Change My Mind Read online

  This whole thing had trouble written all over it.

  Still, if she could deliver on promises to sell quick and high, couldn’t he manage a little more trouble? Partnering with her would save him the hassle of finding someone else. If a wayward attraction was his biggest concern, he could control his urges for two months. Hell, with as much physical labor as he had facing him, there wouldn’t be energy to spare. Besides, after witnessing her assertiveness firsthand, he had a feeling she’d rather bust his balls than stroke him kindly.

  Frustration rumbled in his throat as he shook his head free of the ridiculousness. “Let me show you the house before you commit to something you’ll regret.” Grey leaned over the trunk, scooped up the bag of food and headed toward the house, half hoping she didn’t follow.

  When he turned around at the door, she was hot on his heels.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was the most God-awful thing she’d ever seen.

  Nel maneuvered around Grey’s massive frame, made wider by the bag of dog food hoisted over his shoulder, to get a closer look at the inside of the house. She closed her eyes, opened them again, and squeezed the pet supplies she was carrying tighter to her chest.

  Rena was right, and Nel was never going to live it down.

  A crimson and evergreen floral pattern papered the great room, making Nel want to shield her eyes. She looked away from the busy walls, hoping to find relief in weathered, hardwood floors beneath her feet. Instead, she stood on a patch of gaudy jade marble, which separated the foyer from the rest of the room. If the hideous decorating ended there, they’d be in decent shape. But no such luck. Nel swallowed a groan. The marble gave way to black and white, twelve-by-twelve ceramic tiles, the pattern blurring her vision as it went on and on into the deeper recesses of the home; like a mind-boggling, three-dimensional mosaic picture meant to leave viewers scratching their heads. If Nel’s hands were free, she’d definitely be scratching.

  What the hell were they thinking?

  Nothing matched. The horrid green marble continued to the hearth of the giant limestone fireplace, which was flanked by humongous, gauche gold sconces and topped with an entirely too-high black lacquered mantle. There was nothing classic or elegant about the room, unless one counted the ornate wainscoting painted mustard yellow.

  Nel wasn’t one of those people.

  She gnawed her bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet, until the shock had passed and she could temper her words.

  “I know it needs some work,” Grey said.

  That was an understatement. She watched him lumber into the great room toward the fireplace, where he leaned the bag of dog food against the heinously wallpapered accent wall, and lifted a poker from a collection of iron tools. He stabbed the glowing wood, releasing orange sparks and smoke. She was just about to say something — anything — to interject some hope back into her mood, when barking echoed through the house.

  Nel turned in time to see the dogs careening around a far corner, slipping on the tile, heading straight for Grey … then they caught sight of her. She had only a second to brace against the front door before four paws pressed into her belly and two long noses poked into her armful of goodies.

  “Down,” Grey bellowed.

  The dogs jumped; Nel jumped, too. She’d been so preoccupied with the house, she’d forgotten how on edge Grey made her feel. His rough tone of voice and the goose pimples on her skin were a vivid reminder.

  “Blackjack, Joker, come.”

  And they did.

  She was happy to see Grey sink to his knees and praise them for listening with vigorous rubs behind the ears; but his booming voice still rang in her ears, and the goose pimples lingered.

  He wasn’t going to be easy to work with, was he? Another man who’d steamroll her ideas and think his way was best. She’d end up covertly manipulating the situation so that what really was best got done, but in the end, he’d get all the credit. Just like Will Fortune. Her shoulders sagged.

  “Why don’t we put that stuff in the kitchen? They might try to snatch it off the counter, but they haven’t figured out how to open cupboards yet.” His lips lifted until the corners disappeared beneath the edges of his beard.

  And just like that, she thought maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t anything like Will. Maybe he’d listen and give her the reins. She was the professional, after all.

  Following him through the great room, Nel counted checkered tiles. “It’s pretty ghastly, you know?”

