The Fixer (Fall River #2)

18. Discoveries

Chapter 18

Discoveries

Charlie had been working at Crystal Harmony Haven for a week, and this was one of the rare times Joy wasn’t there working on her laptop, tucked away in her bedroom—one of the few spaces still untouched. She’d gone over to Luanne’s, which he found a little weird. None of his business, though.

Oddly, he didn’t mind her being around. She’d loosened up enough that he could coax at least one laugh from her each day, which both tickled him and gave him a surge of pride. Sure, they bickered like an old married couple, but he had come to like the verbal sparring. Looked forward to it. He figured he was batting five hundred in their “debates,” which he counted as a win against someone like her. She was a spitfire who loved a challenge as much as he did, and he got a charge out of trying to best her. Loved watching the way her eyes burned bright when she thought she had him, and brighter still when she actually did get him. They reminded him of molten amber—and that kiss he couldn’t forget, when they had stared up at him, desire shimmering in their depths.

Things began to stir south of his belt .

“Damn it! Knock it off,” he muttered to himself. He’d been reliving that kiss way too much. “Focus on the damn job, not the damn client.”

The electrician he was working with today helped him do just that. “The lady who lives here—Joy?—she doesn’t mind us crawling all over the place, making a mess?”

“No, she’s cool,” Charlie replied absently. The guy nodded and turned back to what he’d been doing, namely chasing circuits.

Normally when Charlie did a tear-down, no one was living in the building. Having the homeowner there was a huge pain in the ass, and because Joy Holiday had been a huge pain in his ass since he’d met her almost two weeks prior, he had expected that pain to grow exponentially. But she was surprisingly easy to work around and took the inconveniences with a casual air that was completely contradictory to her nature. At least, he had thought it contradictory at first, but now he realized maybe he’d judged her too harshly.

Turn off the power for a few hours? “No problem,” she’d breeze. “I’ll go to Mountain Coffee.”

The water had to be shut off? “As long as you give me enough of a heads-up, I’m good.”

And when he was there working, she had an innate sense of when to get out of the way and stay out of the way. In other words, she didn’t hinder his efforts in the least.

Not at all what he’d expected. Like that kiss.

Focus, asshole.

Today he and the electrician were trying to trace the screwed-up wiring in the old store. Nothing he hadn’t done before. After decades of piecemeal upgrades by pros and DIYers alike—who often had no clue what they were doing—these places always reminded him of metal wire puzzles, linked together in a jumble you had to somehow separate in order to figure out how they were connected. Finally, the entire system was getting the twenty-first-century makeover it so desperately needed, one that would take it from a fire hazard to safe. That the place had never burned down was a miracle.

The electrician yelled at him from a different part of the building to check out the plugs in Joy’s bedroom.

“On it,” he hollered back and ducked into her room .

With each plug he checked, they went back and forth until only one outlet remained. It was under the bed, so he shinnied under there and wound up on top of a stack of books he scattered in all directions. Oops! When he was done checking the plug, he crawled backward, trying not to bonk his head, and brought the books with him so he could restack and return them. Hopefully, Joy wouldn’t notice if he got them out of order.

As he turned them over in his hands, he realized they were journals, like the notebook he often saw her scribbling in. Those three words teased him from the back of his brain— dirty, naked, and engorged —and he cracked open one of the spines. He didn’t even bother trying to convince himself he had a noble reason for prying into her private life because … well, he didn’t.

What his eyes fell on had his mouth dropping open. He shut the journal, looked at its innocuous cover, and opened it back up again. He had landed in the middle of a handwritten sex scene between a man and woman on top of a bar, and holy hell, was it hot! His dick twitched in his pants again. Half of him was digging the soft porn while the other half was trying to line up the words with Joy Holiday’s icy demeanor. No way did that woman write this.

Except … that kiss.

The scene was raw and sexy, downright dirty in parts, but it also had a romantic flair that touched him in other places besides his crotch—a romantic flair that didn’t fit her personality either. At least not the Joy Holiday he knew … which brought up intriguing possibilities he could add to his growing pile of intriguing possibilities when it came to this woman. Because … that kiss.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, he jerked and whacked his knee on the bed frame.

