about this. I’ll call you tomorrow around noon and set up a meeting for this week. I’d like to have eyes like yours on it, see what you think, before we start taking bids.”
Chip nodded. “I’d be delighted, sir,” he replied. “Here.” Only after he handed him the second card from his trousers did he realize he’d done it already. “In case you lose the first.”
Mr. Richardson hesitated, then smiled. “You know, I like a man who’s prepared.” Mr. Richardson tapped his pocket and the business card tucked underneath. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chip couldn’t help his ballooning smile, though his brothers had warned him it had the look of a six-year-old Boy Scout proud of fitting six marshmallows in his mouth. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were at stake! He turned his attention back to the canvas, dipped his paintbrush, and gave the canvas a flourishing brown curlicue as Theo and Mr. Richardson shook hands and made their farewells.
Voilà.
He stepped back, admiring the squishy brown circle.
A few more curlicues later he felt a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder.
Bree had her arms crossed tightly over the chest of her yellow pea coat, that look in her eyes as she stared at Theo.
Ohhhh, Chip recognized that look.
He would know that look a mile off.
Considering the way Theo was casually typing on his phone, he had no idea what kind of storm was about to blow his way. Poor chap. Chip almost felt like tapping him on the shoulder and whispering in his ear, Run.
Theo finished tapping and slipped the phone into his pocket. He looked up, saw Bree’s burnishing glare, and frowned.
“I’ll have you know, Theo, that I am a terrible fairy.”
His mouth opened. It shut. It opened again. “Of course you’re not—”
“I am. You know I am. They could’ve bought a mannequin to replace me and saved a few thousand dollars.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at here. Are you affronted that I complimented you?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head firmly. “And I resent it.”
Theo looked dumbfounded.
Chip’s Boy Scout grin sprouted.
Theo took a step toward her. “I just thought you would appreciate a nice word to the chief administrator—”
“A nice word? That wasn’t a nice word. That was an embarrassing display of favoritism. How do you think I’ll feel if I get cast into that role in two weeks?”
“Relieved? Pleased?”
“Cheap.”
“Cheap?” Theo’s eyes flickered to Chip, who directed his attention to his canvas. His voice lowered. “Come now, Bree. This is just the art of business, not some sort of prostitutional barter.”
“I see what you did there—” Chip began, grinning, but the look on both of their faces whipping his way made him cough and turn back to his easel.
Theo reached for her arm. “This is what I do. Leveraging networking relationships to achieve the optimal outcome for both clients and businesses. I assumed you’d appreciate a little help in a time of need—”
“Because I need it?” Bree replied.
“You just said you did!”
Bree turned her chin away. “I never said any such thing.”
Theo, dumbstruck, held out his hands. “Can you tap-dance, Bree? Do you have alternate employment options between shows?”
Chip grinned wider as he listened, his throat tingling with the urge to laugh as he watched the quarrel from the corner of his eye.
Bree’s face was flushed as she shoved her hands into her pockets. “Whether I can tap-dance is unimportant here. The point is, there’s no honor in awarding someone a job they aren’t qualified for. I can’t imagine the rumors that would go around.”
Theo raised a brow. “About you and Mr. Richardson?”
“No,” she retorted. “About you and me.”
He smiled. Saw her expression. Stopped smiling. “And that’s . . . a bad thing?”
“If people believe I’m using you, yes!” she sputtered. Without pausing she pointed at Chip. “Stop smiling.”
Chip put his free hand to his chest, fighting his smile down. “Forgive me, neighbor, but I believe I’m the one stationed here, incapable of moving my conversation elsewhere—”
“Chip?”
The three of them stopped.
Oh boy.
Twice today he’d heard a woman’s voice he didn’t want to hear.
Wincing, he turned around, all jovial spirit gone. “Heyyyy, Ashleigh.”
And there Ashleigh stood, gawking as the head of his mother’s little tribe. His mother stood behind her to the right, the group lining up like bowling pins in formation.
Ashleigh looked from him to his easel. “I’m . . . confused. I thought you had work today.”
He felt his own neck starting to flush. “I did. I do. I just had a quick side project going.”