The Sinner (Notorious 1)

“Looks like a reasonable job,” Matt said, staring at the mess. “I’ll take it.”

I swiveled on my heel to gape at him. “First, I have a few questions of my own.”

“Fire away.” He held his arms out the sides, his fine shirt hugging the lean muscles in his stomach.

“You’re not from around here, so where are you from?”

“How do you know I’m not from here?”

“Small town in a small Parrish, Mr. Howe. We know everyone.”

“St. Louis. I’ve been…working with an architecture firm there for the last few years.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to ignore a bead of sweat trickling down the side of Matt’s strong, bronzed neck.

“I heard there was a lot of work in Louisiana.”

Couldn’t argue with that—it seemed the state needed to be rebuilt top to bottom.

“You’re, what? Thirtysomething?”

“Thirty-four.”

“And you can just up and leave St. Louis? You have no responsibilities?”

“None that won’t keep for a while.”

“Are you on the run?”

“From the law?” His lip curled as if he was laughing and my head snapped back at the insult. The man had no reason to laugh. Not here, not now. He quickly shook his head, his smile gone. “I’m not running from the law.”

“My best friend is police chief in town, she can find out if you’re lying.”

“She’s welcome to,” he said, his green eyes guileless. “I haven’t broken any laws.”

“A woman? A family? Have you left behind some kids?”

“No,” he said quickly, sounding horrified. “No, of course not.”

I had no reason to trust him, but in this area I did. For some reason the earnest horror in his eyes seemed sincere.

He wouldn’t leave behind kids.

I had to give him some points for that.

“Do you have some references?”

“References?”

“Yes,” it was my turn to laugh. “I believe it’s standard to offer some proof of your reliability before I give you carte blanche with my garden.”

“It’s hardly a garden—”

“References,” I said, not about to listen to him disparage my refuge. I pulled my cell phone free from the pocket in my skirt. “Let’s start with that architecture firm in St. Louis.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the sun, but Matt seemed to go white.

“Steel and Wood Architecture,” he said and then gave me the number. I turned sideways for a modicum of privacy and he stepped away as if studying the crumbling stone steps. The receptionist answered on the second ring.

“Stone and Wood Architecture, this is Erika.”

“Hi. Erika. My name is Savannah O’Neill. I’m considering hiring a Matt Howe to do some gardening and repair work around my home and he gave me Steel and Wood Architecture as a reference-“

“Matt Howe?” Erica asked. “How do you spell that last name? With an e at the end?”

I tilted the phone away from my mouth. “Is that with an e at the end?” I asked Matt.

He nodded.

“Yep,” I told Erica. “With an e.”

“Is he a tall man? Broken nose. Green eyes. Probably wearing an expensive suit he looks far too good in.”

“Perhaps.” He was all of those things.

Erica laughed. “It’s very interesting to hear from you, Savannah. Particularly about Matt.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all. He was hands down the best employee we ever had. The entire team was very sad to see him go. Please…” she paused. “Please tell him that would you? That we miss him and actually, let him know he should call, too. We have some paperwork we need to mail his way. And if you’re calling for a reference - hire him, you won’t find a better man to have around.”

I thanked Erica and hung up, feeling a little embarrassed by that recommendation. You won’t find a better man…

“She said I should hire you,” I told him and he smiled. A hint of white teeth, a dimple. It really was a good smile. “She wanted me to tell you that they miss you. The whole team. And that you should call about some paperwork.”

Matt Howe tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at the roof line of the manor. Also in need of some repair.

“Do I have the job?” he asked, his voice was like sandpaper.

“Yes,” I said. “It sounds like Margot and I are lucky you were wandering through.” But then I stepped closer. Because this next part was the important part. The only part that really mattered. “But you stay out of our house. You stay out of our business. There’s a hotel in town. You can stay there. You arrive at eight and you leave at five. You can use the bathroom on the main floor and that’s it. No exceptions.”

He rocked back, stunned at the vehemence.

But I was done apologizing for taking care of myself. I was done being nice. These were my rules, he could follow them or leave.

“Got it?” I asked.

He nodded. “Got it.”

“Starting tomorrow, I’m taking a vacation week, so I’ll be here.”