“Shit! Ow!” Massaging his knee, he glanced up at Joy’s face and cringed. She leveled him with a hard glare. “I was working on a plug under the bed, and I …”

Arms cinched across her chest, she lowered one threatening eyebrow.

He held up one of the journals. “I found these.”

In one breathtaking instant, her eyes flared wide, her arms swung to her sides, and her mouth parted. She let out an unhappy little cry.

“Were you reading my … my private stuff? ”

He side-eyed the book and grinned at her. What the hell? She’d caught him. “Are you admitting you wrote this?”

“I didn’t say it was mine,” she fired back.

“You said ‘my.’” He tilted his head. “Or is Lacey Dewinter a friend of yours, and you’re holding her ‘stuff’ for her, treating it like your own?” He knew better, of course. He recognized her sloppy scrawl from the bar. “Not that it’s any of my business. Just curious.”

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and she parked clenched fists on her hips. He could have sworn smoke leaked out of her nostrils. “It certainly is not any of your business,” she ground out.

He grabbed the journals and popped to his feet. “Tell Lacey I like it. She’s a good writer … and a great kisser. Would you like me to put these back where I found them? Although, I gotta say if you’re going to hide something, that’s the first place a thief will look.”

“Like you, you mean?”

“No, ma’am. I had a reason to be under there.”

“But you had no reason to read them.”

“True.” He winked at her. “But I can’t say I’m sorry I did.”

More steam rose from her head—he could practically see it rolling off her.

He stacked the books and held them out to her with a quizzical look, exaggerating it for effect. “I can help you find a more discreet hiding place, if you like. I’m good at that.”

Thoughts seemed to race through her gold-fire eyes. She was probably marshaling a string of insults to toss at him, so he decided to head her off. “Or, if you’re up for it, it’s time for me to take a lunch break, and I love a good story. How about reading one of these scenes to me?”

Oh, he’d really pissed her off now! She took a swipe at one of the journals he’d been holding in a loose grasp, which unfortunately caused all the volumes to tumble to the floor.

“Charlie?” the electrician called. The guy popped his head in and immediately looked as though he regretted it. “Oh, sorry. I was just wondering about that plug.”

Charlie kept his eyes on Joy and held up his hand. “Yep. Be with you in a sec.” In his peripheral vision, the guy disappeared. To Joy, Charlie said, “My fault. I got this.” Crouching down, he gathered up her journals and stood upright once more. “I’ll just put them on the bed for you. ”

She answered with a glower and fumed.

After he’d piled them neatly, he turned back to her. “Are you published? I mean, is Lacey published?” She was officially no longer speaking to him. He pulled out his phone. “I can find out for myself. Let’s see. Where’s my Amazon app?”

“Yes,” she huffed, “Lacey is published.”

“Nice. How many books?”

“Look, don’t you have work to do?”

He spread his hands wide. “Like I said, I’m going on break.” He jerked his chin toward the journals. “Up for a reading?”

“No!” she barked. Then she stomped to the closet and rummaged around. He peered, trying to see what object she would come up with, convinced it was something big she planned to hurl at his head. He wanted to be prepared. But before he could figure out what, she wheeled, a paperback in her hand. He ducked, but she held it firmly in her grasp.

“Ah. One of Lacey’s books, I assume?”

A triumphant smirk curled her lips. “No, but one I thought you’d find interesting. I know I did.” She shoved the book at him.

Opening it, he flipped through the pages. Some kind of romance fantasy thing where people had weird names. One guy—the hero, he assumed—flew through a brick wall. “I don’t get it.”

She tapped her finger on a page. “Not the contents. The cover.”

He snapped it shut and stared at the front of the book. It displayed a shirtless man with long blond hair and a ridiculously cheesy smirk. His body was so shiny Charlie would need sunglasses if he had to examine the image much longer. Blondie was posed against a brick wall—probably the one he flew through; the guy apparently didn’t move around much—and a misty moon hung in an upper corner. The dude’s pants were half open, and he appeared ready for action. He must have been—

“Shit!” He jumped backward, and the book slid from his grasp and thudded to the floor.

Joy cackled. “Look familiar?”

He gawped at her. “Where did you find that?”

She bent to pick up the book, her shirt gaping a bit at the neckline, displaying a little cleavage as she did so—not that he was looking .

