Barely even friends, p.9
Barely Even Friends, page 9
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Oliver perched behind my shoulder.
I glanced back. “You know him?”
“My cousin,” Oliver growled out, prickling my skin. “Carter, what are you doing here?”
I shifted out of the way, just in time, as Cousin Carter barreled toward Oliver, yanking him into a hug that Oliver didn’t return, arms limp at his sides. “Can’t I visit my favorite cousin?”
“I haven’t seen you in eight years, which means Adrian sent you.”
I was glued to the spot, fascinated, observing Oliver interact with someone who didn’t call him sir.
“He might have suggested a visit, but it’s been a long time. Too long—I mean, the last time I saw you was …” Cousin Carter had a frenetic energy: bouncing on the balls of his feet and trying to brush back his hair, which had too much gel in it. “When was it? I’m trying to place it. Was it that Christmas party?”
“No.”
“The—” Cousin Carter snapped his fingers. “There was Sally’s party. I mean, I wasn’t invited, but I heard all about it and, um, I felt like I was there and—”
“No. Obviously not.”
“Wait, it was the funeral.” Cousin Carter sighed in satisfaction until the realization of what he’d just said broke across his face. I took a step forward, but Oliver stopped me, finger looped around the back of my suspender, holding me in place.
Oliver slicked back his sweat-soaked hair. “Did you come to help with the construction?”
“Oh, I’m not dressed for that, not at all. But I can’t tell you how surprised I am to find you with a girlfriend. Hiding away in your love palace, I see. Smart, very smart. Keeping out of the eyes of the paparazzi, while you two …” He made an obscene gesture with his hands that was somehow less insulting because of how completely awkward he was.
It wasn’t until Carter’s eyes landed on me that I realized who he was talking about. A snort erupted from my mouth at the thought of Oliver and me getting along enough to date, or to two-hand gesture. “Oh no, no, no.” I shook my head, giggling uncontrollably. “No, no, no.”
“Maybe say ‘no’ one more time,” Oliver grumbled.
I didn’t peek at him, aware of his annoyance at the very idea of dating me. Could two people be less compatible?
“Oh, sorry.” Carter glanced between Oliver and me, brows knitting together as his gaze shifted between us. “But it seems like things are going well, so I’ll get out of your hair.”
Oliver grabbed a box from a crew member who was relieved to have the weight lifted, before thrusting it at Carter. “You’re not going anywhere until after you’ve helped. Don’t want to give the appearance that you came here to spy on me.”
Carter’s face flushed with guilt. “Me? No, I could never, would never—”
“Save it, Carter.”
The initial intrigue of watching Oliver interact with his family was crushed. He’d been all alone in this house, his family abandoning him to it. I didn’t blame him for the way he stood tall, using the inches he had over his already tall cousin to show who was in charge here, calling Carter and his impure intentions out.
The way Carter’s knees were shaking, it wouldn’t take much for him to say “sir.” “I lack upper-body strength. My mom says …”
Oliver didn’t even blink.
“Too much, too much—understood. Maybe we can talk about what’s going on with the stock. Do you know anything about the new investment? Because if things aren’t going to turn around, do you think maybe I should cash out or, you know, buy in more, or should I—”
Oliver crossed his arms, committing to a stare down that appeared to be effective on everyone else but me.
“At least introduce me to Price, the man in charge?” Carter’s eyes drifted to the crew working around us.
Oliver lunged toward his cousin, fists clenched, my arm blocking him from—well, whatever he had planned.
“Easy there.” I thrust out my free hand toward the mess of limbs in a suit. “I’m Bellamy Price. It’s, er, pleasant to meet you, Cousin Carter.”
“Oh.” Carter fumbled with the box he was still holding as he attempted to offer me his hand and failed. “I’m Carter. Are you related to the person running this show?”
I held the snark back. “I’m in charge. Was there something you wanted?” His jaw dropped, staring at the curve of my stomach, in the familiar way that screamed I didn’t fit the idea he had in his mind of the person who should run this project—too female and too fat. After so many minor slights, each new one hurt a little less.
But I didn’t have time to humor Cousin Carter, who staggered under the weight of the box and Oliver’s scowl.
It was time to return to my task list, check in with Jeff, and see if we were on track for the day.
“Don’t you want to hear the story of how Oliver and I are related?”
Not really, no. “Uh …”
“My grandfather is his grandmother’s brother,” Oliver said flatly. “They despise each other. See? Story done.”
This time, I didn’t hold back my smile as I faced Oliver, his gaze smoldering; I needed to locate where that hydration station was.
“Well.” Carter coughed as neither of us made a move to take the box that was too heavy for him. “In its simplest form, yes.”
“Great. Well, thanks for stopping by. I have about fifty places I need to be right now.” I swiped the sweat off my brow; my muscles had been glad for the break, but the day wasn’t even half over yet.
“Right, of course. Very important. I have had similar experiences. I don’t have an official title, but I’ve done many favors for Uncle Adrian, and any day now he’s …” Carter trailed off, distracted by all the surrounding chaos, still standing in the middle of it all.
