t know. If I’m working full-time on it, four weeks, maybe less depending on what I can rough cut before I head down there.”

A short silence ensued.

“Cat will pay you two-and-a-half times your rate to do the work.” Jackson’s triumphant tone annoyed Hank. “Problem solved.”

Hank bristled at the bald manipulation. Rich people always figured money solved everything. Apparently Cat and Jackson didn’t consider Hank’s feelings to be significant. Of course, Jackson knew nothing of Hank’s fucked-up personal feelings for Cat.

“What about your other jobs, Jackson? You’re going to piss off your clients by pulling me off-site for a few weeks, and you’re going to fall behind.”

“I’ll figure something out. It’s just temporary, so I’ll press forward with tile work and other things in your absence. Besides, you’ve been pushing me to hire an additional finish carpenter, anyway.” In the face of Jackson’s remarks, Hank couldn’t think of another good excuse. “So, are we agreed?”

“Doesn’t sound like I’ve got a choice, boss,” Hank spat.

“What’s the problem? You’ll have extra income for your mom’s care, and extra bank in your pocket.”

“You’re right.” Hank swore under his breath. “Still, I don’t like being manipulated by Cat or you . . . or anyone.”

“Manipulating you?” Jackson whistled. “Hell, man. I’m your friend asking for a favor, and one that’s well worth your while.”

“Sorry. No offense intended.” He wasn’t angry with Jackson. In fact, Jackson was as much a victim of Cat’s tactics as Hank. “You just surprised me. Let me talk to Helen and Jenny to see what kind of schedule we can work out. I’ll call you later.”

Hank sped along I-95, his mind traveling at the same pace as his truck. He resented being hoodwinked by Cat, but what he hated most was the tiny part of him rejoicing in having his options snatched away.

Despite the logic of her case for insisting he do the work, her alternating flirtation and antagonism created doubts about the reasons she wanted him, and
only
him, to take the job.

Who knew, maybe it would be worth exploring something personal now that Justin was out of the picture? One thing was certain—this particular project would change his life. Problem was, he couldn’t decide whether it would make it better or worse.

Mom,

Don’t be disappointed in me, but I’ve decided not to share my condition with anyone. Nobody can fix the situation, so what’s the point of talking about it?

Better to focus on my career. And on that note, I can’t allow
Hank
lust to steer me off course.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Re: Closet Inventory

Hank:

I’m convinced you asked for this inventory to embarrass me. Congratulations, you’ve succeeded. In any case, here’s my list (includes clothing for all seasons/occasions):

62 pairs of shoes

18 pairs of boots

167 blouses (hangers)

29 jackets/blazers

49 pairs of slacks (hangers)

16 pairs of jeans (can be folded)

28 pairs of shorts (16 are linen or silk blend/prefer hangers)

48 sweaters (can be folded)

37 dresses (not full-length)

24 gowns

36 purses

26 belts

8 yoga pants/shorts

10 exercise tops

21 swimsuits

I’ve excluded personal items like jewelry, lingerie, etc., which have a home in my dresser or safe.

Looking forward to seeing the plans. Thank you for agreeing to build this for me.

Best,

Cat

Cat’s finger hovered over the Send button. She reread her draft for the fourth time, envisioning Hank’s eyes bulging upon receipt. No doubt he’d judge it—and her—as wasteful and indulgent. But as a model, her image mattered.

With gossip sites waiting to mock celebrities at any opportunity, Cat couldn’t be too careful about her appearance. What set her apart from other, younger models was her good taste off camera. Of course, she loved her designer clothing and accessories, too. Honestly, what woman didn’t—Vivi excluded?

Sadly, her outrageous wardrobe would reaffirm Hank’s opinion of her as a spoiled princess—an impression she wanted to overcome because, despite everything, she cared about his good opinion.

She squeezed her eyes shut and hit Send. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe the screen hadn’t detonated. Sighing, she closed her laptop and went to Esther’s to deliver the groceries she’d picked up earlier that morning.

Esther greeted her with a smile, exuding warmth that always improved Cat’s mood. She ambled to the woman’s kitchen—one that hadn’t been updated in twenty-seven years—to unpack the three bags of food.

“Thank you, dear.” Esther shuffled toward her purse without the aid of her walker. “What do I owe you?”

“Forty dollars,” Cat lied, substantially discounting the cost. No one could replace Cat’s mother, but Esther’s affection and wisdom provided a quasi-maternal relationship she craved. A friendship well worth the weekly stipend she extended.

“You must be a whiz with coupons.” Esther held out the cash. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cat tucked the bills in her back pocket. “So, what kind of tea are we testing this afternoon?”

“Oriental Beauty, a fancy oolong tea.” Esther gestured toward the teapot.