  He grunted a laugh. “Yeah, well, you should’ve seen it with furniture. Empty, it’s tolerable. I figure I can paint the shit-yellow walls and be in good shape; concentrate on this.”

  They turned a corner and Nel stepped into the ugliest kitchen she’d ever seen. The green marble from the foyer repeated on the countertops. The cupboards gleamed glossy black. Gold hardware, faucets, and fixtures completed the garish design.

  “It’s a gut,” she whispered, eyes wide.

  “Well, I don’t know about a gut. I’m going to update the appliances and change out the marble at least.”

  At least. She blinked and looked away from the kitchen horror to the flannel-clad man, leaning against an enormous butcher block island in the center of the room. He was in complete denial.

  She stepped forward to the opposite side of the island, where she emptied her arms of the pet supplies. “Did you have a list price in mind?” Maybe he wasn’t renovating so much as hoping to clean it up and dump it off.

  “I own it free and clear. I don’t care what it’s listed at. As long as I walk away with a million, I’ll be happy.”

  She gagged on disbelief. In its current state, she’d be lucky to list it at eight-hundred-thousand and get seven.

  “What?” He straightened, narrowing his eyes. “You think that’s too much?”

  “I think it’s overly ambitious unless you plan to take down the wallpaper, rip out the flooring, and rebuild this kitchen from scratch.”

  He yanked the hat from his head, freeing a mess of black curls. “I don’t have time for that. I need this place ready to list in two months.”

  “That’s plenty of time with the right crew. I know … ”

  “No crew. Whatever work needs to be done, I’ll do it.” He tossed the stocking cap on top of the bag of dog food as if he were throwing down a gauntlet. His darkened eyes never left her face.

  It figured, didn’t it? Nel found a way to prove her capabilities, and she had to wrestle a stubborn man to succeed. Mental wrestling, she corrected, dropping her gaze from the shadows of his face to the girth of his body and his wide-set hands. Definitely not physical wrestling. He was twice her size. Everywhere. And he was no doubt strong in a baseball bat, axe-wielding sort of way. Heat washed over her face, and she forced herself to look him in the eyes, to take back some control.

  “If … ” she paused for dramatic effect, stressing the ‘if’ “ … you listen to me, you’ll make your million dollars.”

  “Is that so?” He splayed his palms against the countertop and leaned in, closer and closer until she could smell the clash of winter wind and charred wood on his flannel shirt. There was something wild and dirty about the scent; something that made her pulse quicken. “Can you guarantee me that?”

  She shouldn’t. There were no guarantees in real estate, but as usual, she hated the idea of backing down more than she hated the idea of breaking her back to make the impossible happen.

  Pressing her belly into the cold countertop, Nel lifted her chin and closed the already narrowed gap between their faces. “I guarantee it,” she said, despite the twinge of doubt burrowing behind her eyes.

  Grey pushed away, walking a circle in the empty area Nel would call a spacious eat-in kitchen when she wrote up promotional material. “You need to see the rest of the house,” he said, scratching at his beard
.

  “Okay.”

  “Six bathrooms.” He threaded his fingers through the jet-black hair on his head and lifted his face to the beamed ceiling. “You’re going to tell me those all have to be gutted, too, aren’t you?”

  She bit her bottom lip at his despair. God, he was cute when he was flustered. “Probably.”

  And then he growled. Growling wasn’t cute. It was either sexy in a predatory way, or it was scary in a domineering way. She didn’t want to think of him being either.

  “Follow me.”

  Despite her reservations, she did, but not before she patted a hand to her hip and summoned the dogs who’d been dozing by the fire. She might be easily led astray by her own ambition, but she was no dummy. If she was going to do battle with this stranger, she was going to have a couple friends by her side.

  • • •

  Grey had been so damn tired and slept so deeply, that he almost forgot the nightmare facing him when he woke. Staring at Nel’s loopy letters strung together on a paper towel, he was reminded; no amount of black coffee was going to help him face her list.

