dropped her arms. “Why would you want to help me? After all, you’d be helping my business and you’ve already made it clear what you think of the direction that’s heading in.”
“Maybe I’m hoping to distract you so you’ll forget all about Sperling, Inc.,” he said with dry humor.
“I frown on corporate sabotage,” she said disapprovingly, and he gave a snort of laughter at the earnest expression on her face.
“Aren’t you on vacation, even if it is just a working one?” she persisted.
“Not quite a vacation.”
In response to her inquiring look, he asked, “How much do you know about the lodge and why it was built?”
“Almost nothing,” she replied. “But there was plenty of speculation among the locals when the house went up, and rumor has it there has been a different man staying here every month since March.”
“Nathan Barrister, Luke Barton and Dev Campbell,” he said, identifying them. “We were all good buddies and housemates at Harvard. Hunter Palmer was a close mutual friend of ours.”
“The guy whose foundation built the lodge,” Kelly stated comprehendingly.
“Yeah, he’s dead.” A wave of nostalgia, then sadness, unexpectedly washed over him. They’d all been young and full of hope back then. Much less cynical and hardened to the world.
“I’m sorry.”
He fixed her with a bland look. “It’s been ten years. He died of melanoma right before graduation. In his will, he set aside money to have the lodge built. If each of the remaining six of us spends a month here, the property will become a rest and recovery place for cancer patients and survivors.”
“And that’s where I come in with the decorating job,” she finished for him.
He inclined his head, then added drily, “Except where you come in is during my damned month.”
For the first time, though, he could see some humor in their situation.
Kelly watched as Ryan held up the curtain rod at the level they’d marked on the wall.
“Okay?” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she responded. She really needed to get her mind off the way his rear end looked encased in those jeans and the way his green shirt stretched across the expanse of his broad back.
She was reluctantly grateful for the help he’d offered earlier, but she still didn’t completely understand why he’d offered it. Plus, he’d said nothing to indicate his opinion had changed about her negotiations with Webb Sperling.
She just hoped the wheels of the administrative process at Sperling, Inc. moved quickly from here on out.
Ryan turned to look at her, and she started guiltily.
He cocked an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to interpret ‘mmm-hmm'?”
“Looks good.” Everything looked good.
“Great,” he said, taking the curtain rod off the wall and stepping off the stepladder.
He set the rod on the floor and looked around. “Now that we have the right height, I’ll need a screwdriver to get the rod in place.”
“I’m capable of doing it myself.”
“Yeah, I know, but humor me. I’d be bored otherwise.”
“Wouldn’t you be bored if I didn’t challenge you?” she parried.
His eyes glinted. “With women, it depends on the time and place, but since we are in the bedroom, I’d have to concede you’re right.”
“Sexist pig.”
He laughed. “I knew that comment would get a rise out of you.”
Despite the tremor that went through her in reaction to his words, she decided to steer the conversation to safer ground, and gestured to a pink case on the floor. “It’s in there.”
He lowered himself to his haunches and opened the case, then looked up at her. “Tool kit?”
“At least we’re getting in the game,” she shot back.
She sold the woman-sized tool kits in Distressed Success and used one herself at home.
He flashed a grin. “I’ll try to adjust.”
She was fairly sure he meant to the tools and not to women being in the game but still, she asked, “Why should a woman have to beg and prod her husband or boyfriend to get some curtains hung?”
“I’m all for female empowerment,” he said easily, taking the screwdriver out of the case and straightening.
“And yet, given a say in the matter,” she shot back, “you’d pull the plug on Distressed Success in a second.”
Any hint of humor disappeared from his face. “That’s personal.”
“How is what I do different from what you do?” she pressed. “You’re an entrepreneur and I’m a boutique owner. We’re both trying to grow a business.”
“I don’t try to fleece people with feminine wiles.”
“No, you just twist their arm with your money and power,” she retorted.
His expression tightened. “Are you going to try to convince me your deal with Sperling has nothing to do with your being the daughter of my father’s former lover?”
She threw up her hands in exasperation.
“Look, we’ve got different perspectives on this issue and neither of us is going to convince the other.”
“Agreed.”
She watched as he climbed the wooden ladder and started to put a bracket in place for the curtain rod.
It shouldn’t have been so sexy to watch him do a menial task, but it was. He was effectively acting as her handyman and she found it all incredibly arousing, no matter how infuriating she found his opinions.
She really needed to put their relationship back on a more professional footing, she thought.
“I need to pay you,” she said into the silence.
He glanced at her, amusement stamped on his face once again. “Do you know how much I’m worth? The opportunity cost alone would put me out of your price range.”
She flushed, but persisted stubbornly, “Still, I ought to compensate you …”
He turned back to put in another screw. “Okay,” he said finally, “but I need a point of reference. How much do you charge for your services?”
“You couldn’t afford me,” she