The delicious floral and peach aromas wafted into the air as Cat poured them each a cup. She then followed Esther into the living room and sank onto a tufted, pale-blue velvet chair.

A busy Aubusson carpet covered the parquet flooring in the living and dining rooms. Ornate, gilded mirrors and picture frames hung on the original plaster walls and matched the antique furnishings. The area basically looked like a botanical garden tinged with gold, and smelled like baby powder. Although Cat preferred sleek design and an absence of clutter, Esther’s fussy apartment reminded her of her grandmother’s home, where she and Jackson built living room forts with sheets and pillows, and snuck into the attic to pore over her old records and magazines.

Esther had already set out a bowl of mixed berries and a plate of shortbread cookies, one of which Cat dipped into her tea. Not as tasty as the cinnamon-spiced cocoa and churros she and her mother used to share, but they inspired a similar sense of peace and well-being.

“Did that handsome Hank solve your closet problems?” Esther’s rheumy blue eyes glittered to life.

“You were quite the flirt. Gives a new meaning to the term ‘cougar,
’
” Cat teased. “But yes, he’s going to design and build a custom armoire unit in my bedroom. I’m pretty excited.”

“I’d be excited if he were spending time in my bedroom, too.”

Cat choked, spitting out a bit of her tea. “Esther, you’re naughty!”

“What woman isn’t a little naughty now and then?” Her distant smile hinted at a fond memory. “I’ve always appreciated fine-looking men. Your Hank is a looker, and he’s kind. A keeper.”

“First of all, he’s not my Hank. Secondly, he is nice. Maybe too nice, actually.”

“Only foolish women think there’s such a thing as a man who’s too nice. You’ve never struck me as foolish, Cat. My husband wasn’t nearly as handsome as Hank, but his thoughtfulness kept us married for over fifty years.” Esther sipped her tea to soothe her scratchy voice. “So why isn’t he yours? Does he already have a girlfriend, or is your brother opposed?”

“I doubt Jackson would care.” Cat put her cup down and sighed. “As for Hank’s love life, I don’t know if he’s dating anyone. At David’s wedding, he spent time with a girl named Amy. But the other day I heard him talking on the phone to someone named Jenny. In any case, he’s no longer interested in me.”

“No longer?” Esther smiled. “So there’s a story. What happened?”

“A cougar
and
a gossip? Shame on you, Esther,” Cat teased, sighing to cover her grin. “I first met Hank last spring at Jackson’s house. He was so . . . I don’t know, easy to talk to. We flirted all night, but when he called later, I kind of blew him off to get back together with Justin. I’m ashamed of my rudeness, but at the time, I honestly believed Justin and I belonged together. As you know, he turned out to be terrible. Anyway, I burned my bridges with Hank. Since then, he’s politely distant, which is better than I deserve.”

“Sounds like you have regrets.” Esther’s perceptive eyes focused on Cat.

Cat sank deeper into her chair. “I doubt dating Hank would’ve worked out. He should be with someone sweeter and less cynical than me. It’s moot, anyway.”

“Why?”

Esther’s kindly gaze tempted Cat to share her medical condition, but she bit back the words. “Because Hank’s not interested in handing out second chances. Besides, I’m more concerned with reinventing my career than pining after a man.”
Liar.

“Nonsense. Careers won’t bring the same happiness as love. And a willing heart can always give second chances.” Esther waved an arthritic finger at Cat. “You just convince him you’re worth it.”

“Then I’m doomed, because I can’t even convince myself.”

Hank might have been a simple man, but he had a dangerous way of looking at her—of seeing more than she wanted to share. Even if she could deal with that kind of scrutiny, her infertility required him to make a significant sacrifice he probably wouldn’t otherwise choose. Friendship would be the smartest, most honest relationship she could build with him.

Esther clucked. “Well, if I were you, I’d try before Amy or Jenny gets a firm hold of him.”

Cat whisked along the Merritt Parkway the following week in the yellow convertible Volkswagen she’d rented for the day. She could’ve taken the train to Connecticut, but the sunny summer day summoned a need to speed, with the wind in her hair, beneath a canopy of leafy tree limbs.

Her off-key voice was belting the tune on the radio when she turned into the gravel parking area at Jackson’s office in Wilton. Years ago he’d purchased an antique colonial situated on nearly two
level acres, and converted the old barn on the property into an office from which he ran a lean, highly profitable operation.

Its pastoral setting—a stark contrast to the chaotic city—relaxed her. Having grown up in Wilton, the sights and sounds of the area automatically transported her back to the days when she and Vivi had followed Jackson and David around: Vivi out of adoration for David, and Cat out of interest in their friends. The memories—the
fun
of it all—made her smile.