  Swallowing a scalding mouthful anyway, he acclimated himself to the list he was too angry to read more than once last night. After Nel’s reaction to the house tour, he should’ve expected most of the items she listed; things like removing the wallpaper, installing hardwoods, and pretty much gutting the kitchen and baths. But some things surprised him, like replacing the banister and painting the garage floor. And some things were downright picky, like changing the outlet covers and getting rid of all ceiling fans.

  Shit. By his estimation it would take one hundred grand and six months to cross everything off the list.

  He read over the list again and came to the conclusion that Nel was a slave driver. And while his fingers slid inward, crumpling the towel beneath his hand, readying to defer from her plan of attack, his brain reminded him she had guaranteed one million dollars if he followed her lead.

  Did he have a choice here? Apparently not, if he wanted to make a million dollars, and not after seeing proof of what she was saying. When she whipped out her smartphone to show him million-dollar home after million-dollar home, none of them anywhere near the shape of this, he knew he was already beaten.

  Flattening his palm over the list, he decided to stop wasting time second-guessing her. He didn’t have time to complain. He also didn’t have time for a ringing cell phone, but he slid the black rectangle closer so he could see who was calling.

  Jordon. Maybe the baby was born. It wasn’t every day a man became an uncle, so despite being annoyed by both Nel’s list and the distraction, Grey answered.

  “Did she pop?” he asked, getting right to the point, hoping to keep the call short and sweet.

  “You’re an uncle, man. Braydon James was born at five this morning. He’s a complete beast — a tank. Ten pounds of strapping baby boy, and, man, the set of lungs on this kid.” Jordon laughed.

  Grey smiled. It was nice to hear his brother happy. “Congratulations.” And he meant it so much it hurt, pinching in his chest. “How’s Maggie?”

  “Perfect. She never broke a sweat. Stronger than I’d ever be. She’s sleeping now, but I’ll tell her you asked about her. She’ll appreciate it.” A tiny squeal punctuated Jordon’s sentence, and kissing sounds followed.

  For some reason, the mental image that went along with the sounds made Grey wince. It wasn’t that he was a killjoy. After everything, Jordon deserved things to go his way. Wasn’t that why Grey was breaking his back here in Pittsburgh? But Grey did better with other people’s happiness when it wasn’t so in his face.

  The baby squealed again.

  “Sounds like you’re being paged,” Grey said. “I don’t want to keep you, man.”

  “Hold on a minute. You’re not getting off this phone until you promise me you’ll come to North Carolina. How about next week?”

  The fact that Grey’s face hadn’t relaxed since his last wince saved him the energy of wincing again. He glanced around the great room and then at Nel’s list. “I’m kind of busy.”

  “It’s the off-season. What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than meeting your nephew?”

  Righting an age-old wrong. Getting back the money Dad stole from you. Showing you how damn sorry I am for choosing him instead of you. Yep, that about summed it up, but Grey couldn’t admit those things to Jordon. Jordon would balk and say it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. He’d never take a dime of retribution from Grey — especially not outright. After all, it wasn’t Grey who stole the money in the first place, so cutting Jordon a personal check for a million dollars wasn’t going to fly.

  But it was Grey who inherited what was left of the dirty money, which was all tied up in this house. Blood money … money Grey lived on when he was under his father’s charismatic spell … money that served no other purpose than to feed a man’s ego while he tore his three sons apart. Grey had no idea how to mend the rift with Tag, but he’d do whatever it took to get this money back in Jordon’s hands, even if that meant being sneaky. There was no way he’d let this sleeping dog lie.

  Speaking of dogs …

  Grey hadn’t considered them when he answered the call, but now that he did, he worried they’d bark and cause Jordon to ask more questions.

  “I hate to cut you short, bro, but I gotta go.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, knowing that excuse alone wouldn’t be enough to appease Jordon, so he added, “I kind of got myself into something I don’t want to talk about now, but I’ll give you details later.”