“Carter.” I clapped my hands in an effort to bring him around. Oliver grabbed my shoulders, nudging me out of the way as one of the couches was removed.
“Yes, uh, Uncle Adrian wanted me to thank you for sending over the drawings of the west wing.”
I was tempted to drop that heavy box on Cousin Carter’s head. Oliver’s fingers pulled away like he had been burned.
“This has been enlightening, Carter, but I should get this place emptied so the construction can begin.”
Carter aggressively nodded, the bravado of a man who had no idea what he was talking about but was going to fake it until he made it. “Oh, of course. I’m sure there’s much to do.”
“There is, so go drop the box off or give it to someone who will.”
Carter was all too willing to shove the box at Oliver, and I was so close to making my escape. But it seemed our gathering had attracted the Oliver Shits Pure Gold Gang.
CHAPTER NINE
“Sir, what are you doing?” Ambrose asked, grabbing the box from Oliver, almost yanking it away.
“Helping.” Oliver’s brows knit together.
I laughed as I watched two grown men fight over who would carry the box. Dad always said the first day speaks to how well the project goes. The chaotic energy confirmed I was going to be on my toes.
Oliver’s biceps bulged as he relented. “I want to help.”
“Of course, sir, but you shouldn’t have to.” Ambrose swept past us, heading to the truck.
“I backed up my servers in case there were any electrical hiccups, and did some checks of the estate’s systems I am connected to. I will email you the results, Ms. Price.” Bl8z3 sounded proud. It wasn’t worth mentioning that I hadn’t shared my email address.
I bit my lip while Carter spun in a circle, eyes wide as he hunted for that bodiless voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“The kitchen is coming along, about halfway packed, I’d say. This crew is efficient,” Rue offered while easing Carter out of the way.
“I’m happy to offer some advice. I recently moved into my first apartment.” Carter’s proposal was ignored.
“Ms. Price is allowing me to pick all the new appliances. Anything I want.” Glee brightened Rue’s face as they bragged to Ambrose. His idea of casual wear appeared to be an untucked dress shirt and khakis, all ironed to perfection.
“I’m getting my tailoring room,” Ambrose boasted right back.
“Sorry, sewing machines do nothing for me. But an industrial fridge? It is going to be wonderful. And a new stand mixer that won’t have wires poking out of the bottom!”
“This place might no longer be a fire hazard.” Bl8z3 brought us back to reality.
“Well, it’s a long drive to the city. You might want to get going,” Oliver reminded Carter, then hoisted another box from the pile in the foyer.
Ambrose yanked it out of his hands, marching off with a glare, daring Oliver to try it again.
“I thought you wanted Carter to help,” I tried to whisper as a giggle circled my chest.
“Then I realized he’d have to stay the night,” he hissed back, his eyes daring me to contradict him. Which was tempting, but I didn’t want Cousin Carter to stay any longer either.
Teeth pressed to my lips, hard, I faced Carter. “Appreciate the offer, but I think we have it handled.”
Carter puffed out his chest. “Always happy to provide my expertise.”
“I’m sure you are,” Oliver grumbled.
“Drive safe.” I waved at Carter as Rue and Ambrose started another debate over who had more power concerning the reconstruction, ambling back toward the kitchen.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I still reserve the right to banish you.”
I nodded sagely. “Of course.”
“Glad we have that settled.” He stalked off.
I stood there for another moment. “Asshole,” I muttered despite my smile.
* * *
148 Days Until the Deadline
“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay?”
Jeff sighed. “There’s no reason. This is the most dangerous period, as your extensive list pointed out, while we figure out what this beauty is hiding under all that fancy wallpaper.” He was much too eager, palms rubbing together.
I opened my mouth.
“Which I will protect as if it were my child. I’ve heard all your lectures about the importance of preserving the original wallpaper. You go do your job—find some fabulous period furniture—and let me do mine.” Jeff knocked on his hard hat.
With so many bodies inside the house, he was right, I would only get in their way. But this was my project. What if something went wrong? What if there was an emergency?
“Fine, but I’m a phone call away. If anything major comes up—”
Jeff raised his palm. “I promise.”
“All right.” I opened Philippe’s door. “If you’re sure.”
“Oh, one more thing.”
With my body halfway in the car, I hopped back out. Ready for whatever.
“There’s someone else that needs to go with you. The estate staff are doing other things today, but there’s one other liability I can’t have in the house.”
“Jeff, no.” I knew what was coming even before Oliver strolled into the garage, shoulders clenched almost to his ears, clearly as thrilled as I was about this turn of events.
“Well, I guess this wasn’t your idea.” Oliver’s eyes rolled over me as I clutched the doorframe, unable to decide if I wanted to get out of the car or back into it. “Nice suspenders.”
“You have nothing else to do today?” It would be truly pushing my professional abilities to spend a day alone with him.
“I thought I was supposed to be observing you.” Oliver leaned over the roof of the car, as if daring me.
“I didn’t realize you wanted to be your grandfather’s lackey.”
Jeff coughed, reminding us we weren’t alone. “Well, on that friendly note, I’m off to go break some shit.”
Oliver opened his mouth.