Surveying the barn, Cat considered what Jackson had built for himself in a short time frame. Although not blessed with David’s genius IQ, his hard work and big personality were being well rewarded in the residential construction industry.

If he could succeed in business without David’s intellect, then maybe she could, too. Admittedly, she’d been unable to abandon the idea of promoting Hank’s furniture despite his apparent disinterest. Handcrafted furniture—no other model represented anything that unique. It appealed to her desire for distinction, and her high standards for quality. And the timing—seeing it right after talking to Elise about the future—couldn’t be mere coincidence.

Surely Hank could be persuaded to see the benefits of a partnership. His current obligations posed problems, but all problems had solutions. If she could solve Hank’s, maybe she could convince him to reconsider her idea.

At the moment, however, she’d settle for seeing the armoire designs. A twinge of guilt pinched her conscience, but she brushed it aside. Hank seemed concerned about money, so the high commission for this work should make him a little glad for her scheming.

Striding toward the barn, she noticed Hank’s mammoth pickup truck parked beside her brother’s Jeep. Her stomach fluttered.

Once inside, she stumbled midstride as she heard heated voices coming from Jackson’s office. She tiptoed closer to his office door, which was cracked open.

“I need you to finish the moldings in the Caine’s kitchen, Hank,” Jackson demanded.

“I thought you hired Doug to pick up the slack.” Hank sounded exasperated. “I can’t be everywhere at the same time.”

“Doug’s not as good as you. You know the Caines are nitpicky.”

“When the hell do you think I can squeeze that in? I’m already stretched too thin, and you roped me into working at Cat’s, too. I
told
you this would happen.”

Cat winced at the bite in Hank’s voice. Apparently she’d overestimated his enthusiasm for the extra income. She crept closer and hid behind the open door.

“Come on, man. We’re only talking about several hours.” Jackson’s chair squeaked as if he’d leaned backward. “Take an evening or two and finish it.”

“You know I can’t work evenings without a lot of hassle. Plus I’m exhausted with the pace we’re keeping. You’re taking on too many commitments.”

“Don’t tell me how to run my business.” Jackson’s control over his temper slipped. Cat frowned, hating being a source of their conflict.

“As your employee, I’m telling you you’re asking too much.” Hank’s tone softened. “As your friend, I’m concerned. You drink all night, and then run around all day like a crazy man. You look worn
out. You’re curt with the crew. Something’s got to give.”

“Yet look at which one of us is whining.” The chair squeaked again.
“Seems you’re the one who can’t handle the pace or remember how
to
have fun anymore. Maybe
I
should be the one raising concerns.”

“Go to hell, Jackson. You know what’s going on in my life. Back off before we both say things we regret.”

The mounting tension seared Cat’s stomach like a double shot of Jägermeister. She needed to shut them down before things got out of hand, although Hank’s vague reference to problems in his life piqued her curiosity.

“Yoo-hoo, it’s me!” she called out, masking her uneasiness with a smile as she swung Jackson’s door wide open.

Both men snapped their heads in her direction. Jackson’s forehead furrowed in confusion, while Hank rose from his chair. Another snug T-shirt hugged the muscles of his chest and sun-kissed arms. She caught herself before letting her gaze linger, then focused on her brother so Hank wouldn’t glimpse her sudden, naked desire.

“Sis, what’re you doing here?” Jackson asked.

“Meeting Hank about my armoire, then joining
you
for dinner.” She tilted her head sideways in response to Jackson’s sudden sheepish expression. “You forgot?”

Jackson let loose a long exhale before looking up. “Sorry. I didn’t write it down, and now I’ve made other plans.” He grimaced while stretching his arms out in front of him and drumming his palms on the desk’s surface. “Wanna tag along?”

Cat noticed Hank’s disgusted headshake before he cast his eyes to the ground. She wanted to support her brother, but perhaps Hank’s accusations were valid.

“I’ll pass on being the third wheel,” she replied.

Jackson sat back and linked his hands behind his head. “If you want me to cancel my other plans, I will.”

She knew he would—and probably should—but she declined. “No, thanks. I’ll borrow Hank for a while, then maybe stop by Dad’s before I go home.”

“I feel bad, sis.” Jackson’s gaze swung from her to Hank and back, then he smiled as if struck with a fantastic idea. “Hey, why don’t you two grab dinner together while you talk? My treat.”

Hank looked cornered, so Cat let him off the hook. “That’s okay. I’m sure Hank has better things to do than babysit me.”

“Trust me, the guy could use a night out.” Jackson threw Hank a playful smile. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. Let me apologize by treating you both to dinner. Go anywhere. Charge it to my card.”
He slid his platinum Amex across his desk.