  Jordon took a turn exhaling. “As your agent, that scares the hell out of me. As your brother, I’m going to trust you know what you’re doing.”

  Looking at Nel’s asinine list, Grey wasn’t so sure.

  Four hours later with blisters burning his palms and only half of the ceramic tile in the great room demoed, he was sure this was the worst idea he’d ever had, and listening to the Fairy Princess of Doom was the second worst. If things kept going like this, he wouldn’t be able to hold a bat in two months, let alone make a million dollars on this house.

  Flipping the handle of the sledgehammer, sending the tool smashing to the ground, Grey gave up and went to check on the dogs, who were shut in the den to keep them out from under foot. After he filled their water bowls and played fetch until they were good and worn out, he dragged his sore, tired body back down to the great room.

  He prepared himself to see the mess he’d left, but he wasn’t prepared to see Nel. She was pushing a broom over the shattered tiles, gathering the chaos into one corner of the room. Her blonde curls looped through the back of a baseball hat, and a gray sweatshirt hung low on her blue jean-covered legs. He couldn’t help but smile when he noticed the work boots. She was something else. He couldn’t exactly define what that something else was, so he didn’t try. He stepped forward, hitting a creaking floorboard, and she looked up with a startled smile.

  “Progress,” she said, a sparkle in her eyes. “It’s exciting.”

  He could’ve argued with her assessment. The mess didn’t look like progress to him. It looked worse than when he started, like with every hit of the hammer he lost himself another grand. But she was standing there, leaning on the broom, looking around the room with the biggest smile on her face, and he didn’t feel like trouncing her delusions. He told himself it was about the money. If he kept Nel happy, she’d make good on her guarantee.

  Spreading his fingers, stretching his sore hands, Grey walked toward her. “I still have a long way to go.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. I would’ve been here earlier, but I had an open house, and then I had to run home to change.”

  “You don’t have to be here.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re too stubborn to hire a crew, and you’re crazy if you think you can finish the li
st by yourself in two months. If things get bad, my friend Rena can help, too. She’s also my office manager, so she’ll stay quiet about who you are and what you’re doing.”

  Nel pushed the broom again, creating a cloud of dust that sort of consumed her. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed a few times, and he found himself smiling again. Maybe that was why he didn’t fight her being here, and he didn’t fight the idea of her friend helping out, too. As long as they worked and worked hard — and kept their mouths quiet about the project — he could use the help.

  Picking up the sledgehammer, Grey moved away from her so ceramic shrapnel wouldn’t do her damage, but instead of swinging the hammer, he watched her bend over and tip a box on its side to collect debris. He tried to make out the curves of her ass through the baggy sweatshirt, knowing it was a dangerous game. He had too much work to do to indulge in distraction.

  “Do you have gloves? Gloves would make this easier.” She tossed him a look over her shoulder and then straightened, brushing the dust from her palms with a few swipes.

  “On the mantel.” It was too high for her to reach, but he doubted she’d ask for help. He should offer, but that would involve him moving closer. Grey liked to keep his distance.

  He swung the hammer then, hard and loud, letting the vibration shake his head from his ass. He swung again, but couldn’t stop himself from glancing in her direction, catching her on tiptoes, reaching for the gloves.

  It struck him then, how different she was from Lindsay. That had to be why he found her so fascinating. Tying himself down to his high school sweetheart meant he hadn’t let himself get to know many women. He wondered if he should start with Nel. That was why he should be asking her to leave. Instead, he walked over to her, hammer in hand, and lifted the gloves off the mantel.

  “When you fill up the box, let me know. I’ll carry it out to the dumpster.”

  She looked at the gloves in his hand instead of at him. “Thanks, but I would’ve figured out a way to reach them eventually.” She took them from him and wiggled them onto her fingers, still not looking at his face. “And I can carry the box out myself.”