He admonished himself for missing his cue to be the gentleman and retrieve the book himself. After all, he’d been the one to launch it like it had been on fire.

When she straightened, she held it up for him to see. “Believe it or not, it was in a pile of books in my mother’s shop. I wasn’t sure if it was you, but the face was familiar—since that’s the only part of you I’ve ever seen.” She seemed to recognize what her comment implied—that maybe she wanted to see more, though that was probably his overblown ego talking. An attractive blush painted her cheekbones. “What I meant was, I, um, well …” she stammered. “I looked inside, but there’s no credit for the model. The photographer is mentioned, though. Benito Lander. Ever heard of him?”

Eyes pinned to the book, Charlie dragged his hand over his jaw. “Well, I’ll be damned. Yeah, I know that name. I spent time in his studio because I was … doing a friend a favor.” That sounded way better than, “I wanted to do a friend, and she wanted me to pose so she could say she was dating a male model. I figured it was the quickest way to get her done.”

Joy’s tongue poked at the inside of her cheek. “I won’t ask what kind of friend or favor.” Yeah, she wasn’t buying what he was selling.

“I didn’t know any of those pictures saw the light of day. God, I wonder how many copies are out there?”

She tapped her chin. “Of the book? Never mind those. I wonder how many copies of different poses are on women’s—and men’s walls.”

“Why would they be—”

“Oh, please! Don’t tell me you don’t have pictures like these in your own spank bank. Playboy centerfolds, anyone?”

His brain froze while he tried to wrap it around the words “spank bank” falling from this woman’s lips. Then again, if she wrote the kind of heat he had read for himself … and that kiss.

Yowser!

“I never considered people buying images to keep for themselves,” he groaned. “That’s kinda … sleazy.”

“Oh, you mean like nudie magazines and strip clubs?” Her eyebrows bounded up and down her smooth forehead. She was enjoying the hell out of this.

“Fair point. Wait. If I had actual pictures in an actual spank bank, they would be of women. Just so we’re clear. ”

Her reply came in the form of a patronizing head bob. “Understood.”

She tossed the book on the bed beside the journals. “If it makes you feel any better, the book is out of publication. It looks like it came out about five years ago and only got a smattering of reviews. None of them good, so I doubt it’s going to go viral and hit a bestsellers list.”

“Ha! No surprise there. From the little I read, it doesn’t deserve the paper it’s printed on.”

“How long ago were the pictures taken?”

“Six, seven years ago? I was maybe twenty? Twenty-one?”

The curl to her lips grew wicked. “How long did it take to get all that oil off your body?”

He barked a laugh. “It felt like months, but it was gone after a few showers.” That had worked in his favor too since the object of his lust at the time had helped him soap it off.

“Was the hair real?”

“Yeah. I kept it at that length until a month or so ago.”

With a tilt to her head, she wore a look of genuine curiosity. “Did you cut it to keep it from getting stuck in machinery? I wondered the same thing about your rings and bracelets.”

Huh. She’d actually devoted brain cells to those irrelevant questions? “No. I take my jewelry off when I’m working with table saws and the like, and I always used to tie my hair back. But I decided to cut it off because …” Oh, this was going to sound stupid as hell. Why was he even considering telling her?

She canted her head to the other side and lifted a brow, signaling she was waiting for his answer.

“I’m starting to work with some high-rollers, and I want to be taken seriously.” He swiped at the back of his neck, feeling more exposed than before.

Instead of laughing at him as he’d expected, she pursed her lips. “I deal with bigwigs every day. Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

“Uh, thanks.” Had they actually just exchanged dialogue that didn’t carry even a hint of snark in it? Progress.

The smirk had disappeared from Joy’s face, but the raised eyebrows were in play. “I guess this makes us even? I mean, that book cover and Lacey’s notebooks.”

“I don’t know. One of us still hasn’t confessed to having an alter ego. ”

She raised a hand, rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and sighed. “My pen name is Lacey Dewinter. I write steamy contemporary romance, and I have self-published four books. None of them will make me famous. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

“I can go along with that, but I have a question of my own.”

Her posture had eased, her arms loosely folded across her chest, but now they tightened as if she was bracing herself for war. One hip jutted out. “And that would be?” Her tone dripped with suspicion.