I rolled my eyes. Every occasion when we had been alone together had been a disaster. All I craved was to listen to Taylor Swift and pretend I had the day off, not think about what was going on at the house without me. “He’s just saying that. We talked about this—ripping it down to the studs in a few places so we can figure out what we’re working with.” I climbed into the car fully. “It’s part of the process.”
Oliver stiffly nodded, opening the passenger door. After one final glance back at the estate, he removed the messenger bag he had slung across his chest, sliding into the passenger seat. “So where are we going?”
I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel. “How were you convinced to do this?”
“Someone might have told me it was a good idea to get out of the house, especially if I’m considering a job in the city.”
“Ah, Rue, huh?” I was going to refer to the chef as “the meddler” soon. Though I did agree with their logic, Oliver slowly venturing in the world would probably be an easier adjustment than being dropped, cold turkey, into a job at his family’s empire. “Very persuasive when they want to be.”
“Yeah.” Oliver rubbed his hands on his thighs.
While shoving him out of a moving car was tempting, I took pity on him. Something about him felt a little less defensive today. “I’m going to a warehouse about two hours away. They have historic furniture and replicas. The George II armchairs alone are worth the drive.”
“Will there be many people there?”
A chuckle escaped as I pushed the key into the ignition, listening to the hum of the engine as it flipped over. I was too used to boring people with my love of antiques. “I’d be surprised to see anyone else except us and the owner. Trust me, this is a niche place. They mostly do online sales.”
Oliver clutched at his beard, fingers fluttering.
“Big open space,” I continued. “No one else. And you can wander by yourself or stay outside. The road it’s on isn’t even paved—very off the beaten path—but the owner makes decent coffee.”
Oliver still wouldn’t glance at me.
“Or you don’t have to come at all. I could drop you off somewhere.”
We remained in the garage, car running, the driveway leading to the world beyond in front of us. The sounds of the house were muffled, but there. And we were in between; in between all the action, in between a choice. For once, I didn’t flick on the radio to fill the silence.
Oliver’s hand lifted, hanging in the air, maybe to open the door again. Instead, he stretched, clicking his seat belt in place before reaching over and somehow gripping my entire thigh, the heat from his large palm searing me through my jeans.
“I haven’t been to many places in the past few years. And when I have, I tend to get a reaction like the first day the crew showed up—plus cameras. I prefer to prepare myself for what to expect.”
He started to remove his hand, but I clasped his fingers with mine. “If you change your mind and want to leave, say the word.”
His skin was soft, and goose bumps broke out across my own as our hands hovered midair between us. His eyes widened and his palm shook slightly when his fingers enveloped mine. It wasn’t a handshake, but it was something. Something was happening here, but I couldn’t name it and didn’t know how to read his expression as his gaze drifted from our hands back to meet mine.
And then we untangled. I shifted my hands to the steering wheel, clutching it for a moment until my knuckles went white, before putting Philippe in drive and pulling out.
“No petals in your hair today?”
I smoothed out my ponytail; already a couple of strands had gotten loose. “Didn’t think it would stay in with all the driving.”
It sounded like he said, “A shame,” but he faced toward the window.
“So, you’re considering the job with your grandfather?”
He shrugged. “Someone reminded me it’s time to stop living in the past.”
“Rue again?”
“No.” He shuffled his legs, nervous energy filling the car. “You.”
That was the last answer I’d been expecting. I glanced at him, to find him staring right back.
“Eyes on the road,” he ordered without any bite.
“Yeah, yeah.”
There was a future for him in a management position.
“Any thoughts on the reconstruction so far?” I was partially hunting for a compliment, but I was also honestly curious.
“Can we not talk about the house?” He rubbed at his thigh, legs jiggling.
“Okay, let’s play a game.”
“Can’t we drive in silence?” His arm brushed mine, maybe by accident or on purpose, and every part of my body lit up. Even my appendix began doing a strange thing. Stupid, unnecessary organ.
“You’re the one who wanted to come along. It’ll be fun. I know that’s a foreign concept.” His elbow bumped into mine again. “We’ll have a rule. Any question you ask, I have to answer. Same goes for you too.”
“Why would I care what your response is?” His retort was all aloof and chill.
And he was back to making me want to hit him. “Because we still have over an hour in this car, and I can’t stand silence.”
“Would never have guessed.”
I huffed out a breath. I was going to count down the seconds until we arrived.
“Fine. But I go first,” Sir Stubborn announced.
“Ask away.” I gestured for him to continue.
“What got you into house restorations?”
“You mean how did I, a sad, homeless girl, get involved in restoring homes?” Okay, so maybe I was still feeling defensive. But could you blame me?
He let out a huff. “Are you passing on the question?”
“It’s how I grew up. I enjoy imagining all the happy memories, the people who lived there, the people who will live there in the future. I like to think I’m helping give them a place to build more memories.”
“You never wanted to do anything else?” His voice rose an octave, as if I’d surprised him. Why had I started this when I couldn’t see his face?
“My dad tried to get me to take internships in high school and college, but I hated sitting at a desk. I had options, a choice, and I made it.”
