“This is the flattest air mattress I’ve ever seen,” I grumbled. The thing was anemic, flattened and thin. I looked for a spout to blow into, but didn’t find one. There was some kind of doodad on the corner, a plastic protrusion, but its use was not obvious. I tried blowing into it, but it did nothing. “Great. This one’s broken.” I glanced back toward the door, not especially wanting to look helpless or needy in front of Michael Tucker.
I sighed, and smoothed the sleeping bag on top of it. It was going to be a long night. Glancing back at the bed, I wondered how horrible it would really be to sleep on mouse-eaten foam rubber or cotton. Maybe I could just sneak back to Mom’s for the night. But I didn’t want to explain that to her or to Michael. And not sleeping in the house wasn’t really living in it, and probably wouldn’t fulfill the terms of the trust. Anders had promised he’d be by now and then per the terms to check on us.
One night wouldn’t kill me. I’d figure something out for tomorrow. brushed my hands on the legs of my jeans and headed downstairs to meet Michael.
He was sitting at the dining room table, a laptop open in front of him, and an empty chair pulled to his side.
“Hey,” he said, looking uncertain as I stepped into the room. “Will you come take a look at the plan I put together?”
I bit my tongue, feeling a tiny bit snippy and irritable, and instead moved the chair just slightly away from him and sat in it, peering at the screen. It was a spreadsheet, filled with projects, costs, calculations and estimates. It reminded me of my job—I’d been in finance my whole life. My fingers itched to take the mouse and keyboard, to analyze his work, to make it better, more precise. But I sat still, my hands in my lap. “What’s this?”
“I was just trying to get us organized, figure out how best to apply the renovation funds to all the things that need doing in the house.”
“I see.” That was smart. That was exactly what needed doing. I sighed. I felt useless once again, and it reminded me of everything else in my life—living in limbo here in Singletree, Luke, who had clearly moved on to something or someone better, and my job, which I really needed to check on. I was used to being the person who did the things that needed doing. Now somehow I’d been relegated to incapable of blowing up camping mattresses and watching other people build spreadsheets. Maybe I was somehow overreacting, but it felt warranted. I was tired of having to depend on everyone else.
“This is the list of projects here, and they’re broken into sub-projects, with estimates where I got them from inspectors who came in to look or who I spoke to on the phone over the last couple days. And then here are some of the estimates I made myself”—he pointed to another column—“and this stuff here is pure guesswork.”
“You did all this yourself?” My voice was flat, emotionless. Useless. I did not want to be so useless.
Michael turned to look at me, those dark blue eyes open and friendly—until they met mine. “Are you angry about something?”
“You know this is basically what I do for work, right?” Of course he didn’t. Why would he know that?
“Renovate ancient houses?” A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth, but even his charm couldn’t charm me out of the bad mood I’d worked myself into.
“No, analyze and valuate companies. Organize budgets and estimates. Calculate risk based on numbers.” My voice was cold, partly because the indignant and overconfident career woman inside me wished she had done this work, or been asked to, but partly because having that part of me rear up, angry and possessive, was confusing.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You just went ahead without me.” I stared at his work. “There’s an error here.” I pointed to the screen.
“Oh,” he said, leaning in closer. “Yeah. Thanks.” He fixed the number and then turned to face me, worry written in the wrinkle between his dark red brows. “Listen, Addison. We’re going to have to work together. And agree on things.”
“Yes.”
“So if you’re pissed at something I’ve done already, I guess you should tell me and we’ll figure it out.”