Theirs to Keep
One
KARISSA
“We’ve got the plasterers here tomorrow,” I said, “and the plumbers in the morning. The electric should be all roughed out on the east wing already, but contact Marius just to make sure. We can’t be ripping the walls open once they’re stuccoed.”
“No,” my foreman smiled in agreement. “Wouldn’t be good.”
“Also, the HVAC guys need to get this shit all cleaned up before they leave today.” I pointed with my pencil, to where several jagged piles of sheet metal trimmings littered one side of the courtyard. “I saw two of them sneak off for the day already. The rest aren’t leaving until it’s all in the dumpster, though.”
“HVAC. Dumpster.” Oscar scratched at the side of his head. “Right.”
“You writing all this down?”
As usual, Oscar wasn’t writing anything down. That pissed me off, especially since I’d gotten him a new clipboard last week. I’d even threatened to duct tape it to his arm, but my foreman had only laughed.
“Speaking of dumpsters, I need that one emptied,” I said, pointing again. “Should’ve happened yesterday, really. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“’Yeah’ doesn’t cut it,” I said, noticing he was already looking down again. “Oscar. Hey. Look at me.”
The foreman’s gaze finally swung my way. He stopped scratching at the back of his head.
“Tell me you got it.”
“I got it.”
I nodded one time, firmly, never taking my eyes from his. “Okay, then,” I said warily. “Good.”
Oscar wandered off while I surveyed the rest of the massive worksite. The fifty-five room manor was more like a palace, almost even a castle. At one time it had a name, a history, a purpose. But right now, the only thing that mattered was getting it back into shape.
I made my way along the cobbled courtyard, dodging two groups of roofers and a man running a loader stacked with large clay shingles. A crane was operating on the north side of the property, delivering the stacks up to the roof some fifty feet high.
“Well hello there, boss…”
The voice was deep and beautiful, and immediately changed my mood. Stepping through the next alcove I came face to face with Camden, his arms folded, leaning against a smooth stone wall.
“Boss, eh?” I chuckled. “The three of you are paying me, remember?”
He was wearing his sleeveless shirt again — one of the black ones that hugged his beautifully-sculpted chest. With his arms folded, his biceps and triceps looked absolutely enormous. Like he could crush boulders just by hugging them, or—
“Karissa…?”
I snapped back from whatever daydream I was about to step into. Camden’s gorgeously-stubbled mouth was curled up on one side, his crystal blue eyes piercing me like two shimmering jewels. I felt myself growing warmer, even in the shadows of the alcove.
“Everything alright?”
I pulled out my clipboard and consulted it, temporarily setting my pencil in my mouth. “Peachy,” I mumbled around the writing implement. “Today at least.”
Camden glanced at my list without seeing it and chuckled. His laugh was velvety and masculine. “Good.”
“How about you guys?”
I could see the dirt of the day upon him. Camden’s deeply-tanned arms were covered with light brown hair, and that hair was covered in sawdust. He smelled like all good things: sweat and steel and freshly-cut wood. My gaze wandered down to the worn leather tool-belt, slung low around his waist.
“Can’t complain,” he replied. “Got off to a slow start waiting for an inspector to show up, but we still did a shit-ton of framing today.”
“A metric or an imperial shit-ton?”