Colin doesn’t look sympathetic. “He’s got a few things to learn. He wanted this, and he got it.” He has an air of I told you so. “He’s on his own now.”
The tinge of mutiny in his tone has my hackles up. “He’s not on his own. He’s got us. And anyone who isn’t on his side can go that way”—I point up the side of the house—“and keep walking.”
“Darcy,” Tom says behind me, sharp and frustrated. Fuck, I’m in trouble. “Everyone into the kitchen, please.”
I grab my mug and we file in. There are possibly the first glimmers of respect in Colin’s eyes when he looks at me. I privately breathe out. I’m lucky he didn’t take up my offer to walk. I’d be dead meat.
“Can you get me one of those polo shirts?” I ask Alex. I would love a Valeska shirt. The reverse imprint of those stitches on my skin would feel better than lingerie.
“Sure, I’ve got a spare.”
I look down at my own tank top. Nothing is remotely amiss, apart from lacy bra straps poking out.
We are all assembled in the kitchen. I pour myself a second mug of coffee, and at least eight sets of eyes watch me do it. The room is warm and spicy from so many men and their hideous deodorants, so I go to open the kitchen window. Of course, it’s stuck. The lift-and-jiggle technique doesn’t work. I struggle and yank, right at center stage. Everyone goes silent.
“Come on, you miserable fucker,” I whisper, and someone laughs.
“Morning,” Tom says, and there’s the boot-scraping sound of everyone straightening up and paying attention. “Thanks for coming on short notice.”
He pulls up the window for me with two fingers. Lift, jiggle, the lovely flex of a bicep.
This house can be such a jerk to me.
“My usual crew is here—Colin, Ben, and Alex.” He points at the three that I threatened within ten minutes of their arrival. “Dan and Fitz are plumbing. Alan is roofing. Chris is our electrician, but he doesn’t get here until nine. Anyway, we’ve got a lot to do, and a pretty blank canvas.”
Tom’s bigger than any guy in here, from muscles to height, and they all look like stubbled, bloodshot messes next to him. I’m beginning to think he always has this flawless sunrise glow on his skin.
“Who’s this?” one guy says at the back. He means me.
“Darcy Barrett. She’s the homeowner.”
“I’m the demolition squad. Here’s one I prepared earlier.” I gesture to the exposed kitchen cabinets. Tom keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to make a speech. A rally-the-troops battle call? I have no idea. I wish I had a bar counter between me and all these dicks.
“This cottage belonged to my grandmother Loretta. She left it to me and my brother, Jamie. I’m not sentimental about much, but this house is special to me. I know it’s a total dump, but if you could just refrain from saying it over and over in my vicinity, that would be great.”
Ben takes pity. “It’s a great little place.”
Tom nods. “What she’s saying is, it’s not just any old house to us. Darcy and I are staying on-site in the backyard. Anything beyond the fishpond is off-limits.”
He takes my mug from my hand and takes a slow sip. Every guy watches him do it. They understand what their boss is telling them. Speculation is now in expressions and I wire my jaw shut to stop it from dropping open.
“Is there an induction checklist for us to sign off?” Colin prompts.
“What’s that for?” I reply.
“Tom wants to do things right,” Colin says, his tone a little dry. “He said he wanted to do a first day induction checklist for the crew to sign. So we make sure all workers have been shown where the first aid kit is. How to report an accident. What the procedures are if there’s a fire. Things like that.”
“Oh. Like a worker’s safety thing. Okay.” I look up at Tom.
“Ah,” Tom says, and I can see the spike of panic in his eyes. He puts the mug back in my hand and reaches for his leather folder, jammed full of crinkled quotations and a big sample square of carpet. I dimly recall his asking me if I have a printer. It has no ink, like all home printers. This would be killing him, especially after the long nights he’s sat up with his spreadsheets.
“You’ll get it from me by lunchtime,” I say, covering for him.
“We don’t get a lunchtime,” a guy replies with a pinch of sarcasm.
I give him my shark smile. “I was referring to my lunch break. I look forward to learning your schedule real good, buddy.” He scuffles his boots around, eyes down.
“And what about contracts for the subbies? Tax forms?” Colin is genuinely trying to either help or undermine. At this stage, I can’t work it out. Tom’s jaw tightens. He’s been so absorbed in ordering the right number of nuts and bolts, he’s forgotten that he’s a boss now.
I give Colin a glare and to my satisfaction he withers underneath it.
“I’ve never met someone so obsessed with paperwork. What did I just say? Lunchtime.” I look to Tom. “We do a full site induction when the electrician’s arrived, right?” He doesn’t need to know that I’ve got a House Renovations for Dummies book on my nightstand.
Tom nods, his expression tight. “Water and power will be off for most of the morning. Porta-Potties are being delivered in the next hour or so, so hold on. One men’s and one ladies’.”
“He spoils you, Darcy,” Alex booms. “Just wait until an hour after lunch and you see the queue.” There’s grossed-out laughter.
Tom’s wrapping it up. “I’ll come and give each of you your jobs for today. Start unpacking but stay out of the house until seven. Darcy’s taking some photos for me. Then we’ll do induction.”
The guys begin trooping out of the house, hands all over it. Toes nudging skirting boards and hands testing door frames.
I rinse my mug. “What do you want photos for?”
There’s so much energy shimmering in Tom right now as he stares down at me. His phone rings, and he rejects the call. Maybe he’s about to say, Thank you so much. Maybe I’m an idiot optimist.
“Do you want to tell me what the hell that was?”
Chapter 12
I dry the mug. “I saved your ass. You’re welcome.”