“The other night, at the bar”—he pointed at the journals—“you were writing, and I caught a glimpse of some words that seemed … kinda racy.”

“Define ‘racy.’”

“Engorged?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, quite pleased with himself when she visibly squirmed.

“Balloons can be engorged with water.”

“Nice try. Seriously, were you writing a scene? And don’t you find that distracting to do in the middle of a noisy bar?”

She seemed to shake off whatever embarrassment she might have felt. “I was writing a scene, and to tell the truth, the noise helps me focus. Left to its own devices, my brain wanders and gets itself lost. Frequently. Also, I’m inspired in places like the tavern because for every face you see, there’s a story behind it. A story waiting to be told.” As the last bit unfolded, her speech became more impassioned, her eyes danced with excitement, and her entire body seemed to relax. Obviously, this was her jam, and it transformed her into someone almost … likable. The intrigue that had tugged at him before skyrocketed. Had he just found a key to unlock part of Joy Holiday’s vault? He had little time to contemplate it.

“Yo! Where is everybody?” Cully burst into the room. His stoned-out eyes went to Charlie first, moved to Joy, skittered over the book in her hand, and finally landed on the stack of journals. “Hey, what are we up to, boys and girls?”

Charlie glanced at Joy, who stood as straight as a flagpole, and whose eyes were as big as round electrical blanks. The book had disappeared behind her back. Yeah, that’s not obvious at all. Of course, with as stoned as Cully appeared, these finer details would soon be MIA in his baked brain.

“We were talking books. Cully, let’s let Joy get back to what she was doing. I’ve got stuff to go over with you.”

“Yeah, sure.” He swiped at his runny nose .

Great. What else was the idiot high on?

Charlie walked him out to the backyard. If there was going to be a scene, he didn’t want it happening in front of the shop, where tourists milled about.

“You done being sick? You’re sniffling like you have a cold.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He sniffed again. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I need to see some changes in behavior from you if I’m going to keep you on the payroll.”

Charlie’s words didn’t seem to register at first, but then a dumbfounded expression overtook Cully’s features. Those then hardened. “Like what?”

“Like I need you to show up for work on time . That means 7:00 a.m., whether you’re working on this job or the other one. And when you do show up on time, you can’t be high on anything. I can’t afford the liability insurance, dude.”

“What about Felix?” Cully bit out.

“What about him? He shows up on time—early, as a matter of fact—he works late, and to my knowledge he’s stone-cold sober when he’s on site.”

“What, you think I’m high right now ?”

Charlie pushed out an exasperated breath. “I know you’re high right now. I’m going to have to start doing random drug testing if you don’t clean up your act.” God, he hated doing the drug tests.

“That’s bullshit!”

“It’s company policy. Look at the employment agreement you signed. I just haven’t been enforcing it because I didn’t see a need.”

“And now you see a need,” Cully spat.

Charlie nodded. “Sure do. You’re so wasted you can barely stand up straight. Why don’t you get a ride home and sleep it off and we’ll try again tomorrow? And one other thing.”

Cully raised an eyebrow. “Yes, boss ?”

“This goes in your file, and it’s your last warning. You’ve had three strikes already, which is more than I usually allow my employees.”

“Thanks for the special favor, friend .”

Cully was a dumbass who didn’t understand boundaries. “Don’t make the mistake of playing the friendship card, Cully. We’re not friends. Whether you like it or not, I’m the man who signs your paycheck. Now if you don’t like that arrangement, we can end it right here and now. ”

Cully’s head drooped. “No, I don’t want that. I need this job.”

“Then you know what you need to do.”

As Cully trundled across the Haven’s backyard, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder how much longer his foreman would be collecting that paycheck from him.

Later that night, after spending hours in his office, Charlie lounged with his pups and banished any thoughts that revolved around business. Well, any business that didn’t involve Joy Holiday—or more specifically, her spicy counterpart, Lacey Dewinter. Had Joy learned how to kiss from Lacey? If so, he owed that woman a huge thumbs-up.

He pulled up the Amazon app on his phone and downloaded all four of Lacey Dewinter’s steamy reads. Romance novels had never been a blip on his radar screen, but yeah, these—and oh man, that kiss—would no doubt make for some interesting additions to his “library.”